#there is something about seeing richie tozier and going “hes so me” that warps the preteen/new teen mind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

just-jordie-things · 3 years

Text

Insecurities - Richie Tozier

word count: 4319 warnings: swearing summary: Richie’s greatest fear is not being good enough for her- and It knows to use that against him ___

Richie Tozier loved his girlfriend. He idolized her, he prioritized her, and every day that he was with her felt like a miracle. She was his favorite person, the light of his life, and he was so goddamn in love with her that it consumed his entire being.

Thing was, (y/n) was out of his league, and his friends and peers reminded him of it, every, fucking, day. Either with a joke about how he landed a girl like that, or a comment about how she’ll find someone better too. His friends weren’t purposefully being assholes, and they never knew how deep their words could cut into Richie. But he’d never told them how insecure he really was.

(y/n) never thought anything of it. She loved Richie and that’s all that mattered. He made her happier than she ever could have imagined herself being in this town. In this dreary place she lived, he managed to be a ray of spontaneity and sun that she was grateful for every day. She longed to tell him how much she loved him, she’d never gathered the courage to say it before, but always felt the words burning in her throat. She knew her friends were teasing, and never second guessed them or Richie’s feelings about it.

That is, until Neibolt. ___

“This, is a bad fucking idea” Richie had muttered into her ear when they’d walked onto the property.

She wasn’t sure if it was out of annoyance for wasting a day that they could have spent at the arcade, or out of his own fear for trekking into the obviously haunted house.

If it was fear, she knew he wouldn’t say anything about it. So instead, she grabbed his hand and gave him a smile.

“But it’ll make for a great story!” She’d declared.

(She has a tendency to reprimand him on his idiotic ideas, and he always argued that he would have a good story to tell later. So when she repeated his words back to him, he glared a bit)

(y/n) winked, before giggling because Richie always made a funny face when she winked at him. After dating her for a year or so, he has never gotten used to the sight of her winking at him.

But then again, a part of him was still in disbelief that she was his girlfriend and she was winking at him.

He tugged her closer to his side by her hand as they walked into the house.

“Oh, gross” Eddie winced, and continued to complain the further they walked into the hall.

The clubs’ steps gradually slowed.

“What the fuck?” Richie hissed, eyes narrowing while he looked around. “This is a fucking crackhouse-“

He stopped abruptly when there was a loud creaking, and the whole group froze in place. They went silent, ears on alert for the next haunting sound.

Richie’s hand tightened around (y/n’s), making sure that she was secure at his side. She looked up at him, brows furrowed a bit, clearly conflicted about Bill’s plan.

Another creak sounded, and her eyes shot towards the sound, just in time to see a door slowly swinging open. To their surprise, no one, or nothing, appeared in the doorway. It only revealed an empty room.

When Mike took a few tentative steps towards it, (y/n’s) feet also began to move, as if on instinct, her brain told her not to let her friend investigate alone.

“(y/n)” Richie called for her in a hushed voice as she pulled her hand out of his hold.

She glanced back at him as if to say ‘I’m alright’, and then moved swiftly on the tips of her toes up to Mike. They shared a look, before nodding their heads, and walking into the room.

As she examined the old run-down bedroom, she felt her heartbeat steady, as did her breathing. The floorboards were worn and creaky, and the walls had indescribable stains on them, but there was nothing more to it.

“It’s just old” Mike said, a similar expression of relief on his face.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” (y/n) looked back out to their friends to assure them that they were safe. “It was nothing-“

Before the word could even leave her mouth, the door creaked again, and slammed shut before anyone could move.

“(y/n)!” Richie was the first to leap to action, but by the time he’d gotten to the door, it was already locked. And no matter how much he yanked and pulled on the rusty knob, it would not budge.

She was pounding her fists against the other side of it, and from the sounds of it, he was pretty sure Mike was trying to kick the door down from the other side.

“(y/n)! (y/n) it’s gonna be fine! I’m gonna get you out!” RIchie hollered, enlisting in the help of Bill and Beverly in trying to kick open the door.

But even as everyone was kicking, it was no use. The door would rattle in it’s frame, and not crack even a little bit.

“It’s It!” Beverly declared, trying to get the boys to halt in their frantic kicking before they hurt themselves. “Guys- Richie- we won’t be able to break it open, it’s like- cursed, or something”

He didn’t want to give up that fast, he wanted to keep kicking this door until his shoes were worn through and his feet were bruised, until (y/n) was free.

“It’s alright!” (y/n) called from the room. “Mike found a part of the wall that’s caved in, we’re gonna try to break through it to the other side of the hall, okay?”

“W-we’ll meet you o-over there” Bill said, already heading around the corner of the hallway with Stan. Even though it was clear she’d only been informing one person.

“Richie,” She spoke again. “Go on, I’ll be fine, Mike’s here with me, I’ll see you in a couple minutes, okay?”

She was trying so hard to keep her voice brave, but he could hear it begin to crack, even through the door.

“I’m not fucking leaving you-”

“Richie, go, I don’t want you standing alone out there,” (y/n) ordered. “I gotta go help Mike with the wall, see you in a minute”

He could barely hear her footsteps take off, and then leaned forward to press his ear against the wood, hoping to hear them breaking through with ease. But now he couldn’t hear a thing.

Richie spun around, about to alert Eddie and Ben how oddly enough he couldn’t hear their friends tearing through a wall.

But Eddie and Ben weren’t there.

“Guys?” Richie hollered, breaking into a jog in hopes to catch them around the corner, where Mike and (y/n) were supposed to meet everyone.

But no one was there either.

“Hello!? Guys!? Where’d you go!?”

He began to yell a bit louder now, rushing around anywhere he could in search of his friends, but he hadn’t found, or even heard anyone. How had they abandoned him so fast? Didn’t they notice?

“Richie?” A scratchy but familiar voice called from behind him.

He turned on his heel and was instantly relieved at the sight of (y/n).

“Oh, thank fucking god” He breathed out heavily, taking swift steps towards her.

She, however, took a sharp step backwards.

“Don’t come any closer” She snapped, and Richie froze on the spot.

“W-what-?”

“Stay the fuck back!” She screeched now, so loud that the harsh words echoed down the halls. They seemed to ring in Richie’s ears for a lifetime.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” He asked worriedly. But he did as she asked, and didn’t move any closer to her. “Did something happen-?”

“Jesus Richie fuck off!” She snarled now, and if that wasn’t shocking enough, she stormed up to him, and shoved him against his chest with both hands, mustering all the force she could.

Richie stumbled until he tripped over his feet and fell to the ground. He couldn’t believe she was strong enough to push him to the ground like that. (y/n) wasn’t frail by any means, but she shouldn’t have been able to knock him down with such ease.

“Blabber and hover- blabber and hover with you!” She was yelling down at him now, and Richie pushed himself up on shaky arms.

This was incredibly unlike her-

“You can never just leave me the hell alone! Can you!?” She went on, voice booming unnaturally with each bark. “Always on my ass, always crowding me!”

If he wasn’t so afraid, he would have noticed how with every word, her teeth turned more ragged, and sharper.

“Do you think I enjoy it? Being stuck with you? It’s a goddamn burden! I can’t stand to be around you- I fucking hate you Richie Tozier!”

“Y-you’re not- this isn’t-” He could barely speak his throat was burning so bad from holding back tears.

This couldn’t be (y/n)... (y/n) would never…

“What, I’m not real?” The word came out in a vicious snarl, and suddenly she warped into another figure.

He wasn’t sure if this one was worse.

“You piece of shit!” Henry Bowers barked. “Haven’t I told you to stay the fuck out of this town!?”

Richie lunged himself backwards, trying to crawl away from this horrible nightmare as fast as possible. But the more he tried to scurry away, the worse the image in front of him became.

“You’re a freak!” (y/n) screamed in his face again. “You’re a loser, Richie. You think anyone would want to be with you?”

He couldn’t breathe- the tears- the panic- it all welled up inside of him and he knew he was going to explode soon.

“This isn’t real, you’re not real, you’re not her”

“Aren’t I though?” Her voice dropped to a haunting whisper, and she leaned in close to him. “Aren’t I!?” She screamed.

Richie closed his eyes, shaking his head rapidly and hoping that when he opened them again, she’d be gone, and he’d wake up in his bedroom. This was just one terrible fucking nightmare, it’ll be over soon-

“The real (y/n) doesn’t have the guts to fucking tell you” She snarled, reminding him of his reality.

“Stop it!” Richie yelled, unable to hold back his tears any longer.

“She’s never been able to speak up and say-”

“Go away!” He begged, voice cracking in desperation.

“She knows she’s too good for you, and let’s face it fuckface, I am too good for you”

He didn’t have it in him to beg It to leave him alone, as he broke down sobbing into his hands, enduring the cuel wrath.

“She hates you, for dragging her down, for hanging off of her like a dog,” Her tone slowly warped into something more squeaky, and masculine, until she wasn’t exactly the image of (y/n) anymore. “Ohhh… she haaates you Richie”

When he dared to look, he was met with the gruesome sight of a circus clown. A rather large circus clown.

“But you can stay, Richie, you can float with us!”

“No- no…. no no no!”

He covered his face again as he pleaded and wept uncontrollably. He wished that It would just get it over with, because he couldn’t take this torture anymore.

“Richie!” A voice screamed. Not the scream that he’d heard just moments ago, but a worried shriek.

Even still, he kept his hands planted safely over his eyes. It couldn’t get in his face if he couldn’t see the form it had taken.

“Richie- Richie,” The voice panted again, this time soft, and close to his ear. “Hey, it’s me” She murmured.

Gentle hands grasped onto his wrists, and pulled on his arms until he revealed his face.

He was met with the concerned eyes of his girlfriend, her brow so furrowed there were lines on her forehead, and a pout on her lips that he’d never seen there before.

“Babe,” She whispered so soft he was certain that he’d imagined that too. “What happened?”

He flinched when she reached for him, and the action shattered her heart to pieces, but she tried her best not to show it. Tentatively, she reached her hand out to place against his cheek, pulling her sleeve over her palm to wipe away the flow of tears.

“You’re- are you-”

“I’m real,” She nodded, beginning to realize what had happened. “It’s me, promise”

His eyes wandered her features unsurely, and she sighed.

“Do you want me to prove it?” She murmured, and began to speak before he could even nod his head. “On our first date, you called me sweet cheeks, and then got so embarrassed about it that you tripped and dropped your ice cream” There was a weak smile on her lips at the memory, hoping that it would be enough to calm Richie down.

He let out a shaky whimper, before surging forward and wrapping his arms around her torso. He held her so tightly that she had to control her breaths, but it was alright because he believed her and things were going to be okay.

“It’s alright,” She cooed into his ear as he cried into the crook of her neck. “I know, it’s awful”

One of his hands cradled the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. The other was fisting the material of her jacket. He couldn’t speak, he was crying so hard, ut it was enough to know that she was here right now.

(y/n) rubbed his back in soothing circles as she held him for a few moments longer, until she knew it was time to go, and pulled away.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here,” She whispered, wiping his opposite cheek tenderly. “Eddie broke his arm” She told him as she helped him to his feet, and intertwined their fingers as they raced out of Neibolt.

The others, besides Eddie, were standing in the front yard.

Eddie was being shoved into his mother’s car, while Mrs K was scolding their friends.

“I knew my boy shouldn’t be playing with the likes of you all,” She rambled, snarling at Beverly in particular. “This is all your fault. All your fault! I hope your proud of yourselves for maiming my boy!”

She stormed off to her car, and Eddie could barely wave out the window before she’d driven off.

“I know where It is,” Bill spoke after a beat passed. “And n-next time we’ll come p-prepared”

Richie’s eyes widened before glaring at the boy, finding it ridiculous that he thought it was a good idea to not only come back, but to come back and retaliate.

“No next time, Bill!” Stan begged, shaking his head.

“We have to,” Beverly said. “Ben, you said so yourself, It comes back every twenty-seven years-”

“Fine! I’ll be forty and far away from here!” He answered.

With his words, a layer of tension settled over the group.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t save Georgie,” Richie grumbled, pulling away from (y/n) to head to his bike. “But you can still save yourself” He finished, brushing past Bill’s shoulder.

“N-no,” Bill stammered, pushing Richie back by the shoulder. “T-take it back!”

“Face the truth, Bill! You’re chasing a lie-!”

He couldn’t even finish before Bill pushed harder, and swing a fist against Richie’s cheek.

“Bill!” (y/n) screeched, leaping forward to break them up before something could happen.

She grabbed Richie by the elbow before he could land a punch, and yanked him back while Mike grabbed a secure hold on Bill.

“Face it! We’re losers! That’s it!” Richie snarled.

He shrugged (y/n’s) hold off of him, and her eyes shot to his, broken, and hurt.

“I’m going home. I don’t want to get fucking killed too” He muttered, and when he stormed off to his bike, Bill didn’t stop him this time.

“R-Richie?” (y/n) called brokenly, stumbling forward on wobbly legs, but it didn’t matter, he was already zooming down the street as fast as he could.

