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diamondsinureyes · 7 months

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There's no one here but us

cw: smut

If Hermione listened very carefully, she could still hear the sounds of cheering in the distance, as well as the occasional scream of what she hoped was delighted fright. She knew the Great Hall overflowed with candied dishes and pumpkin cider. The ghosts were out in full force, from the Headless Hunt—poor, Nick—to the Parade of Souls, complete with a Ghostly Wedding.

Halloween had returned to Hogwarts.

She could still be there, now, had she chosen to stay in the company of her friends. She could still go back and they wouldn’t say a single thing. Instead, she’d looked across the tables towards eyes that glinted silver. She’d stood and excused herself. She’d walked out and down a corridor she knew would be empty at this hour.

She didn’t even scream when pulled into an empty classroom.

How he always caught her off guard despite her expecting him, she could never figure out. It was like he was the one who’d grown up with a best friend’s Invisibility Cloak, rather than Hermione.

The door slammed shut, followed by locking and silencing spells. Strong hands pressed her into the door. A hard thigh ground into a core that pulsed with need.

“Malfoy, are you sure this is a good place—” Her protests were silenced by a thumb slipping past her lips, the hand cupping her jaw and lifting her eyes to look up at him.

“Shhh, there’s no one here but us, and that’s what silencing spells are for.” He replaced the loss of his thumb with a kiss that vanished any arguments. She couldn’t think past the sensation of him—the body that surrounded her, the heady smell of his cologne, the soft lips that covered her own.

He worked his way along her jaw and down her neck, softly biting against the tender skin before sucking a bruise to the surface.

“What happened to the mark I left last time?” He murmured, fingers deftly undoing the buttons of her blouse.

“I…ah! Healed them. There’d be too many questions.” Hermione clutched at his shoulder, her other hand combing through the white hair she’d always wanted to touch and was so much softer than she imagined.

“Leave this one.”

“But—”

“You can just glamour over it, or wear a scarf, if you want. I want to know it’s there, see it next time.”

She tried not to flush at the assurance of his words. Their trysts were never planned. They weren’t in anything she’d label a relationship. A warning bite on her nipple brought her attention back to him.

“You’ll leave it,” he ordered, looking up balefully at her.

“Yes.”

He rewarded her admission with a forgiving lick and a tweak to her other nipple. “Good girl.”

His words sent another rush through her, and she struggled to relieve the pressure against the thigh holding her up. Chuckling, he aided her, dropping his hands to her hips to pull her down against him.

“Nnnnggg, I need more, please!” Godric, how she whined. His grin showed how much he liked the way she pleaded with him.

“Yeah? Do you want to come like this, Granger?”

She nodded frantically, attempting to slide along his thigh but not finding the friction to do so.

“Or would you rather come on my cock?” He cut into the last word sharply, knowing just how much his words affected her.

“Gods, yes, please, Malfoy!”

She could feel his hands tightening on her hips, hard enough to leave bruises. Would he want her to leave those, too?

“Ask me nicely.” His words were soft, and she knew better than to mistake them for a sweet request.

“Please, Draco,” she whispered, “let me come on your cock,” barely getting the words out before he dropped his knee and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him.

He walked them the short distance it took to drop her onto the large desk at the front of the room. Falling to his knees, he pressed her skirt up and tucking fingers into the waistband of her knickers to slowly pull them down. She lifted up to help, receiving a swift kiss to her knee in appreciation.

Once he’d tucked the bit of white lace into his pocket, he tugged her forward so she barely sat on the edge of the desk. Hermione knew what was coming, but still found it unbelievable that Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, treated oral sex like his favorite dessert. He dove into her folds like a man starved for too long. She didn’t think she could ever say no to him, either, because she was convinced that there couldn’t be another lover out there possible of bringing her to pleasure with their tongue as skillfully as he could—it was as if he was wired to her desires, even ones unknown to her.

He brought her to pleasure not just once, but twice, and nearly had her cresting a third time before he stopped short and surged upward to press into her with his delicious length, the tremors of her orgasms still wracking through her. She knew the pulsing created a near unbearable strangulation, and were he any less controlled, he might explode right there.

But this was Malfoy, a wizard who’d survived the past couple of years on the self-control in which his family excelled. He would die before he finished early and before he’d fulfilled his declaration of fucking an orgasm into Hermione Granger.

