#greenwitch!reader

The light turns green. Eddie breathes a ragged sigh and bats the visor back into place. He’s already put off coming home long enough, sparing you an hour of grief- the swelling hasn’t gone down and he’s gonna have to face the music eventually.

By the time Eddie pulls into the gravel driveway, his stomach’s in knots. 

Through the trailer window, soft light illuminates your silhouette, hands plunged into the unseen sink. You look so pretty, so peaceful, a distant, relaxed smile on your face. Looks like you’re having a nice night- which Eddie’s about to majorly fuck up. 

He shuffles across the porch, really taking his time with the key in the front lock, fiddling before hanging them on the wall hook. It smells delicious in the trailer, like roast chicken and spices.

Even better than the smell is the sound of your voice, calling to him from around the hall corner- “Hi, honey- you’re back late tonight. Was gettin’ worried.”

“All good, sugar. I’m home to bug ya now.” Eddie toes off his boots, then peels the outer layer of his coat from the black t-shirt underneath, and with all the reluctance of a man walking to the gallows, rounds the corner into the kitchen.

Your back is turned, still washing dishes, and Eddie takes a brief reprieve in seeing how cozy and familiar you’re dressed- oversized knit sweater pushed up to the elbows, drapey skirt the color of burnt pumpkin swishing around the ankles of a chunky pair of socks (his, to be precise).

“I’ve got a plate of supper in the fridge for you, if-” 

The smile in your voice and face fall as soon as you turn and see him, bent arms frozen in midair and tap water dripping from your fingers onto the tile.

Your gaze is fixed on the bruising, the wound over his right eye, brimming with worry as you reach behind yourself blindly for a hand towel- “What. What happened. Who did this to you?”

“No one,” Eddie says- too quickly- then winces, knowing exactly what this looks like, and that his one biggest weakness in this world is lying to you. “It’s okay, I’m good, I promise.”

He crosses to the dining table, sinking into one of the chairs, feeling the burn of your stare as he rubs a nervous, grease-stained thumb across the edge of the bandage keeping his brow together. “It was a minor work accident. But I’m all good, honey, promise- the boys patched it up.”

“Which boys?” The towel snaps as you toss it back to the counter, eyes never leaving Eddie’s face, voice steady but with the type of churning ferocity that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention. “And did they wash their hands before ‘patching you up’?”

Eddie grins, going for charming and disarming, holding his own dirty palms face-up in surrender- “Nah. Kind of metal, though, right?”

Wrong move. You’re like a lion on the prowl, prey locked as you step effortlessly across the kitchen to where Eddie sits- he manages to not visibly gulp when you take his chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing him to look up into the storm of your expression.

“You’re going to tell me now, or tell me later, but trust me when I say now is the time that’ll cause you the least amount of grief.”

Eddie doesn’t bother fighting it anymore, just gives into the wave of your emotion like a little boat in a storm, hands digging into either side of the chair as he confesses- “Emerson. But it was an accident, just a stupid one-”

“What kind of stupid?”

There’s no room for softening the blow of the event in the way he’d rehearsed on the drive over, not with the full scope of your intensity boring into his pupils like a hot knife to butter.

“The kind where the kid tried to toss me a wrench when I wasn’t looking.”

Eddie watches this land, expressions flickering across your face like an open fire pit, grip around his chin tightening- until you release him completely, drawing in a deep breath, eyes slipping closed, one word falling from your lips like an incantation.

“Gareth.”

The muscle in Eddie’s jaw ticks as he works his teeth into speech, remembering the horrified flash of Emerson’s eyes through the sheen of blood in Eddie’s own- oh, shit, man, please don’t tell your girl it was me- 

Gareth was right to be afraid. The way you chew on his name sounds mighty close to damnation. 

Eddie doesn’t really believe you’d cause any harm to a friend, but he’s not certain that you wouldn’t terrorize someone on his behalf, especially if they caused him any pain- your warning system where Eddie is concerned is loud. 

Not that he’s any better about you.

With a live wire of alarm zinging down his spine, Eddie reaches for your hips, but you twist away, turning on your heel and ducking into the bathroom with weighted footsteps, raising your voice to be heard the whole time.

“I should be driving you to the hospital right now. Frontal lobe damage isn’t anything to laugh at- you could be concussed. Have a brain bleed. This is serious shit, Eddie, I can’t believe Gareth did that-”

“Accident,” Eddie calls out again, sounding weak even to himself as you stomp back into the room, anger making your movements jerky as you rip the metal lid from a first aid kit and begin unpacking the items you need onto the table. “It looks worse than it actually is, I promise-”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Fresh gauze, antiseptic wipes, a clean butterfly bandage- they lay in obedient wait as you budge up in a chair in front of Eddie’s, your knees bumping to the insides of his as you scoot in close.