Before she could crumpe to the ground, Beverly grabbed a hold of her, hugging her against her side comfortingly.

It was silent as everyone dispersed, barely giving each other a second glance as they rode off.

Beverly hugged (y/n) tight before she got on the back of Bill’s bike. Murmuring a soft, ‘see you later’ that (y/n) wasn’t quite convinced of.

She didn’t have the energy in her to bike home, but the only other option was to sit outside Neibolt, alone, and the sun was beginning to set, so she gathered what little strength she had left in her to slowly make her way home. ___

When she came home past dinner, covered in muck and bruises, her parents barely batted an eye. Even as she let out a soft cry with every step up the stairs, it was like they tuned her out completely.

It had thrown her around like a ragdoll after she tried to defend Eddie. As brave as she’d tried to be, she’d been terrified, shaking straight down to the bone as she forced herself to stand in front of him.

The demonic clown had simply swing an arm, and sent her tumbling across the ground.

It took a long shower to get all the dirt scraped off her skin. But even as it was washed down the drain, the memories of this afternoon would haunt her for life.

Maybe Bill was right. Maybe It needed to be stopped now, before he could just keep coming back and traumatizing a new generation of children every thirty or so years. But even if she really wanted to kill the creature, she wouldn’t even know where to begin. And her brain was already swarmed with a worse thought,

Was Richie done with me?

She sniffled a bit at the idea, but wiped her eyes before they could be filled with tears.

No, he was just angry, and scared, he would never… he wouldn’t just leave like that… would he?

A few knocks on her window made her jolt up in bed, nerves spreading throughout her body like electricity. She instantly thought that It had found her, and was back to finish what he’d started.

But as she rushed to turn on the lamp sitting on her bedside table, her muscles relaxed to see it was only Richie, waiting rather impatiently for her to unlock her window.

She threw the covers off of her, and moved as quickly as she could to let him in.

As soon as she pushed the window upwards, he was crawling in, oddly silent.

“Hey,” She murmured, not wanting to alert her parents downstairs that her boyfriend had snuck in.

He’d done so a million times before, and they’ve never gotten caught, but today was a rather awful day and she didn’t want to have one more thing ruined.

“Are you feeling be-”

“We need to talk” Richie mumbled, effectively cutting her off with the upsetting words.

“O-Okay…” (y/n) answered, trying not to jump to conclusions. “What… about..?” She asked slowly.

“I think-” He started to speak quickly, but just couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.

He couldn’t even look her in the eyes.

“We- we should- we need to break up”

It was like her heart plummeted right out of her body, sending every nerve to go numb. She had to have heard him wrong- this wasn’t like Richie- maybe this wasn’t even the real-

“I- I want to break up” He added in an even quieter voice. She caught the crack in his words, and she shook her head in confusion.

“What?” She could barely manage to say the one word.

“I know you heard me,” Richie sighed, eyes finally flickering up to hers. “Come on (y/n) don’t make this any more difficult than it-”

“You’re the one being difficult!” She whisper-hissed, eyes widening a bit in frustration. “What are you doing? Wh- why are you-”

“Come on,” Richie whispered. “Don’t do that-”

“Give me one reason why we should break up” (y/n) crossed her arms. She wasn’t going to let him walk away that easy. Something was up, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

“We’re not a good fit, alright?” He answered, volume raising a bit above his previous murmur. “We don’t work, and I was a fucking idiot to think that we would”

“Richie…” (y/n) sighed in disbelief.

“You wanted an answer-”

“Where is this coming from?” She asked with a shake of her head. “I know you don’t really want to break up-”

“Well we have to!” He yelled, and they were both silent for a minute, trying to see if her parents had heard him.

When there was no response from downstairs, she snapped back at him.

“Why?” She stressed the word, desperate for him to just fess up whatever it was that was bothering him.

“Why? Do you even have to ask, (y/n)?” Richie asked.

Her eyebrows knitted together as he spoke in such a harsh tone. Richie never talked to her like that.

“Look at me, (y/n)! I mean, come on, it was only a fucking matter of time before you got bored and realized how much of your time you’ve wasted on me!”

If she’d thought him trying to break up was horrible, this was even worse.

“Oh, Rich-”

“I’m a loser, (y/n), don’t you see that? Don’t you see how terrible for you I am?”

He was breaking her heart with every word.

“Haven’t you heard them? What people say? What our own friends say?” He asks her, but she doesn’t answer, because she can’t. “I am dragging you down with every second of being with you”

“N-no-” She can’t hardly choke out the word, but Richie vents on anyways.

“Might as well just end things now, before one of us gets hurt”

He turns around, as if to head back out her window, but (y/n’s) faster. She wedges herself in between his body, shutting and locking the window before he could just walk away.

“No, s-stop running away,” She cried, and when she looks up at him, she realizes that he can’t look at her because he’s crying too. “Richie,” She whimpers, shaky hands reaching up to cup his face, making him look down at her. “That’s not true, none of that is true-”

“It is” He replies, brokenly.

She shakes her head, and steps closer to him.

“It lied to you,” She tells him. “I know It probably told you some terrible, nasty things,”

Richie squeezes his eyes shut, and the next thing he knows, he’s falling to his knees. But (y/n) follows, kneeling down with him and shuffling even closer.

“But babe,” She murmured, “It was lying, it was all a trick”

She could feel his tears slipping down his cheeks and over her fingers.

“I just- I don’t want to drag you down-”

“Drag me down?” She repeats in a whisper, thumbs stroking away his tears once more. “Richie,” His eyes open when she says his name, soft and sweet-like.

She pushes his glasses up on top of his mess of curls so she can swipe away the tears under his eyes.

“You do nothing but lift me up,” She tells him. “You’re my ray of sunshine in this terrible fucking town,” An anxious and uncertain smile trembles on her lips. “And all those things you’re so worried about, I love about you,”

There’s a pause as her eyes flicker between his, before gently placing his glasses back on his nose.

“I’m in love with you,” She murmurs. “I love you so much,” She repeats in a sigh, just in case he didn’t hear her the first time. “So much”

A short breath of a laugh escapes him, and a small smile begins to tug on his lips as he looks at her. He knows she means it, he can feel it, he can see it in her eyes that she’s being genuine.

He takes her hands from his face, setting them gently in her lap before cupping her face in his own hands.

“I love you too” He tells her, and before he can lean in, she’s shooting forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting her lips on his firmly.

It’s unlike any other kisses they’ve shared. It’s desperate, and careful, and loving, and conveyed every last drop of fear that they’d had in losing each other. She’s kissing him so passionately that her chest is heaving, but she can’t bear to pull away now.

Richie holds her in his lap, and she’s wrapped up in his arms so securely that she’s sure, and she hopes, she’ll never be able to get out of them.

When her lips are swollen and her lungs are burning for oxygen, she finally leaned back slightly, but only by a few centimeters.

“You can’t leave me,” She tells him through heavy breaths. Her eyes are still closed, but he’s staring intently at her anyways. “I need you too much- don’t leave me”

He nods in agreement, caressing her cheek affectionately.

“Okay,” He hums, and kisses her lips chastely. “I won’t… I won’t”

She falls forward, and embraces him tightly.

Richie’s arms wind around her lower back again, and they sit for a long time like this, catching their breath and holding onto one another firmly, so that neither can leave.

“We have to go back” Richie says after a long time.

“I know” She murmurs against his neck.

“We have to kill that fucking clown” He says, voice dropping it’s gentle tone, turning hard, and final.

“I know” She repeats, the same vengeful tone in her own voice.

Nothing was ever going to come between them again, that was for sure.

___

taglist: @thegr8kush

xoxo ~ jordie

#it 2017 #it 2019 #richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier scenario #richie tozier fanfiction #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #bill hader #bill hader x reader

933 notes · View notes

lluvguts · 3 years

Text

all better // reddie

pairing: teen!richie tozier / eddie kaspbrak

genre/warnings: fluff and angst, trauma, h/c

word count: 2111

summary: Eddie has a bad day and Richie does his best to cheer him up.

check out my ao3

It’s just Richie’s front door.

But no amount of convincing worked for Eddie’s mind as the sight of it warped into the small door in the sewer...With the grotesque face of the leper staring back at him. As he stared at the Tozier’s oak door he swore he saw a thick trickle of blood seep from the threshold and hear the sound of sickly, rasping breath from inside the hollow door. Just a few more moments and he’d be face to face with It..

It’s dark out, he told himself. That’s why I’m seeing things. But I’m here, Richie’s here. I’m safe. No need to be scared.

But that didn’t stop the nightmares that assailed him all night long—ever since they defeated It—keeping Eddie wide awake and strangled in worry for what could be lurking in the murky blackness outside. Eddie’s mother had caught on to his insomnia since the first week, making him take all sorts of supplements and medicine claiming to be a “sleep aid.” They did nothing to keep the images at bay. The noises. He only slept well on nights when Richie snuck over, or when Eddie drove to his house.

Richie could never know.

Eddie shook his head and knocked again. His eyes searched the window with its drawn curtains. I did tell him I’m coming, right?

But then the lock swung back and the door opened, showing the face that soothed all his worries. Richie grabbed Eddie’s arm and brought him in for a hug. He was suddenly pulled into Richie’s open chest and the familiar stink of cigarettes and black tea consumed him. It was a bold and comforting smell, one that Eddie loved. It made his nerves settle and for Eddie was unmistakably Richie Tozier.

“You look like shit, Eds,” Richie held him tightly, “On the phone you said it was a bad day, right?”

Eddie nodded against his shirt and they pulled away. I’m not entirely wrong. It was a bad day. He just doesn’t need to know exactly why. And that was the great thing about Richie: he didn’t need an explanation. He was more than happy to let his boyfriend curl up in his arms, his face still burning from fearful tears while Richie whispered little jokes or Voices in his ear until Eddie wiped his eyes and laughed. Most of the time they weren’t even funny.

“That’s alright, Eds. I’ll fix us some dinner, yeah?”

“You can cook?” Eddie followed Richie into the kitchen and sat on an island chair.

Richie pouted at him, his lower lip sticking out. “Don’t be hateful, sweetheart. Of course the Trashmouth can cook.”

“What’s on the menu then, Chef Tozier?”

“You’ll see.” Richie laughed and rummaged through the pantry.

Eddie glanced around the empty kitchen, not a single sound filled the house—except of course for Richie banging around looking for a stove pot.

“No parents?"

"Nope. My folks are out of town for the weekend, some family thing.” Richie said, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand.

“And they left you alone?” Eddie asked, unable to help the smile that drifted into his voice.

“I’m seventeen. I don’t need constant supervision.” Richie growled.

Eddie pointed to him. “Yet you were about to pour marinara sauce into a pasta strainer.”

“Okay, scratch that. I’ll always need you, Eddie my love...Plus I promised them I wouldn’t burn the house down.”

“What on Earth are you doing with all that?” Eddie caught sight of two boxes of macaroni, lettuce, and red sauce.

He tried to stifle his giggling, but it was useless. “Rich, are you trying to make spaghetti?”

“Maybe.” He replied defiantly with an embarrassed blush.

“With iceberg lettuce?”

Richie inspected his ingredients again with his eyebrows raised, his eyes looked more doubtful now from beneath his glasses. “..That’s a thing, right?”

Eddie sighed and joined him at the counter. “You’re hopeless, Richie. Give me that ladle,” He loosely gestured to the wooden spoon next to him while putting back the lettuce.

“This is the wrong type of noodle.” Eddie held up the box of pasta while the marinara sauce simmered on the stove—the one thing Richie had done correctly.

Richie snorted and put his hands on his hips. “Not everything can be perfect like you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and let Richie’s arms snake around his waist. “Okay, fine. Macaroni it is.”

He waddled over to the sink—with Richie still attached from behind—to pour water into the pot. As he let the faucet run Richie bent down and kissed his bare neck softly, his glasses poking into his skin.

Eddie stiffened. “What was that for?”

“For helping me with dinner. For being cute. Why, can’t I kiss you just because?”

“Of course you can. You’re just..distracting.”

“Oh? You mean like this?” Richie laughed and placed a trail of teasing kisses up his neck, making Eddie grip the handles of the pot tighter while he fought to breathe. He knows just where to kiss me.

“Am I distracting you now?” His mouth rested just above the space between Eddie’s jaw and earlobe, his warm lips and breath tickling him. One of Richie’s hands drifted down toward his pants and Eddie stepped on his bare foot.

“Cut it out Richie,” Eddie gasped. He realized in his daze that the pot of water was about to overflow and quickly shut it off. He carried it to the stove and set it to boil, then poured in the macaroni noodles.

He turned to him. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Richie returned his hands to his sides and smirked. “Awe, shucks. To think I have that effect on people.”

“Only me, dipshit.”

“And that’s just fine,” Richie pecked his cheek and hugged him again.

“Feeling any better, Eds?”

“After some dinner I will be.” Eddie replied while wrestling out of the bear hug to set two plates on the tile counter. Richie drained the pasta and Eddie turned off the burners.

