#anyway i stand by my number one headcanon that eddie has fucked but not well!

[powderblueblood]

powder my love would u ever bless us with a hai universe cass finnigan bonus episode bc i’m an eddie-took-her-anal-virginity truther until i die and lord what i wouldn’t give to see that written in ur spectacular way…call it morbid fascination and also and as well additionally: me being a dirty fucking whore

sweets baby i've got good news and i've got bad news, eddie unfortunately did nort take cass's anal virginity (she and mikey b have been backdooring for quite some time now) but there were certain... differences that cass wasn't quite prepared for! minors dni as always fuck off, warnings for smut (anal, premature ejaculation), cass being an asshole no pun intended (but i believe she felt mad guilty after this), embarrassing sexual situations (cumming early is nothing to be ashamed of, but consider who we're dealing with), eddie feeling shitty :( part of the hellfire & ice universe

HAWKINS, INDIANA. AUGUST 1984-ISH, SOMETHING LIKE THAT

Cass Finnigan is having a weird year.

It's what she keeps saying, mostly because it's what people keep telling her-- because that's kind of Cass's bag. She listens to what people tell her with a keen ear and an open heart and not very much consideration for the consequences. She takes direction very well, according to her drama teacher and her choir director and her friend Lacy and, most importantly, her boyfriend Mikey B.

So, when Mikey B said they should take a break, she said, okay! And when her parents said they were getting a divorce, she was like, if you think that's for the best! And when her church elders told her that her parents' divorce would be seen as a blight in their otherwise idyllic Christian household, she agreed because He does know better than we do! And when Lacy said she should maybe think about hooking up with other people, on the level this time, not as a drunken extracurricular, Cass said, you are so right.

"Just for the... fourth or fifth time, are you absolutely, positively sure about this?"

That's pretty much how Cass ends up ass up in the back of Eddie Munson's van on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.

Shifting her hips back, she scoffs. It's a high, tufted sound because Cass is a high, tufted kind of girl. Definitely high right now, anyway.

"Munson. Are you seriously asking me to second guess you putting your dick in my butt?"

"Salient point. Roger that. Sorry. Just... tryin' not to be... like, a d-- a dick." Unimaginative choice of words for him. "Sorry."

Fuck Cass Finnigan's weird year. Eddie Munson is having a weird freakish immediate right now.

There he balances, floor of the van digging ridges into his kneecaps through the holes in his denim jeans. Said jeans are slung past his narrow hips, along with his boxers, the worn elastic of the waistband tucked pretty snug under his balls.

Eddie's holding his dick with consideration. Like he's about to give the little (hah!) man a pep talk.

Don't fuck this up for me, okay? When we get in there, fucking pace it out, alright? I'm serious, man. It might feel like you want to geyser out the second we squeeze on in--oh god--but be cool, okay?

Forty minutes ago, he'd met Cass in a clearing near the usual pick-up spot, one big enough that he could haul the van into. Eddie usually hated being near the orbit of Hawkins High during summer vacation--something about a work life balance--but then work comes calling and, y'know, it's kind of the most inconspicuous place in town.

Cass'd been nervous; Eddie noticed that, out of the rotating faces of that particular friend group, she'd never been saddled with the task of picking up for them before. Well, she and that Lacy chick, but Eddie had reason enough to believe she wouldn't be caught dead.

"Uh, you wanna hop in a sec?" Eddie'd hesitated, regarding the raindrops bouncing off Cass in her pink plastic parka, "It's really comin' down out there."

"Sure. Just for a sec."

Cass was twitchy, but keen. She and her big eggshell blue eyes darted around the back of his van, probably noting every flaw in the interior so she could report back to her clique later.

But then she sat all criss-cross applesauce and was like, "How's your summer vacation going?" Delivered in the clipped monotone of someone just making small talk, but delivered all the same.

They swapped a couple of same Hawkins, different day type sentiments, and stilted as it was, it wasn't entirely terrible.

Inexplicably, it made Eddie be all, "Would the lady care for a sample?" like he's a fucking weed sommelier.

Which, in a manner of speaking and if the manner is ditch weed, he kind of is.

Twenty minutes in, and Cass was already feeling it. Her blue eyes were closing into a squint and that squint kept studying him. Rolling him over in her gaze, kinda like he was one of those optical illusions she couldn't quite figure out.

