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lavender-vixen · 3 months ago

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What would Henry do if he found out his crush was one of the losers’ older sister? Let’s go with Eddie’s older sister. ALSO I love your most recent story, please do more! 🫡

"You’re a Kaspbrak?" (Henry Bowers x Eddie’s Older Sister!Reader)

Henry didn’t believe it at first. He heard the name. Kaspbrak. He felt it in his mouth, muttered it under his breath, let it sit on his tongue like something rotten, something wrong. It didn’t fit you. Didn’t fit the way you stood, weight shifted to one hip, all confidence and sharp smiles and that way you looked at him. Like you weren’t afraid of him. Like you weren’t supposed to be afraid of him. Now it was clear as day.

Now he was staring at you in the dim light behind the school, cigarette burning down between his fingers, heart hammering like a drum. And he felt sick.

"You’re a fucking Kaspbrak?"

You just blinked. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like this wasn’t the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him. "Uh. Yeah?"

Henry let out a sharp laugh. Shook his head. His stomach churned. His jaw clenched. Because this wasn’t just some random girl. This wasn’t just some pretty thing he could fuck around with, mess with, toss away when he got bored.

This was Eddie fucking Kaspbrak’s sister. That pathetic, whiny little freak. That useless, pathetic waste of space. Now Henry wanted to put his hands on you? Now he wanted to kiss you, touch you, maybe even keep you? Now he wanted to let you get away with shit no one else could?

No. Fuck no. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t. Then Henry was a joke. And Henry Bowers was nobody’s joke.

Days passed. He avoided you. Tried to. Didn’t work. Because you were always there. Like you were daring him. Like you were waiting for him to make a move.

When you finally cornered him behind the bleachers, hands on your hips, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. "Take it easy on my little brother."

The words hit him like a train. Henry scoffed. Flicked his cigarette. "What, you got some kinda death wish? You think you can just ask me that?"

You didn’t waver. Didn’t blink. "I know I can."

Henry hated that. Hated that you weren’t scared. Hated that you had the guts to tell him what to do. Hated that he didn’t want to shove you off him, tell you to fuck off, end this right now.

Instead, he found himself gritting his teeth, exhaling slow, muttering—"Yeah. Fine. Whatever."

And then he stormed off before you could see just how much he hated himself for saying it.

His boys didn’t buy it. Patrick was the first to speak.

"That was bullshit, right?"

Henry didn’t answer.

Patrick smirked. "C’mon, Bowers. You’re really gonna go soft ‘cause some girl with nice tits told you to?"

Henry shoved him. Hard. Patrick laughed, but he shut up. Because Henry was dead serious.

But he wasn’t soft with you. Not in the way they thought. Not in the way he thought, either. Because yeah, maybe he quit smoking around you, because you told him it made you sick. And yeah, maybe he didn’t go out of his way to trip Kaspbrak in the halls anymore.

And yeah, maybe he let you sit in his car, let you talk about whatever you wanted, let you take up space in his head. But he didn’t take you home. He didn’t let you see Butch. Didn’t let Butch see you.

Not even when Butch asked. "Where you been sneaking off to, boy?"

Henry just shrugged, didn’t answer, didn’t even look up from the dinner table. Butch didn’t like that. Didn’t like it when Henry kept things from him. Didn’t like it when Henry had things of his own. But Henry wasn’t giving this up. Not for him. Not for anyone.

Henry laughed anyway. If he didn’t, he might actually have to deal with the fact that you meant something to him. And that was a nightmare.

And if Henry was going down for it, then he was taking you with him.

Eddie knew. He had known for weeks now. Had known since he saw you climb into Henry’s car, since he saw the way Bowers looked at you, since he heard Patrick Hockstetter crack some disgusting joke in the school parking lot.

Had known and had been praying—praying—that it wasn’t true. Tonight, Eddie had finally had enough. So when you slipped back into the house late, sneakers barely making a sound on the carpet, thinking everyone was asleep—Eddie was already waiting.

Sitting in the dark, hands clenched into fists, voice shaking as he spat—"How the fuck could you do this to me?"

"Eddie—"

"Don’t."

His voice was sharp, angry, unlike anything you’d ever heard from him before. He was breathing fast, his little chest rising and falling too quick, like he was about to have a panic attack.

"Do you even know what you’re doing? Do you even know what kind of person he is?"

You sighed, ran a hand through your hair, tried to keep calm. "Yeah, Eddie. I do."

That was the wrong thing to say. Suddenly, Eddie was on his feet, shaking, screaming at you—"Then you’re just as fucking crazy as he is!"

Henry could see it from a mile away. Could see Eddie losing his shit, could see the way you looked shaken, could see the way you hesitated before walking into school the next morning.