“Like mother, like son.” Richie said philosophically at the sink.

“Be quiet,” Eddie gave his chest a playful shove and handed him the food. They sat at the table on opposite sides, and just as he was about to eat Richie stuck his fork at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting you try some!” Richie pushed the fork further towards Eddie’s mouth.

“I have some right here,” He gestured to his own full plate, “And you’ve been eating off that already.”

Before he could pull his fork away a few stray pieces of macaroni slipped off the fork and fell across Eddie’s shirt, staining the front with oily red sauce. Richie’s eyes widened, and he drew the fork back guiltily.

“Gross!”

“Oh, shit. Sorry Eddie! I’ll go get one of mine!” He hopped off the chair and dashed up the stairs. Eddie took the chance to eat some of the “spaghetti” before Richie returned with a fresh shirt.

“I am not wearing that,” Eddie said firmly, picking the noodles off his lap and into his empty plate.

“Just take that off and put on mine. It’s mostly clean, don’t worry. I’ll wash yours.” Richie held his shirt out to him, waiting with closed eyes for the dirty one. Eddie diverted his eyes and pulled his shirt up over his head. He threw Richie’s on hurriedly, his face was red the whole time. God, it smells just like him.

“Okay, you’re good.” Eddie told him and he opened his eyes. Richie examined him wearing his own clothes then flashed a grin.

“Why do my clothes look better on you? And the Cutie Award goes to..”

Eddie thrust the stained shirt at him. “My ass.”

“He’s not wrong, folks!” Richie shouted into the empty hallway as he went back upstairs to the laundry room.

“You want me to clean this up?” Eddie called. Richie had left a trail of dirty dishes and stray pasta noodles in his wake as they had cooked, not caring to pick up.

“Just come up here! We’ll do it later.” came his reply. By “later,” Eddie knew he meant “tomorrow.”

Eddie headed up the stairs and sat on Richie’s bed, waiting for him. Even without him there—just for a few seconds—the thoughts came racing back, like a flip of a switch, no matter if things were happy and easygoing minutes before.

He was no longer in Richie’s room. He was on the burning asphalt with a broken arm, he was running through the yard of the Neibolt house, desperate and out of breath. He was staring directly in the face of Henry Bowers, his entire arm engulfed in flames as searing as a hot iron with Patrick’s spit stuck in his eyes. He was reliving every memory.

“...Eds? What is it? What happened?” Richie appeared in the doorway but Eddie could hardly see him through the haze; he only heard his footsteps thundering in his head as he came to his side, taking his face and forcing him to look into his chocolate brown eyes.

“Eddie? Talk to me, please,” Richie was pleading, sitting down next to Eddie and keeping his hands placed firmly on his shoulders, helping to relieve his staggered breathing.

“It hurts,” Eddie said weakly but his words got choked up in a fresh wave of tears.

“Where, baby? Where does it hurt?” He searched his face and scanned his body frantically.

“God, Richie. My head..the memories, it hurts so much. They never went away,” He cried, truly feeling every ounce of that childhood pain. Richie grabbed his sides and pulled him into his lap, his face set into a hard, serious frown that left Eddie startled.

He’s always been there for me.

“N-no,” Eddie tried moving away, “I’ve been crying..It’s gross, Rich. Let me go wash my face or something.” He sniffed loudly.

“Shhh,” Richie shook his head and held him more fiercely, Eddie could feel the beating of their hearts together against his chest. He closed his eyes and counted each rhythmic thump of Richie’s heartbeat until he could breathe again.

He brought his face to Eddie’s cheek, wet with tears, and kissed him.

“Let me make it better,” Richie whispered. He moved his lips to tenderly kiss every spot on Eddie’s face: each tear, his pink nose, his eyelids.

“It’s gone, we killed It, everything’s alright now,” He kept his lips pressed to Eddie’s temple, and as he did the ache there subsided, “You’re safe with me, Eds.”

Eddie let out a shaky laugh. “You’re such a sap, Richie.”

“Only for you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes with Richie running his hands through Eddie’s hair. He loved when Richie did this, when his gentle fingers sent shivers down his spine. His comforting touch made different tears slide down Eddie’s face.

“Is it still there? Did the nightmares go away?” Richie asked with another twinge of concern when he felt Eddie crying quietly again into his shoulder.

Eddie tucked his face into the crook of his neck to hide the embarrassment and mumbled, “No, they w-went away.”

“What’s wrong? Why are you still crying, Eddie?” Richie leaned against the headboard so he could see the smaller boy’s face and he cradled the back of his hair.

“I’ve never had someone be so..kind to me before. Not like this. No one would ever do the things you’re always doing for me. I-I don’t think I deserve it.”

Richie lifted Eddie’s legs up higher so he was more comfortable and the smaller boy snuggled in. He spoke with his chin resting on top of his head, “I know I’m kind of an ass most of the time, but I don’t mean to be. I’m always looking out for you Eds, even when you think I’m not...It’s cause I love you.”

Those three words silenced everything and left Eddie blissfully calm—despite his frantic heart.

He loves me?

Eddie questioned it as soon as he said it, but after thinking it over he knew Richie wasn’t lying.

Who else would clean me up after a panic attack, or wake me from a nightmare, even if I was covered in sweat and tears and who knows what else? Who else would hold me the rest of the night, even if it meant he didn’t sleep?

“I love you too,” Eddie said against his neck. And then, after a thoughtful pause,

“But don’t call me Eds.”

#it movie #reddie #reddie fanfic #fluff and angst #angst fanfic #h/c prompt #emotional h/c #it fanfiction #teen reddie #whump fic #comfort #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #not canon compliant lol

49 notes · View notes

19tozier · 4 years

Text

2am (richie tozier)

warning: anxiety, partying, mentions of underage drinking, slight mention of sex, some swearing

based on the song 2am by sir sly

[losers + reader are 16+]

as much as you may never admit it to any of the losers, there will always be a part of you that hates the parties you go to.

it’s really just not your scene, you muse to yourself, leaning against the wall with a drink in your hand. you love people, you’ve always been more extroverted than might be good for you, but the writhing bodies of drunk teenagers just... isn’t fun.

the only reason you come to these parties is for the losers themselves, because you’d never pass up an opportunity to hang out with them. more often than not, you stick to bev or richie’s side, laughing with them and drinking whatever it is they hand you. you all stick together as a group anyways, since the majority of them don’t like parties either and come solely for the free booze and weed.

you sigh to yourself, finishing your drink and longing for another. you’re not nearly drunk enough to deal with the people around you, but you don’t feel comfortable going into the kitchen alone. you know that bowers and his gang are here somewhere and you’d like to not see his face.

you turn to the losers, opening your mouth to ask someone to come to the kitchen with you, but your brows furrow when you can only count six of your friends beside you. eddie, stan, mike, bill, ben, bev... you swear as you realize who you’re missing.

bev looks at you when she hears your voice, arching an eyebrow at the look on your face. “something wrong, (y/n/n)?”

you roll your eyes, dropping your cup onto the table next to you. you won’t need it anymore. “has anyone seen richie?”

the losers look confused, like they’ve just now realized he’s missing, and they shake their heads. you blow out a sigh, pushing off of the wall and brushing off your skirt with one hand.

bev grins knowingly, leaning into bill’s side. her eyes sparkle as she asks, “where are you going, (y/l/n)?” she knows full well what you’re doing, and why.

you scowl at her, wishing you’d never told her about your traitorous secret. “i’m going to find our resident trashmouth.” you walk away before she can call you on it or before any of the losers can say anything. you feel their excited whispers from behind you, though.

you roll your eyes again, huffing quietly as you shoulder through bodies to get out. stupid trashmouth, you think to yourself, hoping you can find him quickly and bring him back so that your little bubble is complete again.

it’s really not unusual for richie to wander off on his own when you’re all at parties. he’s the most confident and pragmatic of your group, save for maybe you and bev, and he oftentimes will ditch you guys to go dance or get another drink or talk to someone. he never just wanders off like this, though; he always tells someone, usually you, where he’s going, and he always comes back quickly. this, him wandering off alone with none of you knowing? this is unusual. despite your feigned annoyance, you feel uneasy at the thought.

he’s not in any of his usual places, the kitchen empty and the bathroom unlocked to a couple that isn’t richie. you doubt he would’ve crept upstairs but you search it anyways, quickly diverting your gaze from all of the messy things happening behind closed doors. no richie here, either.

you almost hope that by the time you get downstairs he’d have magically reappeared with the losers again, but when you glance in their direction they’re still missing one certain menace. bev shakes her head at you, her own eyes a little concerned now.

finally, after wandering through every room and checking every place you can think of, you resign yourself to check behind the house. it’s cold outside though, so you sincerely doubt that richie will be out there, especially not without any of you.

just as you thought, it’s bitterly cold outside, the late fall air quickly turning to winter. it’ll snow soon, you know, and you wrap your arms around yourself. your tight long sleeve and skirt do nothing to keep you warm.

you have half a mind to go back inside, richie be damned, when you turn the corner to the back of the house and find him leaned back against the house, a cigarette between his fingers.

your first instinct is anger. after the things you’ve seen and the way you’re shivering, he’s just out here having a smoke? he couldn’t have done that inside? but then you notice the butts littering the ground around him, and the way his hands shake as they lift the cigarette to his lips, and your anger evaporates.

“richie?” you say quietly, stepping up to his side. he must not have heard you walk up, because he whips his head around to look at you, his body tensing. his eyes are wild and his cheeks are flushed, and your heart sinks as you realize what’s happening. “oh, rich, what’s wrong?”

richie shakes his head, looking away from you. “nothing, doll, i’m fine. it’s cold out here, you should go back inside.” his voice is wobbly and you think you can hear the tears inside of it.

you step closer, ignoring his protests, and take the cigarette from between his fingers. he just watches you as you stomp it out beneath your boot, and that’s how you know something is wrong. your trashmouth wouldn’t have stood for that normally.

“what’s wrong?” you ask him again, gentler this time, reaching out to tangle your fingers together with his. it could be the question, or maybe your company, but either way his face screws up a bit and his eyes fill with tears.

he draws in a ragged breath, roughly passing a hand over his face. he’s still not looking at you. “just got a little anxious in there, not so bad.” his mouth twists in an ugly attempt at a smile, but the tension still straining his jaw warps it into a grimace. “i’m fine, doll, you don’t need to worry about me.”

you roll your eyes. richie has always been a self-sacrificing idiot, hiding his feelings and any vulnerability behind his trashmouth facade. he rarely lets himself break, at least not around other people, and you’re not about to let him bottle it up again. not when he looks this sad.

gently, you tug him to the ground with you, leaning up against the side of the house. the ground is cold and a little damp through the material of your skirt, and you spare a thought to the stain that will no doubt cover your ass after this, but it’s not as important as the boy at your side.

he tries to protest, tries one more time to tell you to go inside, but you just tug at him again, until he finally sits next to you and props his head against your shoulder. it’s a bit of an awkward fit, since he’s so giant, but you make it work. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and lay your cheek against the top of his head.

“what’s on your mind, rich?” you murmur, brushing your fingers through his hair. he blows out a shaky breath, his fingers trembling where they hold onto your waist.

he shrugs, a little helplessly, holding you tighter. “i, uh, it’s been kind of a bad day,” he admits quietly. if you weren’t so close you doubt you would’ve heard him. “and i was so excited to come here tonight but—“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head.

you slide your thumb along his temple. “but what, rich?”

maybe it’s how soft your voice is, or maybe it’s that you’re holding him so close, but he feels his wall slide down just a bit. he almost doesn’t realize it when he whispers, “it was so loud, and there were so many people, and i—“ he cuts himself off again, this time to stop the tears from falling.

you shush him gently, shifting a bit until you can pull him more into your chest. his body helps block out the cold that seeps into your bones. “why didn’t you say anything, richie? we would’ve left if you wanted to.”

he shakes his head again, this time more vehemently. “no, you were all having so much fun, and i didn’t want to stop that. and i uh, i saw how john was looking at you, and i, um. i didn’t want to get in the way.”

you furrow your brow, pulling back to look at him. he’s steadfastly not looking at you, keeping his eyes on the trees not far away. “john? from math? he was looking at me?”

richie scoffs, the sound harsh in the silence between you. there’s something almost annoyed in the set of his face. “what, you didn’t notice? he looked like he wanted to fuck you right there.”

he’s hiding behind the trashmouth, you think hazily, but there’s a bit of... jealousy in his voice? there’s no way, there’s no way he feels the way you do. is there?

you take a deep breath, deciding to just go for it. at the very least, maybe it’ll help richie feel a little bit better. “i didn’t notice,” you say honestly, pulling him closer again. “i don’t notice other guys, rich, not when you’re around.”

he goes still in your arms, the breath whooshing out of him. his heart pounds in his chest for a different reason than the anxiety still sitting in his stomach, because there’s no way you can mean...