He hauled her legs up to rest on his shoulders and pressed his chest down to hers, affording him a deeper angle and making Hermione feel almost unbearably full of his generous length and girth. Regardless of the pressure, Hermione squeezed her inner muscles out of a different need, entirely.

“Fucking FUCK, fucking Granger,” he groaned, one hand grabbing onto her shoulder for leverage, the other gripping tight to her knee. He nearly lost control then, the long, smooth strokes giving way to a driving need that bordered the line between pleasure and pain.

Hermione loved making him lose it. She was half convinced that was what made him return to her again and again.

Oh, she knew about his history with other witches, knew of his reputation that they couldn’t help but giggle and whisper about. He was oh so proper before the war, but now he looked like he was trying to lose himself in pursuit of pleasure.

She knew he’d thought about her for months, perhaps even longer. She saw the way his followed her and waited for the day he made his move. Now, here they were, and here they’d been for far longer than she knew he spent on anyone else.

If only the sex weren’t so good.

Hermione had lost any sexual inhibitions she might have had before, too. Except, unlike Malfoy, she kept her conquests to herself. There would be no whispers, no memories of the time spent between her thighs. She took, then she wiped all evidence clean. She’d planned the same for Malfoy, had even done the same to Malfoy the first time.

Still, he persisted.

She thought he’d lose interest like all the other boys. Surely, his subconscious would understand it had obtained what it wanted and move on. Yet, after their admittedly mind blowing night of debauchery, he confronted her just as determined as he had the first time. His eyes held the same hunger. So Hermione set aside her previous plans and indulged. She would let this go on for as long as she could until he started to lose interest.

How could she not resist attentions that lifted her above everything else and made her feel like the center of his entire universe. They might not hold hands or even talk in public unless required, but there was no denying the possessive looks, nor the jealous touches every time someone even hinted at flirting with her.

Hermione reveled in the baffled looks other witches wore when their approaches were rebuffed or, worse, ignored. Perhaps that was what prompted her to slip her hands underneath his shirt and rake her nails down the bare skin of his back. She’d leave her marks on that lily white flesh and demand he leave them.

He hissed at the pain, dropping his hand from her shoulder to wrap around her neck. At the same time, his other hand slid down her thigh to circle a thumb around her clit. Hermione felt like she was being squeezed into a tunnel devoid of anything but his hand around her throat, the tireless pumping of his cock, the maddening touch of his thumb just barely where she wanted it. The walls closed in, and, sensing her increasing urgency, Malfoy finally pressed exactly where she needed.

With a gasp, she careened straight into her third orgasm, and he loosened his grip, allowing blessed air to drive her to greater heights. She wailed in the ongoing rhythm of him sliding through her clenching depths. It wasn’t until she shuddered that he gave in to the pressure and spent himself into her, groaning and swearing as he emptied in bursts.

They collapsed together, his body deliciously weighing her down. Odd, how with anybody else, Hermione would feel smothered, pushing them off of her once the moment was over. She felt like she could lie under him for hours yet.

He moved to pull away, and she wrapped her arm around his back to resist. “Please stay, at least just for a little longer.”

“I’m not crushing you?” he asked, surprise tinging his voice. With their bodies pressed together this way, she could feel their hearts slowing, their breaths just starting to even out.

“I like the weight of you.”

He obliged and relaxed once more, muscles loose and fingers drawing circles on her skin. They stayed like that until goosebumps raised in the wake of his fingertips and she shivered in the chill of the room.

“Let’s get you somewhere warm,” he said softly, finally rolling off of her.

Hermione felt an immediate and irrational sense of loss. That, too, was unlike her. Was she getting attached to Malfoy?

Perhaps it was time to move on.

Once their clothes were back to rights and they stood ready to leave the room, Hermione raised her wand to point it at the back of his head.

“Hermione.”

Her name fell from his lips without him even turning around, and she froze.

“Can we just…explore this?

She could see the tension in his shoulders, how they tightened beneath the thick robes. He kept his back to her as if looking her in the eye would set her off.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” she asked quietly.

“Then why are you trying to make me forget again?”

Again?

This time, he did turn around. His movement was slow, giving her plenty of time to cast her spell. When he finally faced her, the look in his eyes caused her to lower her wand.

He wasn’t guarded like he often was in front of everyone else, nor was he smirking with that signature uptick of his lips. He left himself completely open to her, and, for once, she could see him clearly.

“You know,” she stated.

He nodded.

“How?”

“We Malfoys have always excelled at Occlumency.”