Eddie, despite himself (or so he'd like to think), felt heat rising in his cheeks. Something about this had an encroaching sense of familiarity.

"What?" he mumbled, ashing the joint into an empty soda can.

Cass leaned back, heels of her palms supporting her and pushing her chest out just so. "You think I'm pretty, don't you?"

Admittedly, that kinda put a hitch in the spell she was attempting to cast. Jesus, these sweater monkeys and their indefatigable egos. Eddie's eyes involuntarily rolled. "No. I think you're a dog. The blonde hair and the perky tits do nothing for me, honestly. Soft as a monk."

Now, here would be an opportunity to volley back, to fold humor into one's foreplay like cheese into an omelette but Cass E. Finnigan, god bless her (and she is blessed), does not have her eye on Eddie's preferred ball.

"Yah, but you think I'm pretty like, you wanna..."

But he is still, fallibly, a guy edging toward kinda stoned and pliable.

"I wanna..."

And she is still, fallibly, a very hot, slightly stoned, inattentive girl.

"You wanna fuck me."

And instead of a gaze, it was more like a glaze, like a well-practiced Skinemax impression that Cass had whipped out as a party piece. She removed her pink plastic parka with unnecessarily seductive precision, and through the haze, it had occurred to Eddie that he hasn't ever really entered Cass Finnigan in his rogue's gallery of jerk-off material.

Maybe that was an oversight.

Because now, in this moment, in this ticking time bomb of a second, he's staring, like, right down the barrel of her asshole.

Dick in hand.

Eddie's hard, of course, even though he kind of feels like he shouldn't be? Not in a forbidden way that would usually get his blood thumping, hard in a way that kind of feels like an imposition. Like, there should have been more lead up to this. Like, Cass should have kissed him. Or he her. Or something.

I mean, she didn't even turn around to look at his dick. It's kinda rude.

She, right out of Penthouse Forum, just sort of flipped her skirt and shimmied her underwear and leaned forward and presented herself and demanded he get his cock out and then she was starting to sing his tune but now he's just staring at her. The back of her. Poised and peaches and cream and perfect, sure, but not for him, it doesn't feel like.

Eddie's an ill-chosen accessory here. An awkwardly misplaced lamp in a room that, yeah, apparently can benefit from a lamp. But not this lamp.

Cass's asshole is very pretty, though. Her pussy, too, from what he can see. Pink and petal-y in a way he'd never seen up close in person before. (The thing with Nicole Summers humping him on a log in out by Forest Hills a couple years back hadn't exactly been an all-you-can-eat-with-your-eyes kind of affair.) Looking at it long enough makes his tip and mouth water a touch, and looking at it too long makes Cass be all, "Are you, like, okay back there?"

Eddie opens his mouth to answer but is swiftly cut off by Cass chirping, "Oops! Oh duh, you're probably like, what is she thinking--"

Fascinatingly, without even changing position, she digs around in her fuzzy little backpack and tosses a tube of KY Jelly over her shoulder. Right. Right.

Eddie squeezes out what he considers a decent amount after whacking that tube against his palm a couple times. It comes out with a flatulent puff of air. Cass has really gone through this stuff. If Eddie were a more primitive man, he might be inclined to slap Mikey B on the back and/or ass the next time he sees him.

"Not your first rodeo, huh?" he mumbles, breath uneven, smoothing the jelly over the length of himself. His eyes flutter closed under his own touch, ceasing the rhumba of Cass Finnigan wants you to fuck her in the ass Cass Finnigan wants you to fuck her in the ass Cass Finnigan wants you to fuck her in the ass for all of a half second.

"Whut?" Cass caws.

"Nothin'. Um..." Eddie's got one ambitiously lubed up hand all of a sudden. Overshot that mark. First of many. "...can--" Jesus Christ. How to sexify this deeply unsexy yet sexy situation. "--can I touch you?"

"Um, yah."

Um, okehhh, he mockingly mirrors her faux-Valley Girl accent back to himself. See, blue sky situation, Eddie would say that back to Cass and she's think he's funny, and they'd laugh together and it'd be hot but the thing about girls like Cass is they have no sense of humor about themsel--fuck, his jellied thumb feels nice sinking into her little butthole.

"Is that," fuck his stupid fucking trembling fucking voice, "does that feel okay?"