“you’ve had me since we met, rich,” you continue, oblivious to his crisis. you card your hand through his curls again, a small smile on your lips. “i came out here ‘cause i noticed you were gone, silly. my night isn’t the same if you aren’t with me.”

he pulls away, sitting up to look into your face. his eyes are crazed again, flicking back and forth between yours. “what’re you saying?” he whispers.

you rolls your eyes fondly, your grin never leaving your lips. “what, you need me to spell it out?”

he cups your cheek and you freeze, warmth sparking from his palm. his eyes won’t leave yours. “please, (y/n).”

it’s the first time he’s used your name in weeks, and he watches as your face softens, your grin slipping into something smaller and more intimate. your eyes are so bright when you whisper, “i like you, rich. i have for a while now.”

his breath gasps out. “oh, thank god.”

before you really know what’s happening, he’s kissing you, using the hand he has on your cheek to pull you closer. you’re stunned momentarily, your brain hazily giddy at the feeling of his lips on yours, but you manage to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back.

it’s softer than you thought it would be, not only for how desperately richie’s holding you but for the fact that this is richie tozier, who’s had to fend off girls with a bat ever since he went through his growth spurt and turned into the hottest boy you’ve ever seen. you’d have thought he would kiss you with demand, but he’s holding your face like you are the most precious thing to him and his lips are so soft you think, a little deliriously, of clouds.

he pulls away, just enough to mumble against your mouth, “i like you too, baby. i have since we were fourteen.”

you grin, pulling him in to kiss him again. it feels so good, so right, that for a little bit you forget all about how cold you are, until a gust of wind makes you violently shiver.

he pulls away to giggle softly, kissing your cheek. his hands are still lightly trembling, and you can see the anxiety still running under his skin, but he looks lighter and more relaxed. “do you wanna get out of here, doll?” he asks, and then flushes. “i uh, i just don’t want to go back into the party. i’d be right back out here.” he laughs, self-deprecating.

you nod, kissing his jaw. “that sounds perfect, rich.”

he stands up, pulling you up by your hands. he doesn’t let you get far, pulling you into his chest and just holding you. he’s so big, he completely engulfs you, and you wrap your arms around his waist and turn your face into his neck.

“thank you, (y/n/n),” he whispers against the top of your head.

you smile into his neck, holding him tighter. you didn’t think the search for him would lead to this, but you’re definitely not complaining. “anytime, rich.”

#richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x you #richie tozier x y/n #the losers club #the losers club x reader #it (2017)#it (2019)#it (movie)#it movie #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #ben hanscom #my writing

161 notes · View notes

softest-cinnamon-roll · 5 years

Note

HOW DARE YOU I NEED A PART 3 PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET EDDIE CONFESS HIS FEELINGS

So many requests for this second part! I just couldn’t let you all down!!! (there was another 5 on top of this but I couldn’t have them all screenshotted!)

My bribe for you Amelia. I filled my half of the deal, now it’s time for yours!

Warning for homophobic slurs and Sonia K’s A+ parenting!

Part One || Part Two

Read on AO3

* * * * *

It was loud screaming that woke Eddie up from his light sleep the following morning. He had managed to fall asleep at around midnight to the sound of Richie’s voice on the other end of the phone. Over the course of their conversation, Eddie had many chances to admit to Richie how he felt, how much he had missed him, but he didn’t. In truth, he wanted to wait until they were face to face to do it.

Now though, now he had a screaming mother down the stairs, being fended off by both Maggie and Went. With a quick look at the clock, Eddie sighed as he realised it was just after eleven in the morning. He rolled out of bed and crept to the door, pressing his ear to the wood as he listened to what was going on down the stairs.

“You lied to him Sonia!” Maggie snapped and Eddie could imagine her crossing her arms and glaring at her. “You lied to him and said he wasn’t accepted into any colleges! How could a mother do that?”

He heard his mother scoff. “You listen to me, little miss perfect. Even back in High School I hated your guts. Always acting high and mighty with your perfect hair and your slim body. You don’t get to tell me how to raise my son. He needs me! He needs to stay here in Maine, and be with his mother!”

It was Went who spoke up next, his voice low and dangerous. It took Eddie by surprise, as Went was always so calm and kind spoken. “Excuse me, Sonia, but I don’t appreciate you talking to my wife like that. Eddie came to us. We didn’t sneak into your home and steal him from you. He chose to come here.”

His mother laughed, “This is ridiculous, as if my son would choose to come anywhere near you and your faggot of a son.”

Eddie couldn’t take it anymore of his mothers insults and he pulled open the door, rushing down the stairs to the scene. Went was staring at his mother with wide eyes and Maggie had a hand over her mouth. “Mom!” Eddie snapped. “What the fuck!”

“Oh there you are, Eddie bear!” His mom breathed and tried to step into the house, to get to him, but Went was in the way. “Come on darling, let’s get you away from these people.”

He shook his head, “Away from these people? These people are my family more than you have ever been! Ma, you lied to me to keep me in Derry! I thought no college wanted me because I was stupid, but in fact it was because you were scared of me leaving you!”

His mother blinked at him, at his outburst, and her eyes narrowed, “Now Edward, that is no way to speak to your mother. You come here right now, we are going home and you’re going to call that college in California and tell them you’re not going.”

“No.” Eddie shook his head, crossing his arms and staying firm. “No Ma, I’m staying right here with Maggie and Went, and then in a few days I’m going to catch a bus to California and I’m going to go to UCLA. I am done being stuck here with you, I’m done being treated like a weak innocent child. I’m not weak, I’m not sick. I’m pretty damn amazing if you ask me!”

Eddie felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see Went smiling at him, that strong supportive smile that he had seen him give Richie all through their years of friendship. His mother didn’t like this, and tried to step into the house again, but this time Maggie stopped her.

“You’re not coming into my house. Not after you insulted my son, and my husband. Never mind myself and Eddie.” Maggie snapped. “I think it’s in everyone’s best interests that you leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” His mother hissed, stomping her foot on the porch and Eddie had to physically hold back a shiver of embarrassment. “This is all your fault! You and that- that son of yours! He’s twisted and warped my Eddie bears mind! I never should have let them be friends, look what he’s caused!”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed and he finally moved down the remaining steps, getting closer to his poor excuse of a mother. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about, and he didn’t do anything to me! In fact he’s the one who makes me strong! I love him! I’m in love with him! I’m gay ma!”

It was the first time he had ever said that he loved Richie out loud. All of the other losers had just...guess and he had simply agreed. To finally speak it out loud, even if it wasn’t to Richie himself, was somewhat...empowering. His mother was staring at him with eyes so wide he was scared they’d pop out of her sockets.

Just as she was about to say something though, a new voice cut through all the squawking she was making, causing Eddie to freeze up on the spot.

“You love me?”

There, standing about five feet behind his mother in the front porch. Was Richie himself. He looked bone tired, and was holding an overnight back. Eddie was sure he was hallucinating because Richie was meant to be in LA right now...not in his front garden in Derry, Maine.

“Richie?” Eddie croaked and his best friend smiled softly, that smile that was only ever reserved for him. “Oh my god, Richie!” He stumbled forward, pushing past his mother as he rushed down the lawn and all but threw himself into Richie’s arms, legs wrapped around his waist.

Richie laughed, his hands moving under his thighs so he could support his weight and holding onto him tightly, “Jeez, Eddie Spaghetti, did you really miss me that much?” He asked through his chuckle and Eddie just clung to him that little bit tighter, tears in his eyes.

God he had missed Richie and his stupid comments.

“Yes I missed you, you idiot,” Eddie mumbled into his neck, completely ignoring the audience they had in the form of Richie’s parents and his, still angry, mother. “You- you heard what I said.”

“Did you mean it?” Richie asked and Eddie let himself drop down from Richie’s hold, still keeping his arms around his neck and their faces close together. Too close. “Did you, Eds?”

Eddie nodded his head, biting his lip as his stomach flipped, the nagging fear of rejection rising to the surface. “I meant it Richie. I- I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

Instead of replying to Eddie’s confession of love, Richie cupped both of his cheeks and leaned down, closing the distance between them. Eddie gasped, not expecting the kiss, but it was definitely not unwelcome. The feeling of Richie’s lips on his, soft and slightly chapped, was more than any dream or image Eddie could have come up with. It was short, as they did still have onlookers, but as they pulled away Richie’s eyes screamed that this was not over.

“Get your filthy hands off of my son!” His mother screamed, having finally found her voice and Eddie struggled not to roll his eyes so hard Stanley would be proud of him.

Richie just laughed and wrapped an arm around Eddie’s waist. “I’m so sorry, Mrs K, but I’m afraid our affair will have to come to its end. You see, I am very much in love with your son, and there is only enough room for one Kaspbrak in my life.” He put a hand over his heart. “I know this may hurt you, but I have made my choice, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.” As his mother stood there in shock, Richie started to lead Eddie back into the house. “Come on, Spaghetti.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Eddie muttered, rolling his eyes. All thoughts of his mother were forgotten as they stepped back inside the Tozier household. He didn’t even give her a second glance back. She didn’t deserve that much.

“Oh you can’t lie to me, Eds,” Richie cooed, ready to close the door. “You love me.”

And he did.

* * * * *

perma-taglist

@richietoaster @tozier-boy @eds-trashmouth @fucking-reddie @strange-reddie-loser @eds-kas @propertyofthelosersclub @its-stranger-than-you-think @yes-dillman-yes @totaltozier @reddietofall @reddietofight @reddie-to-fight @reddie-eddie-spaghettie @bitchbrak @reddieways @maximusfraker @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @thejadeazalea @reddie-eddie-spaghetti @halfway-happy353 @ellomello16 @liliemm @tinyarmedtrex @cacti-cool @inthebreadbinwrites @kat-ships-everything @takeourpure @lo-v-ers @mrs-vh @studpuffin @s-s-georgie @reddie-for-anything @trashmouthtozierr @richietoizer @girasol-eddie @bi-bi-richie @honeybeehanlon @mars-14 @reddiesetandgo @marsisaplanetyall @xandertheundead @sedanleystanley @hawkinsbabe @beepbeeprichiellc @stellarbisexual @oldguybones @ripeddiekaspbrak @captainbartholomew @purplepoisonedgem @reddie-to-cryy @pink-psychic @violetreddie @fuzzylogik @queen-sock @appojoos @moonlightrichie @rreddies @disneyfan567 @annxmatron @lifesucksheres20bucks @anellope @roobarrtrashmouth @are-you-reddie-for-it

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #writing tag

356 notes · View notes

loverfighter · 4 years

Text

1. Straightforward. Soft and heavy, like morning before the coffee’s started brewing. Like that’s all there is to say.

you’re in his room. (again.)

he’s in your arms. (again.)

you look at him past the blur of your glasses sliding down the wrong half of your face, too lazy to right them, and your heart is thumping to the rhythm of your favorite song, grounded by the weight of him (his left arm, technically, but, well, tomayto tomahto, you’ll take what you can get) pressed against your chest. (again, again, again.)

it’s a feeling you’ve long grown used to, more fitted to your body (like a warm blanket swaddling your skeleton, down to your tippy toes) than the harsh stretch of puberty, one day sporting limbs like gangly, giddy tentacles, arms and legs wrapped around whatever body is closest to you (you play favorites, and everyone⏤even, and sometimes most especially, victim numero uno⏤is grateful for it). but this⏤a) feeling b) tsunami c) cavity filler d) all of the above⏤just settled along the expanse of your ribcage one day; this sweeping emotion that leaves your mind calm (not quiet, never quiet, buzz buzz, beep beep, etc etc), sated and smiling somehow in the knowledge of its existence, even in the heady intensity of it sharing a space with the rest of you (by far your favorite pet worm in your apple), even as it makes the rest of you so dizzy you feel as if you’ll turbo into outer space and moonwalk among the stars.

the radio’s on, but it’s soft; neither of you would risk invoking an investigation from his mother right now, like you sometimes do, just to be hastily pushed into his closet and chuckle at the irony (is masochism a drug? hello? stop ignoring me, siri!), but tonight he asked for you, an occasion so rare you almost wanted to go buy a diary just to write it down.

(see, you’ll come over unannounced and he’ll sigh and pull you in through his window before you start throwing rocks, but as he pulls a face in response to your feet monster mashing all over your curtains, he’s hiding a smile to match yours. see, he never has to ask, and neither do you. see, any and all disruption to the status quo is big, huge⏤hear ye, hear ye! dial the derry press!)

it’s something about his mom (it always is), and he doesn’t want to talk about it, so there you two lay, in his perpetually made bed listening to a station that is drowning out the tune of your heartbeat, so you talk over both, senseless shit that goes in one ear and out the other. it looks like⏤well, it looks like he only wants you. your mind is already warping the very notion into something bigger, twisted butterflies jazzing it up in your stomach in imitation of your happy, jiggy heart, while your big head is already on bullet point twelve of why that is Not The Case and while we’re at it, says said head, poor ol’ eds has had enough bad medicine in his life, your selfish desires aren’t a balm for anything, especially not him.

unfortunately, your heart (for once, the express link to your mouth) could never shut up, and off it natters, isolated amongst the bullshit.