“I was pretty sure it stuck.” She was more than sure at the time.

“It did, for a little while,” he admitted. “I could tell something was off, though. I have certain…safeguards…in place.”

They stared at one another silently, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Hermione’s wand twitched against her leg.

Maybe she could do a series of memory spells, layer them in such a way that he’d never figure out how to undo them even if he did realize something was missing. Doing that properly would take further study, though. She wasn’t confident in casting anything so complicated for the first time in panic.

Take the loss now. Come back and finish the job later when his guard was down.

Just as she was about to pretend defeat and convince him to let them go on their separate ways, he surprised her yet again.

“How about we make a deal?” He leaned back against the door looking for all the world like she hadn’t just tried to wipe his memories.

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, she took the bait. “What kind of deal?”

Relief seemed to flash across his face for a brief moment, but in a blink his face was back to carefree confidence.

“We have this,” he waved at the space between them, “but I’d like us to get to know each other out there.” He jerked a thumb behind him.

“…out there,” she deadpanned. What, did he want to have outdoor sex?

He sighed in exasperation and buried his face in his hands. He took a few deep breaths before raising his head again, jaw set.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’d like us to be friends, Granger.”

He was saying words that she knew individually, but when strung together didn’t fit within the box of her expectations.

“…friends.”

“Can you stop repeating the last words of my sentences?”

She coughed in embarrassment, realizing she’d done to him exactly what Harry and Ron had done to her so many times in the past. She was a smart witch. She could gather her thoughts before opening her mouth.

“Why me?” she asked, scrambling for more time to think.

He raised one elegant brow. “Other than I like having sex with you and don’t fancy forgetting it?

She nodded, again tapping her wand against her leg. His eyes flickered down to catch the movement, before he brought them back up to answer her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have many friends left. You’re one of the few people I spend any amount of time with.”

She had noticed. There was the obvious evidence that he was something of a pariah in his house after everything that had happened. Very few of their year had even returned, most noticeably in Slytherin. They were either dead, like Crabbe, transferred, like Zabini and Parkinson, or hadn’t been close friends with Malfoy in the first place, like Tracy Davis.

“What about Nott?” She’d seen him hanging out with the dark-haired boy from time to time, almost always separate from anyone else.

“Yeah, Theo’s a good mate,” he conceded. “We’re a lot alike. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to get to know you more.”

“You said this is a deal. What if we find out we don’t make such good buddies?”

“Then I’ll remove my safeguards and let you wipe everything clean,” he immediately responded.

He said it like it was so easy, removing an extended period of time from existence. Casual sex was one thing, but friendship? Where did one even draw the line between normal interactions and something more meaningful? If she was forced to cast the spells, she’d have to concoct reasons for their fallout that would bear weight under the scrutiny of those around them—reasons that people like Theo Nott would believe.

“Time frame?”

“Graduation.”

She frowned. “That’s too long. The closer we get, the more memories I’ll have to tamper with.”

“You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion.” He looked amused, She didn’t bother batting away his hand when it reached out to play with the sleeve of her jumper.

“What about Christmas?” That was only a couple month’s away. “It’s still a decent chunk of time to manipulate…nobody will bat an eyelash at a falling out between now and then, and there’ll be the holiday to reset everything for the following year.”

“Again, you say that like failing is a sure thing.”

Hermione huffed. “Take it, or leave it, Malfoy.

He let go of her hem to trail his fingers beneath hers and raise them to his lips. “I’ll take it.”

His kiss against her skin was gentle, the tone of his voice hopeful. Despite her reservations, she felt likewise inclined towards something bordering on warmth.

Now that she needed to control.

“I’m not interested in making love or being sweet.”

His grin split across his face as he took delight in her declaration. “Lucky for you, I am multifaceted.”

For some reason, Hermione felt the need to elaborate. “That isn’t because I’m incapable of either.”

“I never said you were,” he replied quickly. She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off with a raised hand. “But if you ever change your mind, I want to know.”

How he oscillated from playful to serious so quickly, she could never figure out. Perhaps she would some day if they actually got to know one another.

Rather than stagger their exits, they walked out together back towards the Great Hall. Like friends. The closer they got to the staircases, the better they could hear the festive noises still spilling out from the central area. It was as they were passing the girl’s bathroom that Hermione remembered another Halloween, the image of a snot-covered wand rising to memory.

“What’s so funny?” Draco looked quizzically at her as she chuckled.

