#everybody say 'yay somna'

[somnambulic-thing]

Shhh

Just thinking about Eddie coming home from a three cities in five days tour, his voice completely gone.

He looks miserable when he tries to say hello to you despite better knowledge and you flinch at the sound, hearing the pain in the scratch deep in his throat. You clasp a hand over his mouth, shutting him up before he can hurt himself more.

Good thing there's a full weekend before he has to go back to the workshop on Monday, where his day job is waiting for him.

You tuck him into bed, throw a sketchpad and a pen at him and try to turn to get some camomile tea brewing but he snatches the back of your shirt and pulls you in, tucks you against his chest and just holds you there.

It's a weird silence, you can feel the words rattling around in his chest cavity and you're impressed and proud at how much restraint he's showing.

When he lets you go reluctantly, you smother his face in kisses, assuring him you'll be right back. He grins, voices a scratchy hum and softly slaps your ass when you wiggle out the bed.

In the kitchen, you start to get busy finding everything that will help to restore his voice again as fast as possible. You had started to miss it in all its ever-changing variations when you had come home on Monday to an empty apartment to many small voids where Eddie's presence usually lingers in the things he cherishes the most, uses every day.

Clothes and books - he packed too little of one, too much of the other as always - an off-white spot in the shape of a guitar over the armchair that's the only void that won't stay empty in his absence. Not only because you like sitting in this spot, though usually got no chance to sit in here when Eddie is around, but because it smells of him, because you can sink into the impression his presence has left there over the years.

You only have dried sage right now but you'll get fresh one and some other things when he's settled and asleep which shouldn't take too long, judging by the soft purple half-moons under his eyes. He's not getting any younger and hoisting amps at two in the morning after a busy concert days leaves traces now.

Maybe he has already passed out, you think. You've been busy in the kitchen for more than five minutes and he hasn't sneaked up on you yet, impatiently wrapping his arms around you from behind, sinking his face into your shoulder.

But when you get back to the bedroom with a pot full of steaming hot camomile and sage tea and a jar of honey, he's still awake, frantically filling the sketch pad with his scratchy-elegant handwriting.

He looks up when he hears you enter and makes a small, high pitched noise in his chest, his smile a soft curve of gratitude and admiration.

He pulls you back into the bed with him, pulls your legs into his lap and puts an obscene amount of honey into his first cup of tea. You chuckle and make a stupid joke about bees or something when your eyes start to move over the first page of five he had filled in your absence. You don't finish the joke, the thought fading as you fall into the report of his days away.

It's a ritual that you're fond of. It bridges the gap that had opened when you stopped dragging yourself to every gig just for the sake of it. You didn't miss the stress and the claustrophobic haze of it all - after all, you're not getting any younger either - but you missed his euphoria, missed to share his joy and whatever else got his blood pumping fast and hot and wild.

You read it all out loud, commenting in between, forming your inquisitive thoughts into yes or no questions, chuckling, marvelling, ranting, all while Eddie drinks his too-sweet tea in small sips and enlivens your narration with his facial expressions and small grunting noises.

You try not to laugh too hard, for it always makes him laugh as well and you think he knows you're holding back if the way he keeps kissing the corners of your tightly sealed lips is anything to go by. Like small thank you's because you caring for him when he's unwell still blows him away a little, even after all this time.

"You tired?" you ask, when the written report ends mid-sentence and you look up to find Eddie nodding off with his head rolling against the wall. He cracks open one eye, shakes his head, shakes himself awake and no to your question, a hand reaching out to the sketchpad in your lap.

"You can finish that later, Ed." You pluck the cup from his other hand before he can spill whats left in there over the sheets. "You look like shit."

He snorts a laugh, then coughs.

"Shit, sorry."

"S'ok-ay--" he croaks, using his vocal cords out of habit and coughs some more.

"Shhh," you say and start rubbing soothing circles into his back for as long as it takes for the dry, sore heaving to subside again.

"Okay, now you sleep. I'm going out to get some th--"

A hand over your mouth shuts you up. He's shaking his head, fumbling the notepad out of your lap at last with the other one.

Don't want you to leave. Take a nap with me?