“i love you, eds.” (you heard somewhere the “i” was important. you almost left it out, if you had been thinking at all.)

you’re always quoting something, most of the time you never know what, but there’s a truth in your words that makes you want to take your glasses off completely and burrow beneath the covers you’re never allowed under (you burrow into his hair instead, digging into it like you’re searching for the dignity you were born without). richie tozier ain’t home, no siree, come again next time, or how about never at all!

and eddie.

he laughs, like it’s a joke rather than a revelation, but maybe it’s neither, maybe it’s a fact of the universe, like peanut butter and jelly being soulmates, or howler monkeys and their huge balls (self-proclaimed as your patronus in seventh grade), or his stupidly cute train shirts that you dream about seeing in your own closet one day. it’s something he already knows, something you both do. maybe it’s not something you understand, yet, but what else is there to say? so your laughter melds with his, joining the chorus of your heart.

and his left arm shifts to make room for his right, the full weight of eddie kaspbrak resting on your chest, and that says it all.

one out of ten ways to say “i love you”

#x #reddie #ten ways #god i am. cringing so hard but i had an idea and allowed that impulse to run wild #forgive the lack of proofreading and.... shitty richie interpretation i am still recovering from the big bad dash tonight #anyway this said straightforward and that ain't a word in the reddie vocabulary so.#i.

68 notes · View notes

vanxcks · 5 years

Text

how delicate

Three things happen before Eddie Kaspbrak shows up, hair dripping, in day-old clothes, nothing on him but a dead walkie-talkie, on Richie Tozier’s doorstep. His fanny pack—his mom had replaced the “lost” one quickly enough—lays abandoned in his room; the walkie-talkie is clenched tightly in his fist.

For the second time in his life, Eddie runs away from home.

Word Count: 4839

Richie is shocked to see him.

“Eds,” he says, uncharacteristically succinct. “What’re you doing here?”

“Can I just come in, please?” Eddie asks, rubbing his arms. They’re covered in goosebumps. “I can’t be at that house any longer.” He’s itching to head inside, wrap up in a blanket. The summer’s finally ending, autumn showing itself in brown leaves and occasional brisk air, and that on top of being in the rain is a sure enough way to get hypothermia. He feels the panic setting in, and he takes a deep breath.

You’re strong, Eddie. (Fragile.) You can do this. (Delicate). Fuck.

“Are you okay?” Richie asks. He doesn’t invite Eddie in, which from anyone else Eddie would find rude, but Eddie stopped being offended by Richie years ago.

“Yeah, if you could hurry the fuck up?” Eddie prompts, words quick. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Yeah, of course, Eds,” Richie says, a little crease between his eyebrows. Uncharacteristic again. He turns around and walks inside, letting Eddie follow him. “Sorry, my sister’s not free right now. She got crabs, like I told her she would, and I said you probably got it from your mom, but she didn’t believe me. Actually, she told me to get the fuck out of her room, but anyway, I thought you should know, since you always seem so interested—”

“Can I have a towel?”

Richie pauses, mouth open, but only for a moment. “What’d you do, jump in a lake? I knew you were an idiot, but you do know that you’re not supposed to jump in the water fully clothed, right? Or did you run into Belch Huggins again? Eddie, you’re a fuckin’ twig, I don’t know how you can keep standing up to them. What’d you say to make them so mad? Did you tell them they were going to contract chlamydia or something? I’m not sure their pea brains would even be able to understand—”

Eddie lets him talk, not bothering to yell over him like he might have two months ago. Not because he’s anymore willing to tolerate Richie’s idiocy than he was. He’s just too tired to open his mouth right now.

That said, it really is getting cold. “Pea brain? You’re one to talk, trashmouth.” Richie’s face splits in a grin, and Eddie can’t help but half-smile back. “If you won’t get me a towel, I’d be happy to get one from your sister’s room. I know my way around.”

“Hey, I already told you she has crabs, right? Probably from you.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Just checking,” Richie says, grinning good-naturedly. Eddie shivers.

[March, 1989]

Eddie is eleven when he gets his first panic attack. It’s after they find Richie’s backpack, still in his locker, the door on the linoleum floor and warped from where Bowers tore it off its hinges.

Eddie is the one that finds it.

“I swear to god, guys,” he’s saying, one hand on the strap of Richie’s backpack and the other ushering Bill along, “if we’re late again Mr Reynolds is gonna kill me—”

“Y-y-you haven’t been l-late in weeks,” Bill says.

“I swear he hates me, though. Last time I was one measly minute late and he held me back. I swear when he dies and they do an autopsy, they’ll find a stick up his ass. I bet you a million dollars.”

“I’d want to hear the story behind that,” Richie says, flailing away under Richie’s hand.

“Of course you do,” Stanley says as they round the corner.

“No, I’m serious! I mean, how did it get up there? I bet it was some freaky sex thing, you know?”

He chatters on as they reach their lockers. Eddie grabs his own bag, then, after waiting a moment to see if Richie will pause in order to get his own, reaches into Richie’s locker.

And then he screams.

“Eddie?” Richie asks, spinning. Then, “Oh, my god,” as he looks at his backpack. “Holy shit! Bowers took a shit in my bag! He actually fucking did!” Richie cries. “I really didn’t think he was the sort of person that would keep his promises! Look, he tore the door off and everything.”

“That seems unnecessary,” Stanley says, looking down at it, “you always leave it unlocked.”

“Do you see this shit?” Richie goes on. “I can’t believe this. Eddie, do you see this shit? Eddie?”

Eddie’s fumbling for his inhaler, unzipping his fanny pack, trying to keep taking deep breaths. “That’s.” He gasps. “That’s so fucking disgusting, oh my god. Oh my god.” He takes a puff, holds his breath, counts to five. Then another. He wipes his hand off on his pants. How many different types of bacteria are there in feces? It’ll probably have gotten in his fingernails, all over his skin—how long will that take to wash off? What if he has a paper cut? God, then it’ll get infected. Is his heart supposed to be beating so loud? So fast?

“Hey, Eds,” Richie says, but his voice sounds far away. It’s almost quiet behind the jackhammering that is Eddie’s chest. He reaches out to touch Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie flinches away. “Eds, are you okay?”

“I’m having a fucking...I’m having a fucking heart attack and you ask if I’m fucking okay?” Eddie gasps. What are the symptoms again? Pain in your arm, and in your chest, too. He’s got that. Pain in his chest. That’s one off the checklist. And fuck, if he could hear himself think over that thump, thump, thump—”Holy shit. Holy fucking...fucking shit. I am not dying in the school hallway,” he gets out, hand clutching at his own chest.

“E-Eddie, what’s going on?” Bill asks, gripping his backpack strap tight.

Richie grabs Eddie’s heaving shoulder. “Hey, are you serious? Is this real? Should I call 911?”

“You think I’m fucking faking a heart attack?” Eddie snaps, and then he bends double, gagging.

“I’ll d-d-do it,” Bill says, and runs off to find a phone.

Eddie falls a little; Stanley catches and steadies him, lowering him so that he’s sitting on the ground. Richie puts a hand on his back, rubbing little circles there, telling him again and again that it’s gonna be okay, that an ambulance is coming, that they won’t let anything happen to him. And Eddie really, truly, completely believe that this is it. He keeps his eyes open, etches his friends’ faces into his mind. If he’s going to go, he’s not going to forget them. If there is an afterlife, Eddie is bringing that memory, of all of them, with him. His best friends holding him.

It isn’t a heart attack, in the end. The doctor call it a panic attack. Eddie is diagnosed with anxiety on March twenty-fourth, nineteen-eighty-nine. Now, he supposes, it’s the only one of the diagnoses that isn't bullshit. Of course, his mom doesn’t let him go home just yet. She’s terrified, absolutely scared shitless. She leaves Eddie alone in the hotel room for some hours, and when she comes back, she tells him that he’s going to have to stay in the hospital for several days.

“I thought it wasn’t that serious,” Eddie says quietly. He always speaks quietly with his ma. He knows that he’s the delicate one, of the two, but sometimes it seems like she’s the one that’s going to break at any moment. Fragile, like one touch could shatter her.

“I know, honey,” she says comfortingly, even though that’s not what he needs or what he was asking. “They just want to monitor you, make sure it’s not something more serious.”

“Okay, mommy.”

“Now go to sleep. You’ve been very badly frightened, I’m sure, so make sure to get some rest.”

He nods, and she sits down in the little chair in the corner of the room, pulling out a magazine.

It’s a long two weeks.

Soon, Eddie is sitting wrapped up by Richie's heater in the basement. They've talked about the basement before—about all of it. About how they can't go into dark rooms on their own, about how sometimes they wake up in the night to learn that they've been crying out in their sleep. They've talked about how they can't even see a yellow raincoat on the street without having it all come crashing back, without suddenly not being able to breathe.

Eddie can't help but think how much easier that July would have been if he'd had his friends. Maybe it wouldn't have made him less afraid, but at least he would have been afraid with them.

"You still haven't said why you're all wet. Unless it's sweat, in which case you were either having really amazing sex—and if I’m right, I want all the details, like who found your scrawny ass attractive and their address so I can go beat them up for taking your viginity before I could—or you actually had to lift something heavy for once in your life—"

"Hey, I didn't ask to be fucking taken out of PE." Eddie didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

"I didn't say you asked, but now that you’ve mentioned it, maybe if you'd been there it wouldn't have been quite so fucking torturous. I swear to you, Mr. Kravitz kept staring at my ass," Richie says, warming up. "I mean, I don't blame him, but jesus fuck, he's a teacher and I'm but a helpless—"

"It's not sweat, okay? It's fucking rain. Are you happy now?"

Richie doesn’t slow down. “It hasn’t rained since morning, why the fuck—”

“You know, believe it or not, I didn’t actually come here to hear you talk my ear off for an hour, and I’m having a bit of a crisis at the moment, so maybe if you could shut the fuck up, that would be perfect,” Eddie snaps, and Richie goes quiet for a moment.

“Well, out with it!” he yells suddenly in a terrible British accent, loud enough to make Eddie jump. “The doctor’s in, come on, what’s wrong?”

“Jesus, really? The british guy?”

“I said out with it! No use coopin’ it up, better just get it over with!” He’s still yelling, brash and obnoxious.

“You know,” Eddie snaps, grabbing his walkie-talkie and stuffing it into his pocket, “I thought this was a good idea, to come here, but clearly—”

“Wait,” Richie cries, standing up a little. Eddie looks at him expectantly. Richie quiets. “I’m sorry, I—please. I’m an idiot. You don’t have to tell me.”

Eddie stands there for a moment, and then sighs. “Do you have any music?” he asks.

“Oh, absolutely,” Richie says, jumping up. Eddie follows him upstairs to his room, not mentioning the fact that Richie isn’t really allowed to play music after nine pm, thankful that Richie doesn’t mention it either.

[July, 1989]

July that year is the longest month of his life. It’s a stifling cycle of taking a shower, taking his pills, reading and rereading and rereading, and then pills and shower and sleep. Rinse and repeat. If he’s lucky, he’ll get his hands on a newspaper. Everytime he does, he skims through it in a frenzy. He always pinches the paper too tight, turns the pages a little too wildly, and he knows it could worry his ma, but he’s always terrified he’ll see something new. A new Local Girl Missing headline. A body found.

Every day there’s nothing, but every day Eddie checks.

They’d beaten it. They’d chased the monster back into the sewers, where it belonged. And Eddie had come back safe, to a loving mother and a clean and healthy household, and he should be okay. He should be free. He is free.

But It still has a hold on him, too strong for comfort.

It’s not just the newspapers, either. It’s the things he sees in the shadows at night. The way he’s taken to sleeping with a light on. It’s easy to explain to his mom; she probably wouldn’t question it anyway. Anything for her little boy.

The lights don’t reach everywhere, though. And he’s convinced that there’s something behind the desk, in the closet, waiting to pounce on him from behind a door. Yellow eyes, glowing in the dark. A gleeful, burbling laugh.

A torn face. Blood, dripping in the wrong direction. A leper, sores oozing, rotted fingers resting on his shoulder. That day in the house shows up again and again in his dreams, every night. And every night Pennywise tells him something different. “Poor Eddie. Poor pathetic, delicate thing.” And “Your friends left you, didn’t they? Left you all alone.” Some nights, it’s “Did you think that by locking yourself inside your little house you can escape me? Oh, no, Eddie Spaghetti. That just makes it easier for me.”

He wakes shaking, sweating, covers kicked onto the floor. And then he picks them up, lays them over him, and lies there, eyes shut, awake and aware, until the sun comes through the curtains and he can hear his ma walking down the stairs.

Eddie knows it’s not her fault. He knows she just wants to protect him. He knows that he’s sick and that this is all for his own good. But he can’t help but entertain the idea, once or twice, that he could find some way out. He wants someone to talk to about all of this. He needs someone to talk to about all of this. And it’s not like he can just tell his mom that he and his friends got attacked by a killer clown. No, they’re the only ones. And they’re impossibly far away.