With less distance now, Eddie breathes you in as your fingers tenderly pick a corner of the shoddily-applied bandaid at his temple. Faint traces of garlic, probably from cooking, and the sharp-bright of rosemary that usually perfumes your scalp.

You smell like home. Eddie stares shamelessly, hands steadying on your upper thighs as you free the sticky corners and tsk.

“This probably needs stitches.” Your pointer finger gently traces the edges of the wound, falling back to the tail end of his brow, then his hairline, tucking the right side of curls behind his ear to give yourself more room to work with. 

“S’okay,” Eddie says, pointlessly, because he knows it isn’t where it matters.

There’s this pinched, concentrated line above the bridge of your nose as you work, dried blood flaking off with multiple alcohol pads, your fingers deft and sure as you clean the area.

“I’ll fix you up with an herb compress later, for the bruising. We’ll just let it rest for now.” You’re speaking to him so tenderly, softer than Eddie feels he deserves in this current moment. 

His hands move to cup behind your elbows, leaning into your touch a bit further than necessary, pleased when you allow it- “Fix me up pretty, doc.”

“You’re always pretty.” It’s just above a murmur. 

Eddie closes his eyes and lets you work your magic. There’s the rustle of a wrapper being opened, the smoothing of a fresh bandage across the injury, and then your fingers leave his skin to ask-

“How bad does it hurt?”

His temple has been throbbing steadily for the last few hours, but Eddie swears your touch alone has made it nearly disappear. “Three out of ten. Honest. It’s nothing.”

Your eyebrow arches, and you pull from his grasp to twist the lid off the kit’s bottle of Tylenol. Two white pills get pressed into his palm before you’re up again, filling a glass with water then standing over him like some angel of light that’s doling out cosmic instructions.

“Take them.”

Eddie obeys, swallows the oblong pills with a gulp of water, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before reaching for you again. 

There’s still a tremor in your hands as he takes them, excess adrenaline and anger which Eddie attempts to soothe with a kiss to the backs of each. “Aw, honey. Much better, thank you. No need for curses this time around.”

“You’re the air I breathe.”

It knocks the wind out of him, the simple and obvious nature with which you say this- eyes bright as a flint striker, dancing around his face, licking his skin with low flames.

“Sun and moon, too. If someone lays a finger on you- if you get so much as a paper cut, I feel it. Means I’m not doing my job correctly.”

“It’s not your fault.” Eddie pleads with you to see it his way, even with the ghostly feeling of Sisyphus’ boulder at his shoulder. “Sweetheart, it’s not on you if I get beat up at work, hazard of the job-”

“Maybe not.” You cut in smoothly, moving closer, wafting the intoxicating scent of lilac and hormones Eddie swears up and down call to him and only him- “Sounds like it’s on Gareth this time.”

“Oh, jesus.” It’s half a swear and half a resignation as Eddie desperately tries to hold onto the promise he made his good buddy a few hours previous, the care he provided to protect Emerson from your wrath slowly but surely unraveling the second your thighs drape over his.

You’re seated right where you want to be, in Eddie’s lap, hands twisting in the curls at the nape of his neck to keep his focus on you. As if it could be anywhere else right now.

“And I’m not going to curse him.” You say this reproachfully, as if Eddie’s crazy for thinking so. 

His heart pounds, blood rushing both to his head and zipping south of the border where the warmth between your legs can be felt through the layer of his denim jeans. 

“Just gonna have a little chat with him. And maybe collect some blood for an unrelated ritual.”

Eddie opens his mouth to protest but your fingers are tugging at his hair just right enough to cause a warbling noise instead; he’s in the unfortunate position of being way too into this moving train to make a move for the emergency brake.

“What if- and I’m just spitballing here- I give you something instead?”

This catches your interest, thumb smoothing down the line of his neck, eyes following the movement like you’re deciding where best to sink your teeth into. “What’ll you give me?”

“Anything,” Eddie croaks- it’s the truth.

The first real smile of the evening tugs at the corner of your mouth, which you promptly place at the base of his throat, a light graze of your canines making Eddie’s hips jolt upwards despite his best efforts.

“I want some of your hair.” At the base of his skull, your fingers wind around a lock of it, as if you’ve already set your sights on the curl you’re going to take. “I’ll give you some of mine, too. Gonna make us both something pretty and useful to wear. For protection.”

Eddie nods as best he can with your claws hooked in him. “Sure, my little witch. Whatever you want.”