Henry didn’t like that. Didn’t like Eddie talking to you like that, didn’t like you coming to school with that look on your face, like maybe you were thinking about ending this, like maybe you were thinking about leaving.

So when Eddie Kaspbrak walked past him in the hall that day, eyes burning with pure rage—Henry grabbed him. Hard.

Shoved him up against the lockers, held him there, leaned in close. "You don’t tell her what to do, Kaspbrak."

Eddie gritted his teeth, his tiny hands balling into fists at his sides. "You don’t fucking deserve her."

Henry just laughed. "Yeah? Well, I got her anyway, so what the fuck does that say about you?"

And when Eddie tried to swing, tried to throw a punch that barely even grazed his jaw, Henry just grabbed his wrist, squeezed way too hard, grinning as Eddie yelped in pain.

"Try that again, little man, and I swear to God—"

"Henry!" Your voice cut through the hallway, sharp, panicked, furious.

Henry let go. Only because you were there. Only because he didn’t want to scare you off. Not yet. Not when he was this close to having you for real.

That was the same week his father found out. Henry knew it would happen eventually. It was so much worse than he expected. It happened in the worst way.

Henry didn’t think his old man knew shit. But he did. And that made Henry furious.

It happened in the living room, same as always. Butch sitting in his recliner, smoking, bottle of whiskey half-empty on the table, the static drone of the TV filling the silence. Henry had barely gotten through the front door when Butch spoke.

"I know about the girl."

Henry froze. Fingers curling into fists at his sides. "What?"

Butch took a long drag from his cigarette. Didn’t even look up. "The Kaspbrak girl. The one you been sneakin’ around with. Don’t be stupid, boy."

Henry snorted. "Right. Thanks for the advice, Dad."

Butch kept going. "Don’t you dare get her pregnant. You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever—"

"No. Not whatever." Butch finally looked up, eyes dark, dangerous. "You knock her up, you’re out of my house. Done. You figure your own shit out. I ain’t dealin’ with it."

Henry felt something snap. "Like I’d give a fuck."

Butch exhaled slow. Then he stood up. And before Henry could blink, before he could mouth off again—Butch grabbed him by the shirt. Shoved him hard, back slamming against the kitchen wall. Not enough to really hurt. But enough to make a point. Enough to remind him who was in charge.

Henry saw red. So he did what he always did. He fought back.

The fight was short, ugly, pointless. Henry threw a punch. Butch blocked it, shoved him again, barked something about ‘respect.’ Henry spat on the floor. Then he grabbed his keys and left.

Didn’t look back. Didn’t care. He just got in his car. And drove. Because there was only one place he wanted to be right now.

It was late. Your house was quiet, lights off, everyone sleeping. Henry parked on the street. Sat there for a minute, breathing hard, gripping the steering wheel. Then he climbed out. And up.

Your balcony wasn’t hard to reach. He’d done it before. And when he knocked—sharp, impatient, needing—You were already awake. Already at the window, looking at him with wide, confused eyes.

"Henry?"

"Come with me."

Your stomach tightened. "Where?"

"Just come." His voice was low, rough. Begging, but in that Henry Bowers kind of way.

You didn’t ask questions. Didn’t argue. Just grabbed your jacket. And followed him.

The car ride was silent. Tense. Henry drove too fast, too reckless, hands gripping the wheel like he wanted to strangle something. You watched him. Waited. Didn’t push.

And when he finally pulled up to the quarry, killed the engine, just sat there—breathing hard, staring out at nothing—You knew. Something had happened. Something bad. And you knew exactly how to get his mind off it.

It started fast. Fingers gripping. Mouths crashing. Teeth, tongue, heat.

You barely got the words "Henry, are you okay?" out before he was pulling you into his lap, hands sliding under your shirt, voice all low and rough and desperate.

"Just shut up, baby."

So you did. You shut up. And let him take. Because that’s what he needed. That’s what you both needed. And in the backseat of Henry’s car, windows fogged, bodies tangled, breathless and wanting, nothing else mattered.

Not Eddie. Not Butch. Not this town. Just this. Just him. Just you.

After, it was quiet. Not awkward. Just quiet. You curled up against him, head on his chest, his arm slung lazily over you, the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke thick in the air.

Henry was distant. Eyes staring out the window, lost in something else. You traced slow circles on his skin. Watched him.

"You okay?"

It took him a second. Then he exhaled. Long. Slow. Ran a hand through his hair. "I just can’t wait to get the hell out of Derry."

His voice was flat, tired. But then he glanced down at you. And smirked. "With you."

Your heart skipped. You realized he meant it. Henry meant it. That scared you more than anything. Henry Bowers didn’t make promises. Now he was making one.

And if he meant it, then you were in way too deep.

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