Instead, he thrashes at night. He leaves the lights on, keeps a wary eye on the shadows, and doesn’t even look in the direction of the sewer. He clenches his fists until there are little bloody half-moons in them...and then scrubs them clean, over and over and over again, wincing as the disinfectant touches the cut.

The Loser’s club survived the clown, but did Eddie? Is he alive after all? He’s not always sure.

They end up curled up on top of the covers, Eddie scooched over until he’s practically in Richie’s lap. The music is almost as quiet as it can get, but Richie makes up for it by yelling along to the lyrics, holding up a pen to his mouth like a microphone.

His voice is godawful, and it must show on Eddie’s face, because Richie pokes him in the cheek and says, “Oh, is there something wrong with my singing? Is there?”

“Stop fucking—get off of me!” Eddie cries, with is a fun joke, because he’s the one almost on top of Richie.

“Is it not good enough for your highness?” Richie shouts, adn then belts out one of the riffs. “Huh?” He pokes Eddie in the cheek, and Eddie laughs, pushing him.

“You’re so fucking ridiculous.”

Richie doesn’t reply to that, just keeps on singing, wild and drunken. Eddie joins in, and then they’re both giggling like idiots.

It’s such a sweetly familiar scene that Eddie almost feels alright, for a moment.

After a couple songs, the music switches to something quieter, more relaxed, and Eddie and Richie quiet down.

“Don’t your parents have an issue with you playing music while they’re asleep?” Eddie asks, because of fucking course he has to bring up parents. And now he’s fidgeting again, antsy and stressed out and he can’t get the image of his ma crying in his absence out of his head. Of her shutting the door on him gently every time she left the house, locking it.

But Richie seems totally oblivious to that. “Nah, they’re not home.”

It occurs to Eddie that it hadn’t seemed strange for Richie’s parents not to come downstairs, for them not to greet him or check up on him. “You’re so lucky they let you stay home alone,” Eddie says, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder. He can feel Richie’s breathing, can feel him glance toward Eddie and then away.

“Yeah,” Richie says, smiling a little. “Can’t imagine your mom would let up on her reign of terror for one second and let you actually have fun.”

Eddie hms. “Reign of terror? For some reason I thought you liked my mom.” Not seriously, but.

“Oh, I do, Eddie Spaghetti, I do.”

[August, 1989, and after]

The seven kids stand in the fading light, outside the house on Neibolt street for the final time. Or what they hope is the final time. Twenty-seven years—so much can happen. Will they still be friends? Will they have long split? Will Eddie have raised a family, or will he still be alone?

Future. He might have a future. They all might.

He’d thought so many times that they would die, this summer. Seeing the rotting, sore-ridden fingers connected to the rotting-sore-ridden person in front of him. Pennywise, inches from his face. Richie’s hand on his cheek—a pathetic, last ditch effort at comfort. (It didn’t work as a comfort, strictly, but it stuck in Eddie’s mind for the whole month he was at home. He hadn’t wanted Pennywise’s face to be the last thing I saw. For some reason it makes him feel warm inside.)

Suddenly, things don’t seem so bleak.

Then Eddie gets home, and things go back to the way they were. The way they were, except that everything’s tinted by the fact that Eddie knows. Eddie knows his meds are fake, that he isn’t sick, that his childhood was taken by nothing more than an overprotective mother.

God, he was a fucking idiot. He didn’t even know what his sickness was—his ma hadn’t told him anything more than careful, sweetie, and you know how delicate you are. Did he play along with it because he believed her? Because he was just as terrified of his dying as she was? Or just because it was easier to do that than face facts.

After Neibolt, after Georgie and the clown and all of the horror that Eddie can’t share, his mom stops keeping him inside. He leaves the house quietly with a note on the kitchen table. When he comes home, there’s no more evidence of his ma’s worry than her pursed lips and the worried divot between her brows—he’d inherited it—and they speak nothing of it.

Eddie finds himself spending more and more time with Richie, as things progress. Richie never comes to Eddie’s house—Eddie’s willing to push his luck a little, but shoving the fact that he’s meeting Richie in his mom’s face would be too far. Not that his meeting up with Richie is a capital-t Thing. Of course it’s not. Because even though Eddie looks at Richie sometimes and can’t look away, even though Richie pulled Eddie close when they thought they were about to die, even though Eddie secretly loves it when Richie pinches his cheeks and calls him cute, doesn’t mean Richie likes Eddie. Because Richie isn’t like that. No, fuck that—because they’re both boys, and that’s not how it works.

If any of his friends had to show their faces at his house, Richie would probably be the worst choice. Eddie’s ma hates Richie with a passion—”dirty boy,” she calls him. When they were little, Richie had come over to Eddie’s house for sleepovers almost every week, at least until they tried to climb out the window one night and sneak into the playground. It had all gone fine—or the climbing out the window part had, at least. But Eddie tripped on the sidewalk and skinned his knee, and the cut ended up getting infected. He was sick at home for weeks.

(Now, after everything that has happened, Eddie has to wonder if any of his sicknesses were real. Did he ever hear the diagnosis from the doctor themself? Eddie can’t even remember.)

So Eddie bikes to Richie’s house, or he finds him waiting outside the arcade for him. They buy ice cream, wander through the park. Eddie brings comic books to Richie’s house and they blast music and eat a frankly disgusting amount of chocolate. Richie seems to have an endless supply of peanut butter cups in in his bedroom.

Eddie has been friends with Richie for years—he’d call them best friends, if he didn’t know that Richie would tease him mercilessly for it. (Or he’d pinch his cheeks and call him adorable, which is just as bad, really.) But something about hanging out with him, separate from the group, has felt different, lately. Slightly charged. Electric in their slight touches, in the way Richie grabs Eddie’s hand, in the way Eddie catches Richie looking at him over his Batman. Eddie thinks he likes it.

Things go on as they would. Considering how their summer had gone, considering that he’s Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, things are good. Happy. Peaceful.

Eddie feels alive, for the first time in years. Not delicate, alive.

And then, one day, Eddie wakes up in the morning, and his mom is sitting at the foot of his bed, watching him.

Okay.

"Good morning, Eddie," his ma says softly, placing a hand on his leg.

"Good morning," Eddie replies, fucking confused but trying his best to keep it out of his voice.

"Eddie," she says, using his name again, which is usually a bad sign, "I went into the bathroom this morning, and I noticed your fanny pack hanging from the door."

"Yeah, that's where I always leave it."

"I know, and I opened it, just to check to see if your meds needed to be topped up."

Technically, the meds never need to be topped up. They never needed to exist in the first place. But Eddie keeps his mouth shut.

"I noticed," she continues, and it occurs to Eddie that the flatness of her voice seems to be wavering, like she's forcing something down, "that there were more pills in the jar than there should be. Haven't you been taking your pills, Eddie?"

Fuck. He hadn't been taking the pills since Neibolt, but he'd been careful to do away with them anyway. Flush them down the toilet, or let them go down the drain. He'd thought it had been a slightly silly precaution, but apparently his ma really was paying attention.

It makes his stomach hurt a little, and he tells his fingers not to itch for his inhaler.

"You were counting my pills?" he asks, voice a little hoarse.

"I'm only looking out for you, Eddie," she says, and his stomach definitely hurts.

"I don't need those meds, ma," he replies, voice edging up a couple decibels. "I'm not sick."

"You are, Eddie. You are sick. You know that. The doctors said it, remember? Remember that?"

Eddie tries to stand, tries to get out of his bed, but his ma puts a hand on his leg. His head knows that she really is just trying to help him, that she's his mother, that she knows what's best. But something else says that only one of those things is really true. "Doctors? All I remember is you coming into my hospital room and saying that I need to stay overnight for a scrape on the knee!"

"Sweetie," she says, her tone saying loud and clear that you're being unreasonable, "you could have gotten an infection."

"It was a scrape on the knee, ma!" he cries, wrestling his leg away and scrambling out of his bed. He's not sure, all of a sudden, why his heart is beating so fast. "Keeping me in the hospital, it—it was irrational."

"I was only looking out for you, Eddie," she says tenderly.

"Stop saying that!" he yells. "I'm not fucking sick, and I just want to have a normal life and—and not have to take fucking meds with me everywhere I go—"

He hears it first. It takes a moment for the pain to come, for him to realize that she's slapped him. Shit.

Eddie's ma brings a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and frightened. "Eddie," she gasps, "Eddie, I'm so sorry."

Eddie just stands there dumbstruck, staring at her. He's never been hit in his life—not by anyone other than fucking It.

"I didn't mean to, I love you, you know I didn't mean to—" she says, reaching out for what looks like a hug.

And suddenly he's in that house on Neibolt street again. There's a painted and awful face jeering at him, and he's cornered, and he can't fucking breathe, and he just turns and opens the door and leaves. Just fucking leaves. He's not even running, at first. There is no noble rescue. There is no Beverly, in the sewers. No heroic deed ahead of him. He just walks down the stairs, and then speeds into a jog, and then opens the door and fucking sprints down the street.

He can't hear his ma calling after him. He can't hear anything.

It rains. He wanders the city for hours, not keeping track of time, panicking and then convincing himself he’s going to be fine and then panicking again. Where can he go? What can he do? He doesn’t want to go back, but should he?

Who is someone he trusts? Who he knows isn’t going to send him home, who will listen to him, no matter what?

So he ends up at Richie’s house.

They sit there in silence for a little while, the only sound Freddie Mercury crooning through the radio speakers.

“I’m not sick,” Eddie says quietly, eyes directed unfocusedly at the comics lining the bookshelf across the small bedroom.

“What?”

“I’m not fucking sick, Richie,” Eddie says, and he’s too tired to snap at him.

“So did you make all of that up just so you couldn’t hang out with us? I thought you were deathly athsmatic or some shit,” Richie says. There’s laughter in his voice. He doesn’t get it.

“No—” Eddie says, and he sits up, widening the distance between them so he can look Richie in the eyes. Richie’s eyes widen slightly. “I’m not sick. I—all my meds were, were—placebos. Fakes.”

“Wait, what the fuck? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, Richie, I—I don’t fucking know! I don’t know what to think. All my life my ma has told me one thing, and then the girl at the pharmacy, she—she said something else.”

“Hey,” Richie says softly, putting a hand on Eddie’s knee.

Eddie ignores him. “And then I confronted my ma about it right before, before Neibolt, but she seems so—goddam she seems so vulnerable, and I just—I don’t know what to do, I really dont—”

“Eds, Eds,” Richie says, moving his hand to Eddie cheek and making him meet his eyes. “Slow down.” Eddie stares at him, chest heaving, and he reaches for his fanny pack, for his inhaler.

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” he gasps, wringing his hands, “oh, god, I need my inhaler, oh shit—”

“Eddie, Eddie, stop!” Richie shouts, grabbing Eddie’s hands and holding them still. “You’re spiraling, and when you do that you need your inhaler, and you clearly don’t have it right now, and apparently you don’t even fucking need it, whatever that means, so just—just shut up and tell me what happened!” Richie lets out a breath, quiets down. “Maybe I can help.”

“I think…” Eddie says, and he takes a breath, trying to calm his roiling insides, “I think my mom has been keeping me. Like a prisoner, or something.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Richie breathes.

“I mean. Not a prisoner. But she’s so...so hyper-anxious about me getting sick that she’s been telling me I’m sick so that I don’t go outside, I guess. Like when I had to stop taking P.E. class, because she said I was too delicate. I guess I wasn’t as delicate as she thought, but she did everything in her power to protect me.”

“Shit, Eddie, are you okay?” Richie asks, and his voice has none of its normal teasing spark.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, honestly.

“Is there...anything I can do?”

Eddie shuts his eyes, feeling the tears coming. He feels Richie’s hand take his, squeeze it. “No, but can I stay here tonight?”

“Fine, but stay the fuck away from my sister. We have really thin walls here, and if you two keep me awake I’m going to throw you out, I hope you know.” And it’s an awful thing to say, but it’s the perfect thing, too.

Eddie grins. “I make no promises,” he says, and he follows Richie into the hallway.

Richie doesn’t let go of his hands.

#reddie #richie/eddie #fic #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #sonia kaspbrak #eddie's mom deserves jail time i've never hated a fictional character more #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #fluff and angst #my writing

98 notes · View notes

wedontdeservethestars · 5 years

Text

Naked & Afraid

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak x Richie Tozier (Both adult)

Word Count: 884

Warnings: Blood, vomit, gore in general. Slight spoilers for It: Chapter 2.

Notes: Okay so. I remembered the scene from the original It miniseries where Eddie’s in the showers at school and Pennywise creeps him out and I’m kind of upset that it didn’t end up in the 2017 version (although I get why, small boys in the shower isn’t exactly an appropriate thing to be watching/thinking about because ew) so I went ahead and made an updated, scarier version that falls in the plot of Chapter 2. Then I made it Reddie-centric because I can do whatever I want. Also, quick warning, I am like Stephen King: bad at writing endings. Enjoy!