"I can't even really, like, feel it-- oh my god, that's not your dick, is it?!" Cass, in all goddamn sincerity, starts to turn around, face all hitched in a grimace that Eddie can't stand.

"No, it's not," he says, through gritted teeth, hand extracting from her ass and resting on her cheek. "It's not my fucking dick. I thought you might need-- or want, I dunno--"

"Does it usually take this long with you? Like, guys don't usually take this long to just stick it in. You know that, right?"

Mouth gaping, Eddie feels something shrink inside him. He can't tell whether it's his ego or his faith in the Hawkins male populace (not that he had much to begin with), but he's learning more and more about the kind of world Cass Finnigan orbits in as the seconds tick by.

Kinda sad, he thinks, angling himself against her ass, kinda sucks that ol' JC or MB or whoever only lets her use the back door--

A jolt smites clean through Eddie as his leaking pink tip touches Cass's puckered pink hollow. "Hnn. Mm."

Eddie pushes just a little, mouth popping back open. He feels Cass tense from the extremely tentative, extremely light grip he's got on her hip. Again, he is like full Jekyll and Hyding in the way that he feels like he's intruding on his own sexual encounter yet completely turgid from tip to taint.

It's so weird. That joint wasn't laced with anything, was it?

"You okay?" he asks, voice a squeak of urgency.

"Yh--yah," Cass says, but there's hesitance. Like she's almost about to ask him if he's okay too.

"Mind if I--" Mind if fucking I?! What am I even fucking saying? Shit, God, please, anybody, please let her say--

"Yah, sure."

Not the begging or panting he hand in mind for his first time back here, but it'll do. Eddie, slowly, ever so carefully does it, eases himself a couple more mannerly millimeters into the confines of Cass's ass--and not to suck his own dick, but this is gonna be a tight squeeze, if it'll squeeze at all. If it'll squeeze at all, oh fuck, oh please...

With a high, sharpish gasp, Cass seems to register that fact as well.

"Holy shit."

Blonde locks go flying over her shoulder as she finally tries to angle back and get a look at that certain member of the party that was of no interest to her fifteen minutes ago. How the tables fucking turn! In doing so, she accidentally thrusts back a touch, edging the reddened tip of Eddie's cock further in--

"Shit, shit, shitshitshit!" Barely an inch inside, Eddie feels his balls constrict and his back seize.

Cass snickers in a out-of-body, near ironic kind of way before winding out some direct-to-TV type whimper that someone somewhere on some planet must find attractive. Mikey B, possibly. It sounds flat to Eddie.

If she's making fun of him (she is), he isn't in the room to hear it.

All Eddie can focus on right now is sensation. The fact that if Cass moves even the tiniest iota--

"Y'know, you can like, slap me a little or something. If you w--"

"No, I-I don't-- fuck, just-- please don't fuckin' move, please don't fuckin'--"

Too goddamn late! Cass, with whatever curious shifting she's managed to do, has Eddie's throbbing, space hopping over eager bastard of a cock popping out of her asshole. The grip Eddie has on himself does no good to stem what's coming, badum-tss. With a groan, a gasp and a shudder, a pull like an anchor aweigh from the base of his belly, Eddie spills in a few hot thick ropes.

He feels a drop or two of sweat drip from the nape of his neck as he watches his hot, white, premature cum roll in a rivulet over Cass's lower back. Oh... no.

"Um."

"I am so," Eddie hasn't even got a chance to re-regulate his breath yet, and he's feeling around him for a napkin or an old t-shirt or a flunked essay, something, "so sorry, I--"

"Ew," Cass sits up, holding her skirt aloft and batting away Eddie's pleading offer of a gym sock. Which, fair enough, ew, but it makes Eddie recoil a touch. He watches as she cleans herself up with a wet wipe she grabs from that weird little monster of a backpack purse type thing she carries.

Eddie sinks back to sit on his heels, wiping himself off with the stupid old gym sock and tucking himself away. A sourness has started to sting in his gut, that post-nut clarity hitting all the harsher thanks to Cass's tiny daggered glances at him.

He's really never not gonna be an object of disgust to someone like her, is he? He can't even breach guilty pleasure status.

"So stupid," she's muttering, readjusting her underwear and smoothing out her skirt, "Last time I ever listen to that uppity bitch..."

He's just a dare bored girls give themselves on rainy August afternoons.