"I won't be long, I join you when I get back."

He shakes his head again.

Please?

You barely have time to look at the word when he starts manhandling you up the bed and pulls you down with him, burying his face in your chest.

"Alright," you say, weaving your fingers into his hair while something more than his breath starts to spread warmth through your ribcage. "Alright, I stay."

You feel his muscles relax, his breath even out. Seconds later, he's asleep.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #blurb or whatever #I wrote something after weeks #everybody say 'yay somna'

[somnambulic-thing]

I'd love a Steddie drabble from you.

Maybe it's fluffy, maybe smutty,

whichever you prefer.

Alright, alright, Somna's first Steddie. Just threw something together that scratched a few itches for me. You also get a good dose of Robin because I don't write her nearly enough. This is a little love letter to Steve, really.

I have no idea what I'm doing. Enjoy.

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington & Robin :3

Words : 1.3k

||slice of life, basically: everybody lives but Vecna (yay), mention of choking-related neck bruising (but no bat bites. nope), mention of periods (yeah, you'll see), fluff with just a tiiiiny bit of angst, eh?, not proofread, domestic||

.......

And then shit is suddenly over. He’s a free man again.

Vecna is dead, rotting away somewhere in a different dimension. If that’s how it worked over there. Eddie slides his fingertips over the bruised skin of his neck, flinching at the pain but unable to stop touching the tender flesh because the pain meant he was still alive.

The snack-sized gates have closed again but fuck, the trailer is ruined. More on a mental plane than talking actual material damage. Smelled fucking weird now too. Eddie had no desire to spend another ten minutes in there if he could help it.

“Feels… fucking haunted,” he says, forehead pressed against the backseat window of Steve’s car. He would be residing at Castle Harrington for the foreseeable future and that’s where they are heading right now.

“I can help you pack your stuff,” Steve said and exchanged a quick glance with Robin on the passenger seat. “We, I mean. Right, Robin?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally. We’ll be in and out in no time operating with joined forces. If your uncle approves.”

Eddie couldn’t but smile a little. Such a weird contrast to the dull ache where he presses his thumb against his throat. “Yeah sure,” he chuckles. “You’ve seen where everything is already… was… whatever.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Robin turn her head back to look at him. “If it helps…” she says, shielding one side of her mouth with a flat hand and whispers in that hoarse manner that he starts to really like. “I have stains on my mattress too. Like… a lot--”

“What the hell, Buckley-- You know I can totally hear you?” Steve blurts out and Eddie can almost hear him rolling his eyes. But there is something in this scene that makes him smile again and he takes the hand away from his throat at last.

“What? Having an irregular menstrual cycle and being a klutz is a lethal combination in the bedding department.”

“Oh, okay…” Steve sounds weirdly reflective all of a sudden and Eddie sits up straight, craning his neck to get a glimpse of him in the rear-view mirror. “That’s… that sounds really difficult. Sorry about that, Rob. Didn’t mean to be an ass.”

Robin snorts and pats Steve’s shoulder. “You’re good, Stevie. No ass-ery detected.” In the mirror, Eddie sees Steve’s eyes go from worried to soft. That kind of soft that usually comes in combination with an even softer curl of his lips and—

“Just wanted to let Eddie here know, that there is nothing to be ashamed of. Since we involuntarily but brutally invaded his privacy and all.”

Suddenly, something stings in Eddie's chest and he tries to rub it away, aiming for casual rather than flustered. “Uhh, thank you, Robin… that’s… nice to know.”

“You’re welcome.”

There is a moment of silence and Eddie is about to put his forehead back to the window when Steve clears his throat, so instead of hiding, he leans over and meets Steve’s gaze in the mirror. Just a few seconds, which he is equally grateful for - since Steve is driving the car - but also frustrated about. He’s not entirely sure why.

“I… uhm. My mattress is stained too, “ Steve says, the words flowing out of his mouth as one. “You know just… in case… you know… that helps."

Silence again. Steve’s eyes stay on the road and Eddie is grateful again because shit suddenly got weird and his palm is pressed against his lips in an effort not to laugh at this oddly sweet but awkward gesture. It’s hard. Robin finally lets out a laugh. It’s affectionate, the way she ruffles Steve’s hair with it and soon they are all laughing.