This was shaping up to be the worst day of Eddie’s life. Hands down. No competitors. Sure, he’d been vomited on by a leper before. The same leper, actually. And to be honest, there wasn’t too much of a difference in either experience. Except for the teeny tiny little fact that this time, he’d gotten it in his mouth. It was taking all of his willpower not to throw up himself as he stomped up the stairs of the bed and breakfast, dripping trails of gruel and bowel fluids behind him.

“Eddie?” he heard Ben call from behind him.

“Don’t talk to me,” he said flatly.

As soon as he got into the bathroom, Eddie stripped off his soiled clothes, grabbed the toothpaste and his brush, and got into the shower. He spent a solid five to ten minutes just brushing, rinsing, and spitting as he let the water sweep all the grossness from his form. When he finally felt decent enough to ditch the toothbrush, he squirted a generous helping of shampoo into his palm and got to work lathering it all into his hair. It was around this time that Eddie heard the voice.

“Eddie…” it rasped from behind him. Eddie froze. No. Not behind him. From below him.

“Don’t turn around,” he muttered to himself. “Do not fucking turn around.”

Despite his own warnings, Eddie couldn’t help but steal a glance. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that everything seemed completely normal. He looked down. Even the drain appeared to be the same as always. Until it spoke again.

“Poor, poor Eddie…” it cooed. “Scared little boy…”

Eddie drew back against the opposite wall, staring intently. “F--fuck off.”

The voice only laughed and continued. “Eddie’s life is unraveling…”

Turn the water off and leave, Eddie told himself. Just go. Get out of here. Even so, he stayed frozen and still.

“Years and years of a stable job...a marriage...a brand new car…” it went on. “What more could he want? And then he came back to play…”

“I’m not playing,” Eddie hissed. Why can’t I just fucking move?

“We are playing,” the voice giggled. “Play, play, play! Play until he tells…”

Eddie swallowed thickly. “Tells what?”

“Tells his dirty secret.”

Eddie could’ve sworn he saw the glint of an eye in the drain, staring up at him.

“Tell how he doesn’t want his life anymore. Not his old one, no…”

There was a wet slap from behind him. Eddie jumped as something soft and wet touched the heel of his foot.

“Not since he saw the trashmouth again…”

Eddie looked down. A tuft of brown hair covered in suds lay at his feet. He furrowed his brow.

“Now he doesn’t know to do. His whole world is falling apart.” The voice cackled suddenly. “Falling apart! Falling apart!”

Another slap, this time heavier. Then another, and another. Eddie watched in horror as hair and lumps of reddened flesh rushed towards the drain. A quick look at his body confirmed his dread. They were his hair and flesh. Feeling his chest move faster and faster, Eddie raised his arms to his face. He nearly screamed when his little finger bent back and dropped off his hand, leaving only a stump swollen and messy with water and blood.

Eddie’s legs finally let him move as he tore open the curtain and jumped out of the shower, the drain laughing all the while. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and finally shrieked. Flesh was still dropping off of him at an alarming rate, leaving only stinging patches of red muscle and even exposed bone in areas. Eddie’s vision went warped and darkened as he witnessed his left eye roll down his cheek and onto the floor.

He busted out of the bathroom, cussing and still yelling.

“Help! Help, fuck!”

Richie. Richie would know what to do. Or maybe he wouldn’t, but Eddie was already running to his room.

“Richie!”

Richie was apparently already on his way to the bathroom, because he and Eddie ran into each other in the hallway.

“Eddie!” he yelled breathlessly, grabbing onto his arms. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“M-my body--” At this point, Eddie was sobbing. “Fucking--you have to fucking help me, make it--make it stop!”

“What?” Richie seemed confused. He looked Eddie up and down. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“I--I’m f-falling apart!” How could he not see it? His eye was missing! Eddie looked down at himself. Except...he was completely normal. Naked, but normal.

“Eds?” Richie asked softly.

“I…” Eddie swallowed and touched his face. Everything felt whole. “I was…”

“Let’s...go to my room.” Richie took his hand and led him to his bedroom. Eddie sat on the bed, blinking at the carpet.

“Here.” Richie laid a hefty blanket across his shoulders.

“Thanks…”

“Yeah. Can you tell me what happened? I heard you screaming, and…”

“I was in the shower. And...and then there was this voice, this voice from the drain.”

“Fuck,” Richie hissed.

“And it spoke to me, and told me that…” Eddie paused. Maybe he should keep that part about the trashmouth and his secret to himself. “...That it wanted me to play. And then I...I started to fall apart, my skin was falling off…”

“Holy fuck, your…” Richie stood up suddenly. “I-I’m gonna fucking kill that thing.”

“Wait,” he said quickly. “No, no. Don’t. We can’t do it. Not right now. It’s--it’ll hurt you.”

“It hurt you!”

“Yeah, but--but not for real!” He sniffled and reached to grab Richie’s arm. “Please just sit with me. Please.”

Richie softened a little and looked back at Eddie. Soaking wet, hands shaking, white as a sheet. He spared one last look at the door, then took his place on the bed.

“Fuck. Fine. I can’t take it when you give me those puppy eyes.” He adjusted the blanket so it was further around him. Eddie tried to smile and shut his eyes. They were quiet for a beat, accompanied only by the sounds of their breathing, which was slowing to a calm rate.

“Do you...regret coming back?” Richie asked out of nowhere. Eddie frowned.

“Of course I do.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “I mean...yeah, you do. Duh.”

Eddie felt a pang of guilt and tried to recover. “I mean, I don’t regret seeing you guys again. Not at all. I missed you. I mean, I would’ve missed you if I remembered you, but...I think I always did deep down. I just didn’t know it.”

“Yeah…” Richie smiled. “I just got one question.”

“Shoot.”

“How the fuck did you forget me?”

“Well...I don’t know. It wasn’t my fault! It was magic, or ghosts, or whatever the fuck Mike says it is.”

“But I’m irreplaceable,” he said dramatically. “I’m a gem. A gift.”

“You’re annoying, is what you are.” Eddie pushed his shoulder with a smirk.

“Aw,” Richie pouted.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Aw!” He broke out in a smile.

“Can I get dressed now?”

“Um...no,” Richie said decidedly. “Never. Nude is the new black.”

“Good to know. I’m sure that’ll go well at meetings. Now go get me a fresh set of clothes that aren’t covered in puke.”

“Sure thing, Captain Clean-Freak.”

“What, you think being covered in vomit is a nice?” he scoffed. “Fuck you, Tozier.”

“Your mom already did.” Richie took off down the hallway towards Eddie’s room. Eddie groaned loud enough for him to hear and fell back on the bed.

42 notes · View notes

tthael · 4 years

Note

15 19 23

Thank you for playing along!

15) Something you’ve learned this year

Oh man, probably that I’m capable of finishing a novel, actually! I didn’t know that I was capable of finishing a project of that length, but it’s been weirdly reassuring to know that I’m capable of cranking out a project like that and being happy with it at the end. I told myself that I would write like two chapters of domestic fluff and then I would have one more completed work on my profile and it would empower me to keep going with my more ambitious projects--and instead the creative process kind of crept up behind me and hit me over the head with a chair. It’s a good feeling--something I learned about myself, you know?

19) Any new fics to start next year

Okay I’m not sure if this is cheating per NaNoWriMo rules, because I have at least beginnings for a lot of the fics I want to write, but my current undeclared works in progress are:

a) Bill Denbrough Writes an Ending--the finale to the Things That Happen After Eddie Lives series. I’ve written the opening scene, I know what the very last scene is going to be, and I’m so excited to get there. Also, people who are here for Reddie (and to a lesser extent Benverly) will be able to see updates on what happens with them. And then I’ll be able to answer the spoilery post-fic questions I’ve been dying to talk about.

b) Indelicate--what I’ve been affectionately referring to as “the size-kink fic,” in which Eddie does get vibe-checked at the end of It Part Two (2019), but thanks to the intervention of a Mr. Stan Uris, manages to make it to emergency medical attention. With a new lease on life, Eddie decides to pursue the things he wants, which include eating ice cream out of the quart with a spoon, dangerous bike rides, and Richie. This was gonna be my NaNoWriMo project but I only made it to 20K words, and now I’ve decided to adjust my goals for this fic and redraft from the beginning.

c) “Eldritch Teen Losers” fic--the kids succeed in killing Pennywise the first time around, but the seven of them start changing in exciting, disturbing, and reality-warping ways after the fact. Which is not going to make puberty any easier, let’s be clear.

23) Fics you wanted to write but didn’t

a) Richie Tozier’s Obligatory Coming-Out Comedy Standup Special--I started to draft this on my phone, but what I’ve learned is that I haven’t watched nearly enough comedy standup to know what makes a routine good, and now I’m worried about my ability to pull it off to my satisfaction when so many people have done such great standup sketches for Richie. I’m not gonna say never, but it might be a while before I’ve done my research to my satisfaction.

b) And this is not an IT fic, but when I watched Undeadwood on Critical Role this year I absolutely made up a player character to go along with the four-episode campaign, so I might end up writing a gender-interrogating Western inspired by Brian W. Foster, my favorite beta reader (who’s a big fan of Westerns), and my undying love of “Wild Wild West” by Will Smith.

Thank you thank you for asking!

#things that happen after eddie lives #tthael #my fic #answer memes #ifithollers #tthabl #bdwae #ttha #indelicate #eldritch teen losers #Anonymous

3 notes · View notes

edsbev · 6 years

Note

Hey bell!! Can I have more touch starved Richie headcanons in a relationship with Eddie?? Like a reddie relationship. If you can’t that’s totally okay. Thank you

The funny thing is, Eddiedoesn’t know a single about dating.

When should hand-holding turn tokissing? When should kissing turn to kissing? The kind with tongue androaming hands? How many dates should you even go on before you areactually dating? You know, before you can go around telling people that you’rein a relationship? That you have a boyfriend? That you are someone’sboyfriend?

Answer: Eddie doesn’t know.

But here he is, in the stillnessof his bedroom, guiding Richie’s arms around him, like this…dating andtouching and romantic affection…like those things are hard-wired so far intohim they’re second nature.

“You can touch me,Richie,” he whispers. Feels the warmth ofRichie’s hands on his hips as Eddie guides them there. “You know that,right? I want you to touch me.”

And Eddie can see the hesitancein Richie’s expression, as those wide, warm eyes drop to where his hands nowgrip Eddie’s waist. He can see the way a muscle jumps in Richie’s jaw as ittightens, the way Richie’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows roughly. And hebleeds a kind of nervous energy that buzzes at a high frequency, but beneath itall there’s something much deeper. His fingertips sink into Eddie’s back, eyesdarken, unwavering. And Eddie knows there’s a want, a low hum of desire,existing there too.

Eddie breathes, “do youwant me to touch you?”

And Richie nods. Quiet and timidand not like himself. Because phsyical contact is something of which he’s beenstarved, and something of which he’s become scared.

Eddie knows that Richie is anaturally affectionate person. That when Richie was a child, he would cling tofather’s legs and smack wet kisses onto his mother’s arms. And he knows thatRichie’s parents’ would scold him for doing so.

“Don’t hug me, Richie,you’re all dirty,” his motherwould say, dusting herself off. “I don’t like it when you kiss me. Kissyour toys instead.”

“Not now, Richie,” his father would say, pushing Richie away. “Youknow you’re supposed to leave me alone while I’m working. Go and play outside,I need some quiet.”

They were distant and cold. Andnot at all made for Richie.

Because Richie was open andwarm, and would sling his arm around Bill’s shoulders while they walked, andpunch Mike’s arm while they joked, and squeeze Bev’s arm while they talked. Buthis friends were not as likely to return the affection in kind, and would, moreoften than not, playfully push him away - “you’re like a fucking leech,sometimes,” Stan had laughed once, shoving Richie’s chin off hisshoulder, “always stuck to something.”

Not because they didn’t likehim, but because they were different to him - not quite so touchy, orphysically affectionate. Because they were friends, and friends joked aroundlike that. Because they didn’t understand that Richie touched them because hewas deprived of it.

(And you can’t blame them, butEddie still feels guilty whenever he thinks of all those times he had shruggedRichie off, swatted his hands away, deprived him even further).

Now, though. Now that Eddieunderstands, now that he and Richie are dating, he’s going to make it up tohim. He’s going to feed into this craving until Richie can no longer rememberwhat it feels like to be starved.

But he has to get Richie overhis fear of rejection first.

The thing is, is takes more thanjust a night in your bedroom, slipping your hands under your boyfriend’s shirt,and telling him that it’s okay for him to touch you back, for your boyfriend tosuddenly drop all those years of being told get off me, don’t touch me, goaway, and become someone who can touch you without the constant worry thatyou’ll say all those things too. (Especially since, at once point, you havesaid all those things).

So Richie is still hesitant.

They’re out with the Losers, ona windy day at the Barrens, and Richie’s gaze lands on him, darts away, andfinds its way back. Skittish, nervous. Wanting something. And so Eddie stepscloser, until their sides are pressed together, feels Richie stiffen and then,slowly, relax.