She considered him, the half light of the corridor casting shadows on his handsome face and his hair still ruffled from where she’d grabbed on earlier. His lips were slightly swollen, the pink standing out against his otherwise pale skin.

“Do you remember Halloween of First Year and the troll?”

“How could I forget?” He snorted and shook his head. “Quirrell came running in all freaked out and everybody panicked. Why do you ask?”

“Well, what really happened was…”

The easiest place Hermione could think of starting this thing of theirs was telling him the truth behind the stories only the boys and she knew. Maybe after hearing them, he’d come to his senses and realize she was more trouble than it was worth.

She talked, he listened and laughed hard enough to hug his ribs, and she found herself telling him more.

“I can’t believe they took away points for you being in the wrong place at the wrong time!”

Or, maybe not. Maybe, he was onto something.

WC 3032

Twitter prompt from @DramionePrompts

Cross posted on Tumblr and AO3

This was SUPPOSED to be a smutty short without story or feelings, but apparently I'm incapable of just cutting all those things out, which is how this became something just a tad longer than my usual daily prompt. Rather than taking just the one day, I ended up thinking about it the past few days.

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diamondsinureyes · 7 months

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Dazzlin Di's Creature Feature

10.3.23|Resurrection|"Eyes Always Seeking" Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Steve waits until summer, nearly a month after the memorial service.

He waits until there's news of a thunderstorm's rolling in.

That’s how he wanted to remember Eddie—wild and unpredictable like a summer storm, like lightning. (And some small part of him figured that if he got hit, then it would be if no consequence either.)

He goes to the woods, takes the barely visible trail that picks up near the old cottage he fixed up weeks ago. It leads to a grove full of wildflowers. The trees block out most of the sunlight, and the storm clouds rolling in quickly overtake what's left.

Under a darkened sky, Steve digs with his bare hands, His nails tear at the moist soil, ripping up roots and grass made looser by the rain that comes down in sheets. Finally, he stands and lightning arcs overhead, revealing the hole he carved into the ground.

He unwrapped the stained vest from its grocery bag. He kept it, of course. It had to be peeled off of him when they finally made it back to the real Hawkins and Steve tossed it in the back of his closet, still crusted with both of their blood. But he never forgot it. Swore he would never forget any of it. Now he places it reverently in the earth. Slowly rises to stand over it, using his body to shield the worst of the rain.

Then he stays.

It felt like an eternity, staring down at the vest, slowly watching it become saturated from the rainwater dripping from his hair and face. There were tears at some point, and words of farewell, unvoiced promises and wishes of what could have been.

When the rain eased and left only a darkened sky, Steve shoved the soupy dirt and grass back into place, patting it down as best as he could before heading home.

He trudged back home in a daze, emotionally wrung out and weary by the time he makes it to Robin's doorstep. He knocks, and only has a moment to panic, to pray that she's home, before Robin opens the door and shrieks at the sight of him.

A hasty hot shower and a clothing change isn't enough to stave off the nasty head cold Steve earned by being a "dingus in the middle of a storm!!!" He refused to say where'd he'd been, or what he'd done too fever ridden to say much of anything.

Every night he dreamt in visions--of red skies and vines, of guitars and walls covered in posters, of fingers adorned with wrings and a smile hidden behind a curly lock of hair.

When the delirium breaks, the relief comes and settles over him. But another night of the vision like dreams--ones he can remember now--is enough to bring the regret rolling back in. He wakes up with the sound of a voice calling for him still ringing in his ears. Pleading for him to come.

Steve has to go back.

~~~~

It takes him almost two weeks to return to the forest. He heads straight towards the grove, ignoring the path in favor of tearing through the trees until he's stumbling onto a field of flowers bathed in the last rays of the setting sun. It's just as beautiful as he remembered, but there is a large hole in the center of the field. Steve moves closer and recalls kneeling in the same spot during his stormy vigil. The hole goes deep. Deeper than the one he dug. Too deep to be dug out by human hands alone. Steve turns and sees a trail of dirt leading towards the overgrown path. He follows it as if in a trance back to the cottage.

The realization that someone is inside comes more like an afterthought. It's almost like Steve's holding his breath, only for it all to be stolen away at the sight of the figure sitting on the dirty floor.

"Eddie?!"

The person turns, flinging a head of stringy, muddy curls to reveal a painfully familiar face. He smiles at Steve instantly even as his brows crinkle in confusion.