“So we’re all disgusting,” Eddie says, keeping his eyes on the mirror. “What a relief.”

“Totally,” Steve chuckles and Eddie can spot a blush on his cheeks.

When they arrive at Dingus Mansion, as Robin calls it, Steve vanishes pretty instantly, ordering Robin to give Eddie the tour that turned out to be the equivalent of a real estate sales pitch.

“Why is it you know so much about this house?” Eddie asks as they leave the upstairs bathroom with authentic brass faucets.

“Oh, you know, just the average interest in architecture and design,” she says with a wink and reaches for a different door handle. “And this is where you’ll stay— Jesus, Steve!”

Steve had ripped the door open right before Robin could touch it, startling all three of them.

“Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Steve mumbles, looking down at a stack of neatly folded clothes in his hands. “Just finished freshening up the room a bit, new sheets and such… uhm… was just going to look for you two. What took you so long?”

“You have a big house, Stevie,” Robin says.

“Not thirty-minutes-tour big.”

“I got the Buckley special,” Eddie says, putting a hand on Robins’s upper arm with a smile. “Won’t get lost now in the vast halls of your very nice home.”

“Honestly, it’s not that big… right?”

“Uhm…” Eddie hesitates and bites back a smart remark. He doesn’t particularly care for that crease between Steve’s brows and really, Steve was doing him such a favor letting him stay here, the least he could do was not be a smartass, right? At least for like, a few hours. “It’s comfortably… roomy…”

“Dude, really?” Robin chuckles.

“You also have very nice brass faucets. Original, so I heard.”

“She’s been on about those again, eh?” Steve shakes his head, shaking loose a strand of hair that drapes right down between his brows and over the bridge of his nose. Eddie has a sudden tingling in the tips of his fingers. Steve sticks out his bottom lip and blows upwards, achieving nothing.

“Anyway,” he says, holds out the stack of clothes for Eddie to take and then swipes his hair back and his hand all the way through it before leaning against the doorframe with his elbow still raised.

“I estimate that we’re roughly the same size so I got you something to change into… until we got your stuff… if you like...”

“Uhm, cool, yeah, thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Steve says shuffling weirdly, jamming his hands in the pockets of his pants. “I picked the darkest stuff I could find.”

“Huh?”

“The clothes,” he gestures and puts his hands on his hips. “I thought, maybe you’d feel more comfortable that way. You know? In dark stuff?”

Eddie pulls up his brows and adds this moment to the list of unbelievable things that had happened in the past week. Next to him, Robin grins in an irritatingly radiant way. Eddie has to clear something hot out of his throat before he speaks again. “That’s… really thoughtful. Thank you, Steve.”

“Ah, that’s nothing,” he waves his hand through the air and moves out of the door frame and slowly down the hallway. “I’m going to see what kind of food we have left. Anything you don’t like? Any allergies?”

Eddie has difficulty to not let his jaw hit the floor. It must show.

“What? When you’re juggling two dozen kids all the time you kinda just…” Steve whirls a hand in the air. “You know.”

“No allergies. I’m no picky eater, whatever you find is cool with me.”

“Cool,” Steve repeats with a smile.

"Cool," Eddie agrees.

“Cool,” Robin echoes and Eddie jumps a little. He had completely forgotten her for a moment.

“If you want to shower or something, I put out a set of towels on your bed.”

My bed.

Steve seemed to wait for a response and when there was none, started towards the stairs.

“Uhm, Steve?”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“M’ really, like, grateful, like… you know… you letting me stay here.”

“Sure, yeah,” Steve says softly and touches the bruises on his neck in a way that’s familiar to Eddie.  “It’s… good to have you around… see you downstairs.”

Eddie just stares at the clothes in his hands, his thumbs rubbing over the fabric. That shit is really soft. It also smells nice. Kinda like Steve, but without the Steve part--

“Well, well,” Robin says, startling him again.

“Shut up,” he grins and enters his room.

#Steddie #Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington #Steddie fluff