"We could-- if you wanted, just gimme a sec and I--" Eddie starts before he can stop mortifying himself with his own words.

"Listen!" Cass snaps, flipping her hair, "This was a gross and egregious mistake. Like, please don't get attached just because this-- I mean, what was that, like, two seconds? Dude."

Eddie is an ant. Eddie feels two specks of dust tall in this very moment of white hot humiliation. Eddie also feels like he wants to toss something back at Cass, something about her stupid fake accent or douchebag scamming boyfriend or idiot made-up Christian overlord, but Eddie also feels too small to even be mean which is the suckiest fucking part of all this right here right now.

Instead, his lips stretch into a tight smile, condescending as he can conceivably make it. Rain's still thrumming like gunshots against the roof of the van.

"Okay. Freak show's over, honey. Better get going."

"Ugh, whatever. Not a word of this, to anyone. Understood?"

"Not exactly a lot to tell."

A scoff and a snarl sees Cass Finnigan retreat back out into the rain through the van's creaking doors, and Eddie's heart sinks even further, if possible. This is not what's meant to happen in these porno-like scenarios! He's meant to send her off with a buttload of cum probably still dripping out of her, and he's meant to feel on top of the fucking world! Not like he's thirteen years old and someone just played a shitty prank that he swore he was too smart to fall for.

Well, that's it. On Eddie Munson's good and apparently sexually repulsive name, this is the last time he intimately trifles with some airhead in-crowd girl.

Next person he's fucking is a straight up weirdo and it's celibacy 'til then. Freaks or nothing. Blood oath.

#powder room talk #munsonssweets #published by powder #e. munson by powder #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #lol. #also mikey b..... i was thinking of michael berzatto and for that i apologize. to the berzattos #shouldn't have got you involved in this #anyway i stand by my number one headcanon that eddie has fucked but not well! #he did not come out that gate swingin he came out that gate needy and unable to ask for it

[d0gdaze]

Reddie fanfic where Eddie accidentally texts Richie (or Richie to eddie) and they become internet friends and then accidentally meet irl?

doing this as headcanons because i’ll never finish it if i write a proper thing aythey’re over 18 :v

- eddie’s phone starts going off at like 2am one night and wakes him up

- it’s an unknown number and he almost just ignores it, but he’s curious so he unlocks his phone

-  >‘u awake?? kinda wanna go to that food truck’

- eddie texts back ‘sorry, i think you have the wrong number.’

- he rolls over and tries to go back to sleep but then it buzzes again

-  >‘lmaooooo but srsly did u wanna? bev wont come w me’

- ‘no seriously, you have the wrong number.’

- there’s no response for a while so he closes his eyes but just as he’s about to drift off again it starts going off

-  >‘haha’

-  >‘wait fr??’

-  >‘but this is stans new number’

-  >‘nah ur just messing w me right? stan getting off a good one ;)) anyway, food truck?? y or n’

- ‘dude this really isn’t stan lol’

-  >‘prove it’

- he turns on the lamp on his bedside table and takes a selfie with his face half buried in the pillow and sends it

- ‘not stan’

-  >’oh shit u were serious’

-  >’sorry lmao’

-  >’ur rlly cute’

-  >’whats ur name?? obviously not stan ahahaha’

- eddie is pretty awake now so like,, may as well entertain himself y’know

- ‘how do i know you’re not some old creep though :/’

-  >’oof how dare u’

-  a picture sends through, a selfie of the dude and he’s got a fuckn,, manbun and glasses and he’s sticking his tongue out and doing the ‘hang loose’ sign with his hand

-  eddie is lowkey shook bc damn

-  >’i’m richie’

- ‘eddie’

-  >’aw cute :)’

-  >’like eddie spaghetti’

- ‘no’

-  >’so what r u up to??’

- ‘well i was sleeping but not anymore..’

-  >’oh sorry for waking u up’

-  >’u can go back to sleep if u want aha’

-  >’im gonna try and find stans number anyway’

- ‘good luck with that.’

-  >’night eddie spaghetti :)

- ‘goodnight.’