~~~~

Once Steve's recovered enough to ask the right questions, he realizes that it's not Eddie--or at least, not the Eddie they lost in the Upside down. This person is a blank slate, he doesn't remember anything. Responds to his name with delighted confusion and that's--Steve can't do this. But he thinks of bring him back, of bringing him around the kids and watching their faces fall when he doesn't recognize them and--

Steve decides to call him Eds. It makes things a bit easier.

Eds has been there since the morning, and had managed to eat what few snacks Steve had left in the cabinets.

Steve is terrified to leave, but he has to go home. Steve waits until Eds falls asleep and he's nearly dead on his feet to leave. He makes Eds promise through yawns that he will be there when Steve comes back.

It's near dawn when Steve gets home and he stays long enough to stop by the store before going back. Eds greets him with a smile and a growling stomach. Steve figures out the old-fashioned stove and manage to make them a half decent breakfast.

~~~~

There's a slowly unraveling mystery around Eds and Steve relishes in every new discovery. He does most things on a kind of autopilot. Instinctively knows to seek food when he's hungry, to seek out the shower when he wants to be clean, to find Steve when he has questions.

And he has so many questions. About Steve, and the "Eddie" Steve sometimes slips up and calls him. About the books Steve starts bringing to keep Eds entertained when he's alone. And about things Steve feels wholly unprepared to answer.

“Steve?” Eds asks him one day after a feast of box mac and cheese. “What were you looking for that night?”

He doesn't clarify which night and Steve doesn't need him to. He honestly surprised that first night hadn’t come up sooner. “I…I can’t answer that Eds, I-I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s like…me asking where you came from.” Seve didn’t dare ask, afraid that knowing would mean Eds leaving or shatter the dream work he’s been living in.

“Oh…” Eddie blinks, shocked as if he never considered such a question. “Do you want to know?”

“I- “Steve hesitates. “It’s enough knowing that you’re real. That this isn’t all just in my head.”

“But…how do you know? What is real?”

Steve had been asking himself that since 1983 and he still doesn’t have a straight answer. But Eds is looking at him earnestly, as if Steve alone holds all the secrets of the universe.

“Um, well I guess there are certain things only real people could do. Like…eat food, and open doors…real people touch, laugh, cry. I mean I can feel you and I coul-wouldn’t be able to if you weren’t real.”

Steve shrugs helplessly, unsure how to explain further. Eds has a knack for asking the questions Steve never thought of. Even now, he’s frowning at his hands, fidgeting with the ring on his thumb as he thinks.

Steve goes back to cleaning, leaving Eds with his thoughts in favor of rinsing the dishes from earlier.

“Is love real?”

“What?” Steve nearly drops the plate in his hand from shock. Where did that come from?

“In-“ Eds stops, considers the words a moment longer, starts again. “In the books you had, it described this thing…this love. But they never said what what it looked liked. Or what it ate. Or how to touch it. Does that mean it’s not real?”

“No, that’s-I mean it’s-“ Steve flounders, but Eds is busy studying his fingers to notice.

“Love is… a feeling. Feelings are things you show. You prove they’re real by doing things that makes you feel them.”

“Like what?” Eds turns his curious eyes back to Steve.

“Like-“ Steve panics, tries to remember to his string of hookups and semi steady relationships. He thinks of Robin first. “Like spending a lot of time together and…um,”

Steve remembers Nancy, the time they spent together after Barb. “Or hugging and comforting—making them feel better when they’re sad. Or saying the words ‘I love you’” Steve flinches at the reminder and adds a mumbled “if you mean them.

“Like…kissing?” Eds suggests and Steve thinks of Tommy and Carol sucking face in the halls between classes

“Sure, like kissing. That can show love too.”

~~~~~

There are moments, Steve notes, where Eds seems to go deeper into autopilot. As if his body remembers what his brain doesn't. Eds gravitates towards those Tolkien books Mike and Dustin mentioned at the memorial. And sometimes he'll snark at Steve in response to a less than profound answer to one of his questions, or hide a smile behind a lock of hair And Steve will have to do a double take, stop himself from calling him "Munson" instead. Has to remember what he lost.

And there are other moments where an Eddie phrase would come out unprompted, or he hides a smile behind his hair. As if Eds body remembers what his mind doesn't. Those moments hurt the most, Steve decides, when he's reminded that even now he's in mourning.