When you draw back, your left hand comes too, settling against Eddie’s jaw. There’s no trace of fury anymore, just raw wanting and intention, as you tell him- 

“I think about you all the time. But it’s not the same as a protection spell. I don’t want you getting hurt again. Ever.”

Eddie’s not sure how realistic that dream of yours is, as his imminent safety depends on the day-to-day foolishness of the crew he gets stuck with. 

But he feels the words like a magnet at his heart, drawing you closer to himself, arms locking underneath you and keeping your bodies grounded to the other. 

He dips forward to kiss behind your ear, whispering comforts, wanting to soothe as best he can. “I know, baby, I know. Think about you too, every second I’m not within sight and sound. You’re in my bones, sweetheart.”

He feels your lashes flutter against his cheek, the rhythm of your chest stuttering into his even as your hold at his face and hair squeeze with desperation, words trembling with the force of your possession-

“You’re in mine. Can’t scrub me out if you tried.”

“And trust me, I ain’t trying.” Eddie laughs into the hollow of your neck, lifts off only to nudge his nose into yours, begging for a kiss and groaning into your mouth when you give it to him.

The wet muscle of your tongue drags on the roof of his mouth, twines with his own as you reach down to fist the fabric of his shirt for something to hold onto- Eddie knows what you want, intuitively.

You want to see him. To run your touch along his bare skin and take him apart, then build him up again with nothing but your hands and lips and voice. He’s seen it- felt it- happen before.

Eddie considers this penance, taking the heat off a friend who probably deserves it more- a price he’s willing to pay, though. More than willing. 

He’s loyal, under your spell. The secret parts of his heart, his desires, clicked on like a neon sign under your attention. 

You tug the fabric of his shirt, and Eddie melts forward, helping you strip it off and away; predictably, your lips hone in on the little inked star above his left pec, the perfect size for your kiss. 

It’s your tattoo, technically- Eddie paid a buddy of his to mix some charcoal you’d sourced from your favorite backyard elm tree into the ink. 

He got it for you, his star, the gravity of the gesture not even close to the amount of feeling he has where you’re concerned.

You press a kiss to every minute point of the ink, lathing your tongue over the entirety before coming back to Eddie’s mouth, like you’re feeding both from and to the energy he’s giving in some sort of dizzying feedback loop.

“No more getting hurt,” you order, hands leaving pink streaks with the pressure of your sweeps up and down his chest, settling more heavily into his lap, hips wiggling and grinding against the stiff bulge of his cock.

Eddie groans, head going loose and tipping backwards, looking at you through eyes with one half-lidded and the other half-swollen. “Noted. Does this, ah- protection ritual of yours- involve any sex, mayhaps? Seal it with a kiss?”

You chuckle. It sends something else crawling through Eddie’s spine, a confusing but no less welcome mix of arousal and apprehension. 

At the sound of the van door closing, you look up from your spot sat on the ground, the little crinkle of focus between your brows smoothing out into a devastatingly radiant smile- for Eddie. All for him.

”Hey! Was just thinkin’ about you!”

Eddie’s careful not to disturb the gardening tools spread out in haphazard array when he walks over, bending to his haunches for a kiss. 

You taste like fragrant oil and sunshine. He gives you another for good measure, then pulls back, bracketing your face between his palms- “You were thinkin’ about little ol’ me?”

“Always.” An honest grin for an honest answer. “I was making you a present and then wishing you’d show up, so it’s kind of like I manifested you. With my mind.”

“Freaky,” he replies, indulgent, giving you a forehead kiss then dropping to sit at your side. “Good thing I have a witch for a girlfriend, hm?”

“Uh-huh. Good thing.” 

He’s already lost your attention to the trowel you’re plunging in the dirt, churning up the earth, loamy smell filling the air. Used to chasing after your trains of thought, Eddie asks, “Whatcha doing? 

“In a minute.” The reply is kind but distracted, a sort of coded rhythm that Eddie’s good at breaking- I want to tell you but if I try to find the words, my focus will slip.

Your focus is a precious thing- especially when it comes to your craft. Unintentionally, you’ve taught Eddie more about the virtues of shutting up and taking the world in these past few months than he’s ever cared to learn before.

After reaching past him for an open mason jar, you carefully shovel in about an inch of dirt, hold it up to the light for inspection, then repeat the same motion for the other nearby jar. 

Eddie waits patiently, leaning back into his hands, watching you work. It’s soothing, seeing you interact with the nature that runs through your veins; having been on the receiving end of many of your gifts, he wonders if it’s a spell jar. Or a planter. Or-

“Terrarium.” As if responding to Eddie’s internal questions, your full attention envelops him, suffocatingly, wonderfully close as you lean in. “Was gonna make it for you as a surprise, but now that you’re here… wanna make it with me?”