- he wakes up the next morning and there’s a new message that was sent at 3am and it’s a photo of richie and someone else in front of a food truck

-  >’found stan, we got deep fried marsbars :)’

- so yeaH anyway they start texting pretty regularly for a couple weeks, usually just richie sending him photos of random things or telling him stories about stuff stan or bev did, and eddie never really has anything very interesting to say because his life is basically work and college, but richie doesn’t mind

- ‘if all you’re gonna do is send me photos you may as well have my snapchat,, it’ll be a lot easier’

-  >’haha smooth ;)’

- ‘shut up’

- so now they’re snapchatting all the time and they start up a streak

- eddie barely ever sends selfies, he’s that guy to just cover the camera or take a photo of the ceiling or a chair or something, but when he does send selfies richie screenshots all of them

- he thinks it’s kinda weird but then again he’s screenshotted a lot of richie’s selfies because he gets twenty seven of them a day

- after like three weeks richie asks when they’re gonna meet up

- eddie’s like :V because he’s still lowkey paranoid about it like this guy’s still a sTRANGER

- richie’s really chill about it he doesn’t want to pressure him into doing anything and he’s cool with just texting and stuff ((but he’s lowkey got a massive fucking crush))

- it’s been like a month and a half since they started talking and eddie is at work at the pharmacy and fuckin,,, richie walks in

- eddie freaks out and runs to another aisle and pretends to be stacking shelves for a few minutes but then

- “holy shit”

- richie’s standing there wearing the wORST outfit ever he’s got a bright pink hawaiian shirt over a tank top and neon yellow shorts and probably crocs let’s be honest and he’s like over six foot?? what??

- eddie is kinda in awe tho because somehow he’s pulling it off?

- “eddie?!”

- “h-hey”

- “you’re a lot shorter than i thought you’d be”

- “um- thanks?”

- “when do you get off? work, i mean”

- eddie just gawking and flustered beyond anything

- *voice crack* “in half an hour”

- “cool, i’ll swing back around then ;)”

- how did he say an emoji out loud wtf

- he leaves and eddie fucking trips himself up

- anYWAYS richie comes back after his shift and picks him up and they talk

- it’s kinda awkward at first because eddie’s intimidated af but it gets more comfortable after a bit and soon they’re laughing really hard

- they go to the food truck richie is somewhat obsessed with and get waffle fries

- richie posts a selfie of them on his sc story labelled ‘united at last

this is bad i ran out of ideas bsfjkda but yay

#headcanons #reddie #it 2017 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie heacanons #hcs #reddie hcs

[cryingbilldenbrough]

*kicks down your door* Prompt: Bill gets hit on by people who are not the Losers club. At first he's like ha ha funny joke, until it's not that funny anymore bc the people that tend to like Bill Denbrough, that are draw in by his charismatic aura, are always a little too zealous, take it a little too seriously & Bill is like ok. Stop this now. He's literally hand picked by the cosmic forces of Good, thats bound to attract a lot of parasitic personalities. Basically, love spell gone wrong trope.

FUCK! why u do this to me!

(send me prompts/headcanons!)

ok so yeah you’re right, bill thinks it’s funny the first few times. he’s used to being looked up to, from the way georgie spills adoration from his pores every time bill so much as ruffles his hair to the way eddie kaspbrak, eight years old and smaller than the rest of the boys in their grade, very seriously tells bill he would jump off a bridge if bill asked him to, front tooth missing. 

little richie tozier won’t look bill directly in the eyes the first time they meet, stares down at his battered converse the whole time he asks if he can go swimming with bill and eddie and stan in the quarry after school. bill assumes the kid is naturally shy until he hears the way richie rips stan a new one over the way he folds his clothes before jumping in and richie spends the afternoon trying desperately to dunk eddie and get his hair wet. 

but bill turns fifteen and wonders when hesitant admiration and brotherly love turned into whispers behind hands and eyes that track him as he walks down the hallway. 

he bends over to drop his books in his locker, sliding his english textbook in next to a copy of Catcher In The Rye that Richie lent him last week, and when he straightens there’s a senior girl leaning on the locker next to his. her bubblegum smells like strawberry and she leans forward into bill’s personal space, snapping her mouth and narrowing her eyes at his hesitance. 

“you got a date for prom, debrough?” she asks and bill shakes his head nervously. he wonders how she knows his name. 

“i-i’m only a s-s-sophomore” bill replies, eyes darting down the hallway in search of a familiar face. eddie should be getting out of chemistry any minute and rounding the corner and bill hopes desperately he didn’t get sidetracked by richie or stan.