He knows the kids are still concerned. Knows Robin is ready to handcuff herself to him again to make sure he doesn't do something to get himself killed. Steve's been spending more nights at the cottage. Finds it easier to sleep there in his empty house. He knows the only reason they don't question his frequent "camping trips" more is because of how peaceful Steve feels after spending time with Eds.

But Eds presence doesn't stop the hurt, doesn't stop the nightmares fully. They still manage to sneak up on him, shaking him apart and leaving him to pick up the pieces during his waking moments.

One night, Steve finds himself reliving that fateful trip to the upside down. He dreams of holding Eddie and Dustin in his arms and watching them slowly fade away while being helpless to stop it.

When he wakes with a cry, Eds hovers over him, his face twisted in a frown. "You were crying in your sleep. Are you okay?"

Steve tries to focus on his face, but groggy and reeling from the remnants of the nightmare, all he can do is ask in a hoarse whisper "Are you real?"

Eds looks stricken by the question. he whispers back, "I...don't know."

Steve's face crumples and the tears come freely. He can't stop, even as Eds looks more and more panicked.

Suddenly a soft pair of lips are being pressed to his and Steve freezes. Eds has his face scrunched up with effort and his eyes closed, but his lips are gentle, almost bashful against Steve’s. He smells like the rain and he tastes earthy.

Steve groans into it, pulling Eds closer and pulling a soft gasp from his lips. He kisses him again relishing in the sensation before reality catches up to him and he releases Eds. They’re both panting and staring into the others eyes.

"Wha-what are you doing?" Steve finally asks.

"Kissing? Like real people do, right? I-I touch and I taste and I feel love so…so I must be real right? You don’t have to be sad, Steve. I’m here, I’m real."

Steve lets himself be wrapped in Ed’s’ arms, and buries his face in the other boy’s chest. He shakes with sobs and Eds continues to whisper his reassurances until they both drift off to sleep.

~~~~

It ends how it began, with thunder brewing in the clouds and change coming on the horizon.

Like before, Steve feels drawn to the forest. Eds is gone when Steve checks the house. He immediately knows to go to the clearing, something primal and otherworldly practically calling him there.

Before Steve breaks through the trees, he spots someone standing among the flowers. He takes a deep breath before stepping into the clearing. It is as if the air is charged inside the circle, and the storm clouds part to illuminate the grove.

Leaning down, brushing ringed fingers against the worn vest is Eddie Munson in all his glory. His leather jacket is still intact, his black bandana tucked in his back pocket, and his Hellfire shirt still white and artfully shredded.

Steve can’t breathe. He just stares helplessly, knowing without a doubt that this is Eddie. The real Eddie.

Still...

"E-Eds?"

"Aw cmon Big Boy, you don’t recognize me?" The cadence, the way his hips pops out when he pouts dramatically--its all Eddie.

And Steve is running. He’s running and crying and then he’s being held in strong wiry arms. The kind of strength you build up from lugging amps and band equipment across town three times a week.

"Eddie."

"Hiya Stevie. Miss me?"

There's no way Steve can answer that question without falling apart, so he just hugs Eddie even tighter. He thinks of the kids, thinks of the kiss, think of the future that now seems so open with him here.

Then Steve looks up just as lightning flashes overhead and for a moment's he's clinging to Eds who looks down at him with that familiar bemused smile.

The realization comes quickly. That this isn't a reunion.

Eds told him once before, when Steve arrived to find him missing from the cottage, that he wouldn't leave Steve without saying goodbye.

"No...Don't do this." Steve whispers, blinking the lightning out of his eyes.

When the thunder comes, Eddie smiles sadly back at him.

Steve feels devastated. "Was any of this real?" He finally asks, finally voices the fear that's haunted him since Eds first appeared.

Instead of responding, Eddie pulls him into a kiss. Steve closes his eyes, tries to memorize the feeling, the smell, the sounds. Tries to ground the moment in reality as best as he can. The Eddie pulls away to rest their foreheads together.

Steve touches his lips, feels how they tingle with residual energy.

"Real people?" He asks, hoping to see that smile again.

"Real people" Eds confirms, flickering back into view.

Another arc of blinding light comes and Steve closes his eyes against it. It seems directly overhead. Steve smells sulfur and tastes metal. The thunder comes instantly, making the ground tremble beneath him.

When Steve opens his eyes Steve is alone, standing in a sunny grove surrounded by blooming tulips and lilies —all white as snow.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #dicreaturefeature23 #midnight special

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