Eddie’s still reeling from the steadiness of your eyes on his, the soft slip of bare arm pressing against his own. With a slow, dazed head shake- “Hold on. Give me a second.”

Your turn to be patient, jar of soil held at the space where your bodies are joined, paused, lashes sweeping with each curious blink.

Eddie blows out a breath, only half-joking as he says, “Goddamn. Really unfair. Thought you promised not to get prettier?”

Compliments only land with you half the time, so when a bashful smile pulls at the edges of your pretty mouth Eddie mentally fist pumps.

“I made no such promise.” The jar is thrust into his waiting hand, and you turn to pick up your own. “This one can be for your windowsill, maybe in the kitchen? It’s gotta have some light, but not too much. If Wayne likes it, maybe you can share-”

“Not sharing shit with that man,” Eddie says, grand in his petulance. “Wayne can get his own jar of dirt.”

Your squint straightens him out. Eddie folds easy for you, always has.

“Gotta find some moss,” you say, eyes still unerringly on Eddie’s, “That’s the substrate layer. And then little plants, maybe some grass, whatever we can forage that’s small enough to fit. Oh, and isopods, if we can find ‘em.”

“Iso-what?” Eddie asked, alarmed, but you’re already standing, moving past the edge of the forest in search of terrarium treasures while he scrambles to catch up.

There’s an easy, graceful lilt to your movements when you’re outdoors, as if you’re meant to be there- moss reveals itself to you faster than Eddie would’ve thought possible. One overturned rock later and your gleeful exclamation rings bright through the woods.

“Sheet moss!”

“Oh, sheet,” he jokes, lamely, but you laugh anyways.

A circular patch of moss gets pushed into the jars. Eddie’s fingers feel bulky and clumsy in comparison to your dexterous ones, but the praise you give him once the layer is settled makes it worth it.

He happily trails after you in search of more small greenery, listening to your lengthy explanations of each new addition, huffing in amazement when you come up with the scientific name for crabgrass.

“Christ, sweetheart.” He whistles low as soon as you’re done, reaching over to brush some sticky pine needles off your hip. “So fuckin’ smart. Would’ve killed to have you as my teacher back in the day, might’ve actually graduated on time.”

“I don’t think Hawkins High has a botany program.” Your reply comes distracted, but this time it’s because Eddie’s hand has found a home on the strip of skin between your skirt and top.

He rubs a thumb into your bare hip, moss jar hanging loose from his other hand as he pulls you towards him. “Yeah. Probably for the best. I think they frown on students who sleep with teachers. Couldn’t keep my hands off’a you.”

Chin tilted to meet him halfway, you give him a real good kiss, lips soft and smooth over his, parted slightly until the thrill of your wet tongue presses into his eager one.

“Gotta show you the best part.” When you pull back, sounding a little out of breath, you slip your hand into Eddie’s and lead the way to your original spot.

Two flat metal disks are procured from your pile of things; you hold one out for Eddie in your palm, explaining as he takes it- “Made this one special for you. It goes on top, like this-” you rotate the other disk until it slides into place over your jar. “Like a lid. But I had to make my own from scrap pieces ‘cuz the original mason lids didn’t take the markings.”

Eddie flips the homemade lid over in his hands to find a five-pointed star hugged by a circle, raised and tamped by hand into the metal. He blinks up at you, in awe. “You did this?”

“Yeah, it’s-” you must misread his wonder because the words spill out like you’re nervous, fiddling with the sides of your jar like you don’t want to see his expression anymore. “It’s a pentacle. Like from your Judas Priest poster? But this one’s not upside-down like his, so I meant it more for protection and prosperity. Y’know. To help keep your little world safe. And make it grow.”

Gently, a little unsure, you clink your jar against his in the sweetest cheers he’s ever seen.

Eddie swears again, achingly in love, then spins the lid tight over his new terrarium and grins at you. “I’m gonna marry you one day.”

There’s no room for a buffer as a smile nearly splits your face in two, giggling, delighted with his affection. “Over a jar of dirt? Man, can’t wait to see what you promise me when I give you an even better gift.”

“I’ve got some ideas.” His voice pitches low, taking the jar from your hand to join his on the ground so he can wrap you up in his arms, properly. “Gonna have to come over a lot more and make sure I’m keeping it alive. Think of all those tiny ocelots depending on you.”

“Isopods,” you correct in a whisper, letting Eddie nuzzle into the crown of your hair, warm and smelling faintly of your bergamot shampoo. “And it only needs to be watered like, once a month, but I’ll come over way more than that.”

“You better.” Eddie puts on his best threatening tone. “I get crazier every hour we’re apart. Swear.”