“i’ll get you in,” she says in reply and before bill can open his mouth to respond she’s sticking a note in the front pocket of his shirt and popping her gum. “you can pick me up at eight. my dress is pink,”

bill’s mom’s eyes light up when he goes home and tells her about his date, asking tentatively if she’ll take him shopping for a suit. she pinches his cheeks and marvels at how grown-up he is and her attention is enough to make bill forget about the way the girl’s narrowed eyes had made bill feel like a cornered animal. 

the note in his pocket feels like lead and when he unfolds it, it has the senior’s telephone number written in glittery pen. she’s kissed the paper too, waxy and shiny with lipgloss that smells so strongly of mango it makes bill feel sick. he drops the note on the top of his dresser and instead of excitement, anxiety swirls in his stomach all night. 

richie finds the entire situation hilarious when bill tells the gang at lunch the next day, begging bill to tell him all about the night when he gets back. in fact, the whole group seems to find it a lot funnier than bill does, joking about bill getting drunk off punch at the dance and going to some upperclassmen party afterwards to “get in her pants, bill! well, dress”

“shut up, richie,” eddie says and bill thinks he has a friend on his side who finds the whole situation as wrong as he does but then eddie turns to him and offers to help bill pick out a corsage for her. 

the night of prom, bill gets ready alone. his mom leaves his suit hanging on the back of his bedroom door and he stares at it for half an hour, trying to psych himself up enough to try it on. his mom found a pink bowtie, pale and already tied, and hung it over the hanger and the color reminds him of the girl’s bubblegum. 

bill takes a shower, letting hot steam fill the bathroom, and then gets dressed with the door closed and the room still humid. his wet hair brushes the collar of the suit, staining the grey material dark, and he slicks it back. he fumbles the tie on, sweating in the heat, and he wipes the condensation away from the mirror. 

he looks like a kid playing dress up. his skin is smooth and unblemished, a blessing throughout puberty that he maintains he doesn’t deserve, and his suit is too big for his narrow shoulders.

bill knows there is no world where someone could mistake him for an adult, no way the senior girl is going to look at him and see anything but a teenager trying to be something he’s not. 

she picks him up in her car, an old beater that shudders when she goes over 35 mph, and her dress is a very different shade of pink than bill’s bowtie. her blonde hair is piled atop her head, curling around and framing her face and bill feels ridiculous with his wet hair and shiny shoes. 

“you want a smoke?” she asks, cracking open the window and lighting up a camel. bill’s only ever smoked with the losers, knees huddled to their chests as they hide in the clubhouse, and he shakes his head at her. he wonders for a moment who she gets to buy them for her and then remembers she’s probably eighteen and able to purchase them herself.

she smokes the entire way to the dance, only cracking the window enough to let a small amount of smoke drift out and by the time they’re pulling up to the school bill is lightheaded and drowsy. 

“i’ll let you in the side door,” she says, opening her door with a squealing sound and locking it behind her. bill takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, watching as she walks through the gym doors. she pauses and fishes a ticket out of her purse which she flashes at the teacher at the door. bill skirts around the edge of the gym, passing by drunken teens. he finds the side door and waits by it nervously, fingering his bowtie and sticking his hands deep in his pockets. 

“denbrough!” he hears and jerks his head up to see the senior girl waving him over. he jogs to her, careful not to trip in his new shoes, and makes his way into the dance. 

the gym is covered in streamers, some hanging limply and torn, and there’s a DJ blasting music through the PA. the girl leads bill towards her group of friends, a couple girls bill doesn’t recognize and their dates. he knows one of the boys is the captain of the baseball team and he regards bill with cool brown eyes. bill tries not to look weak, to look young.

for the most part, the dance is boring. the senior girl doesn’t make him dance with her, which bill is immensely thankful for because while stan offered to teach him ballroom moves, the rest of the kids seem to be grinding against each other in ways that make bill blush. the only turn in the evening comes when the girl nudges him, sticking a flask into his hands. 

“i stole some vodka from my dad’s stash” she whispers to him, somehow so loud over the thrum of the music. bill looks down at the flask in his hands, shining silver in the light of derry high school’s sad looking disco ball, and gives it back to her with a shake of his head. 

“i thought you were cool, denbrough,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. she tips the bottle back and swallows a long gulp before gasping and wincing. she downs the whole thing after a quick breath, squeezing her mascara eyes shut and sticking the flask back into her purse. her cheeks look alight already, warm and alive and bill is suddenly afraid of her. 

there’s a softening behind her eyes as the alcohol takes hold, an inhibition letting loose and bill takes a step backwards as her gaze wracks over his gray suit. she takes a step towards him, slow and almost stupid, and runs a hand through his now dry hair. it makes his bangs fall over his forehead and bill feels so young and so old at the same time. 

“you gonna be cool, denbrough?” she says, slurring just a little bit, and bill panics. her breath smells like smoke and cheap alcohol and strawberry gum and her eyes have an evil in them that bill doesn’t immediately recognize from anywhere specific but it alights a flight response in him. he backs away quickly and runs straight into a solid body. he spins and looks up to see his PE teacher standing behind him and the teacher’s eyes light up with recognition. before the man can say anything, bill is darting away. 

he runs out through the front doors, past the history teacher taking tickets and past the seniors who shout rude things at his pale face. 

he considers going back to the senior girl’s car, to at least have somewhere to hide and calm down, but remembers she locked it. he doesn’t want to be anywhere near her anyway, so afraid of the infatuation in her eyes, so he runs for the road instead. his house is only a few blocks away, anyway. 

then he remembers the look on his mom’s face when he told her about the dance, and figures going home now would only disappoint her. he’s disappointed her enough. 

he finds himself turning down stan’s street. the houses look big and empty in the moonlight, windows dark and dead. the trees whisper in the wind, leftover chill from the winter that has just ended. bill wraps his arms tight around himself, wishing he thought to bring a jacket to wear over his suit, and scuffs his shoes on the ground as he turns down stan’s driveway.

the uris house is still light, homey and inviting, and bill doesn’t even ring the doorbell. the front door isn’t locked anyway, not on a night like tonight, and bill lets himself in silently. he deposits his shoes on the rug next to the door and slinks down the hall to stan’s room. 

he doesn’t knock, afraid to disturb the weird peace that is settled over stan’s home, and enters without warning. stan is asleep, curled up with his spine facing bill, and he shucks his jacket off and sets it on stan’s desk chair. he sinks down onto the floor at the foot of stan’s bed and waits for stan to wake naturally. 

“bill? is that you?” stan’s voice is rough from sleep, croaking out quietly. he sits up and bill turns to look at him. his skin is smooth, pale in the light that shines through his bedroom window, and he looks young. he looks as young as bill feels and it’s weirdly comforting. “dance didn’t go well?” stan asks, rubbing his eyes. 

bill considers lying. he’s sure he would have if stan were richie. he would have made up some story about making out with the senior girl in the back of her beater if it meant richie would laugh and call him an animal. but stan’s eyes are warm and bill feels weak and alone. 

he shakes his head, loosens his tie, and looks down at his socked feet. stan tuts his tongue and waits a beat before bill hears him slap the bed next to him. 

“well, climb up,” stan says and bill doesn’t hesitate. he untucks his shirt and takes it off, leaving him in just his undershirt. stan’s wearing a set of matching pajama pants that look incredibly soft and bill leaves his slacks on. he doesn’t care if they get wrinkled because he has no desire to ever wear them again. 

“what happened?” stan asks, voice quiet. bill tells him all about the night, about the girl basically propostitioning him drunkenly. stan doesn’t say anything for a long time. 

“should i have wanted to?” bill asks finally, turning on his side to regard stan in the darkness. stan furrows his brow and looks incredibly considering and bill loves when his friends do things seriously for him. 

“that’s up to you, bill,” stan responds and bill sighs. he snuggles further into stan’s sheets, letting his friend’s familiar scent wash over him and cleanse every memory of the girl’s strawberry gum from his nostrils.  

“i just wish people didn’t want things from me all the time,” bill says to the open air, curling his toes into stan’s sheets. stan doesn’t respond and bill turns to see him asleep already, eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. time has stolen the freckles from his nose and bill misses them, misses the way they got darker in the summer sun. 

bill falls asleep with stan’s breath blowing over his face and vows to never trust admiration ever again. 

#bill denbrough #FUCK IVE MADE MYSELF SAD #this turned out very different than i thought it would so like sorry?? #stenbrough #kind of #my writing