They’re at the cinema, waitingin a line that almost goes out the door, and Richie sways, brow furrowed, asthough deciding something. And then he’s placing his hand on the small ofEddie’s back. Fingertips first, touch so light Eddie almost doesn’t feel it.Then the flat of his palm, warm and steady.

It’s always little touches.Eddie loops his arms through Richie’s while they walk. Richie brushes a strandof hair from Eddie’s face after they kiss. And Eddie gets it, he does. But hewants more. And he thinks Richie wants more too.

Sometimes, Richie comes overwhen things at home are rough.

Tonight, he stumbles throughEddie’s window, staggers on his feet, and tugs frustratedly at his hair.

“Bad?” Eddie whispers,from where he’s sitting on his bed. Knees brought up to his chest.

Richie drops his hand, his hairsticking up around his forehead, and finds Eddie’s gaze in the dim light. AndEddie watches, as though in slow motion, as Richie’s shoulders loosen under hisdark hoodie. The pent up anger in his chest deflates, and the corner ofRichie’s small, sad smile glints in the moonlight.

“The worst,” Richiereplies. He moves close enough that his knees knock against the end of the bed.Eddie wraps his arms tighter around his knees, sweaty palms seeping into thebare skin of his legs. Heart tight under the uncertain look Richie pulls andpushes his way.

The span of the mattress, with its twists andtwirls of rumpled sheets, Eddie’s deep blue duvet cover, is an ocean betweenthem.

“Come and sit withme,” Eddie says. Damp hand flattening against the cold and empty spacebeside him. Because, especially after spending a night with his parents, whoscold and push and drive Richie back into that space where he feels like no onewants to be near him, Richie needs an invitation.

And Richie kicks off his shoes,and then the mattress is dipping and creaking under Richie’s weight, and thespace is no longer cold and empty.

“I’m really sorry aboutthis, Eds,” Richie says. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps hisarms around them. So they are warped reflections of each other, Richie andEddie, sitting side by side. Feet crossed at the ankles, and gazes drawn to thedusting of silver light at the bed’s end.

Eddie glances at Richie withoutmoving his head, studies the tightness in Richie’s beautiful jaw. “Aboutwhat? Your parents? You can’t control that, Richie. And you know I want youcome to here when they’re being horrible.”

“No…no, Eddie, it’s notthat.” Richie hangs his head, sucks in a deep breath. And then he meetsEddie’s gaze, eyes as dark as the night. Pulls Eddie in until he’s submerged intheir murky depths. And with his head underwater, with all sounds dampened, theconnection between them feels heightened, and Eddie knows. Knows that Richie issorry he hesitated at the end of the bed. Is sorry that he couldn’t sit withEddie without asking. That he’s left a gap between them as they sit now.

“You know,” Richiecontinues, “on my way here, I couldn’t stop thinking about holding you. Ijust really, really wanted to be close to you. But when I’m with you I get soscared…”

“Richie -”

“And it’s so fuckingstupid, I know.” Richie looks away, rakes his fingers through his hair.“But I can’t stop myself from thinking that if I touch you, you’ll push meaway.”

Sometimes, words come shaped asknives, and they stab you right beneath your heart.

Eddie places a hand on Richie’sarm, on the warm, fuzzy fabric of his hoodie. “But I won’t,” heassures him gently. “You know that. I told you. I want you to touchme, Richie. I want you to hold me.”

Beneath his palm, Richie isstiff. Eddie pauses a moment, considering, and then he tugs Richie’s arm, pullshim down so they’re lying together. And Richie looks at him, with a sadness inhis eyes, one side of his face buried in the soft pillows, hair fanning overthe white covers.

Eddie reaches out, and runs hisfingers through the curls above Richie’s ear. Heart mimicking the way Richie’seyelids flutter.

“I’ll tell you thateveryday if I have to,” Eddie whispers. Fingertips grazing over Richie’sforehead as he brushes away a stray curl.

“You might have to,”Richie says, huffs a flat laugh. “Sorry.”

Eddie lets his fingers traildown along Richie’s temple, over the softness of his cheek, the peach fuzz nearhis jaw. And Richie is trying, trying to watch him, as though he doesn’twant to look away from Eddie’s face, the softness in Eddie’s eyes; but hiseyelids keep flickering, so deeply affected by Eddie’s touch.

“Don’t think I’ve everheard the Richard Tozier ever say sorry this much,” Eddie murmurs,fingers sweeping down Richie’s neck. Finally, he lets his hand fall into thespace between them, and gives Richie a small grin. “Didn’t know he had itin him, after years of him not saying sorry for telling those jokes about mymom.”

Richie immediately perks up,smiling much more like himself (jokes and Eddie’s hands can do that to him).“There’s nothing to apologise for. They need to be told.”

Eddie laughs, warmth bubblingfrom his chest. “Do they?”

“Yeah.” Richie’s smilehas grown even wider, bring a light to his eyes. “They do.”

Eddie’s laughter simmers downinto a breathless, fond smile. And as he studies the features of Richie’s face,the freckles Eddie loves, the slope of his straight nose, the strong shape ofhis eyebrows, he notices Richie studying his. And he sees Richie study,perhaps most of all, the curve of his smiling lips.

“Richie,” Eddiewhispers. Knows what Richie wants, what he’s too scared to get. “Pleasekiss me.”

And Richie surges forward, and he does.

They kiss in a hungry way, in a way they’ve never kissed before. And Eddie realises that this is kissing. The kind with tongue and roaming hands. But while he slips his tongue in Richie’s mouth, slides his hand up Richie’s neck, jaw, into his hair, Richie’s hand lands on Eddie’s hip and stays there.

It’s fine for a while. Eddie focuses on making Richie feel good. Slips his hand under Richie’s hoodie and rakes his fingernails down Richie’s bare stomach. Lets it wander up, up, over his chest, grazes over Richie’s nipple. A heat boiling low in his stomach when Richie’s breath catches in his throat.

“Good?” Eddie murmurs, nipping at Richie’s jaw.

Richie’s grip tightens on Eddie’s waist, fingers digging into his skin. “Y-yeah.”

But he can feel Richie getting antsy. Feels Richie’s pinky push up the hem of Eddie’s shirt so he can ever-so-slightly brush Eddie’s bare skin.

So Eddie runs hand down Richie’s arm, and grips his wrist. And then he guides Richie’s hand down, slowly, to the curve of his ass. Richie sucking in a breath as he lets himself cup Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie kisses him again, pauses and meets Richie’s dizzied gaze when he feels Richie squeeze his ass a little harder, fingers sinking into the soft flesh through his shorts.

“Feels so good,” Eddie whispers against Richie’s lips.

“Fuck,” Richie groans, and squeezes him again. Eddie’s entire body feels alight, can only imagine how Richie feels. Amazing, Eddie hopes. He attaches his lips to Richie’s neck, feels Richie body jolt, almost spasm, at the sensation. As Eddie kisses the sensitive skin, harder, harder, until he’s sucking at the spot just beneath Richie’s jaw. Tastes slightly of sweat.

“Eddie.” Richie sounds wrecked.

“Mmm,” Eddie hums. And when he pulls away, that wet patch of skin is dark and red. “I think I just gave you a hickey.”

“Christ, that’s hot.”

Eddie grins, looks at up him. And holy shit. Richie is glossy eyed and flushed, cheeks red and hair a wild tangle of curls. And Eddie did that. Oh, god, Eddie needs to keep doing that.

He kisses him. “You should,” he kisses the corner of Richie’s mouth, “take this,” kisses his jaw, “off.” He tugs at Richie’s hoodie. “Wanna kiss you everywhere.”

And that’s when Richie pulls away.

“Wait,” he says. Eddie feels the loss of his body heat like a punch of cold air. “Eddie. I like this…like, a whole fucking lot. But…do you think it’s alright if we don’t go any further tonight? I just…kinda wanna hold you.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s heart is racing, feels dizzy and dazed. Looking at the nervousness in Richie’s expression, he slowly sinks down from his high. Shit, he got way too ahead of himself. “Of course, Rich. I…I didn’t mean to push you into anything…”

“Wait, no, no I…” Richie jumps in immediately. “Eddie, I’ve wanted to make out with you like that since forever. I just don’t trust my dumb, touch-starved virgin body to go any further with you right now.”

A laugh escapes Eddie before he stop it. “That’s fair.”

Richie smiles. “I’m going to cuddle you now.”

And he shuffles down the mattress so he can bury his face just below Eddie’s shoulder, by his collarbone. Reaches out and grabs Eddie’s thigh, palm rough and warm as he slides it beneath Eddie’s knee, and pulls Eddie’s leg over his hip. Then he wraps his arm tight around Eddie’s waist, pulling them flush so they’re curled right up together. And Eddie smiles, pressing his face into Richie’s hair, endeared by Richie’s sudden burst of confidence.

“Is that okay?” Richie asks.

Eddie slings his arm around Richie’s shoulder and toys with the curls on the nape of his neck. Can smell the faint scent of Richie’s shampoo, can feel Richie’s soft breaths on his skin where his own shirt has slipped from his shoulder.

“Perfect.”

And maybe Eddie doesn’t know a single thing about dating, but he thinks that what he and Richie have is pretty fucking good.

#Anonymous #ask #reddie #hm idk how i feel abt this but i finished something so hgfjds #also things get like kinda heated but its not rlly n.sfw #its justmaking out #mine

1K notes · View notes

takealottodragmeawayfromreddie · 6 years

Text

The Reddie Horror Show

Aka. The high school IT au featuring Richie being a musical nerd and dragging all of his classmates with him that nobody asked for.

—In high school, Richie realized that he liked both boys and girls and started these jokes of being a stereotypical gay guy (even though he's actually bi).

—He used to watch musicals as an ironic liking and had fun making all the losers watch Grease with him and randomly screaming the lyrics of the most iconic musical numbers.

—But then The Rocky Horror Show appeared, and Richie truly loved it. Like, for real. He fell in love with the story, the characters and the songs.

—He got so obsessed that, everytime Eddie got carried away by angriness towards him (or anything), he would start singing "when Eddie said he didn't like his Teddy you knew that he was no good kid" just to make him angrier.

—Sometimes, the losers club would be waiting for Eddie to get ready outside his house and, when he finally came out, Richie would make his most ridiculous Dr. Scott voice and go "from the day he was born... he was trouble...".

—Everyone would be sick of all his references (specially when he would act like Frank N Furter or use "hot dog" as an insult) if he wasn't good. But the thing is that Richie is awesome at singing and acting and everyone is amazed by it.

—So, when one of their teachers asks the classroom to produce a musical as an important study project, of course Richie will suggest Rocky Horror.

—And, like the diva he has been becoming since he found this new passion and started to get all the cool parts at the drama club, everyone agrees that, no matter what the school may think, Rocky Horror is the best option.

—The auditions starts. Bill's stutter, instead of giving him troubles, makes him the perfect Brad. Beverly originally wants to play Columbia, but she has such a sweet voice that Janet becomes the ideal character for her to portray.

—Mike gets to play Rocky, basically because he is the one in better shape in the whole classroom. And Stan gets the narrator part.

—Our Dr. Frank N Furter is, surprise surprise, the superstar Richie Tozier, who accepts the honour like this is Broadway.

—Eddie and Ben aren't such good actors and singers, though. Actually, they kinda suck. Ben has troubles learning the dance routines and can't hit any note, and Eddie thinks this is stupid, anyway. (He's just so done with Richie making jokes about his name and that character who is called the same).

—So they take the parts of two random extras. They do the Time Warp in the background, sing "that ain't no crime" like it wasn't their only line in the whole thing and, even when Ben is upset because he has to watch Bev singing Dammit Janet with another guy, they try to do their best (failing comically).

—The problem starts when weeks go by and Eddie realizes he really appreciates Richie's efforts. Like, this is no joke for Richie. He actually takes it seriously, practices day and night (even while just hanging out with the losers), works hard to reach those notes and takes all the important creative decissions of the play.

—One day, he gives the classroom a heart-felt discourse about what "Don't dream it, be it" means and everybody just sits there and listen in an understanding silence.

—Then it hits Eddie. He likes Richie. He respects his passion, he admires his talent, he... he's kinda in love. He always has been.

—But this revelation doesn't hits him as much as finding out that it's the worst moment possible for being in love with Richie.

—Because Richie is now Frank N Furter. The dirty transvestite alien who rocks those heels and flirts with every fucking character.

—A horrified Eddie gets to watch the new found love of his life doing sexual disgusting moves, sitting on other people, running his hands all over Mike's chest/arms/legs, getting in a fake-bed with Bev and Bill, walking around in ridiculously sexy outfits and practically making out with EVERYONE but him.

—It gets even worse because, artistic or not, he's still Richie. So he will make jokes on his free time and won't shut up about how good that random girl's kiss was or how Mike carrying him bridal style was one of his personal goals. And, of course, that Bev and Bill thing won't get pass the radar.

—"Like, I know that they're the cutest couple ever and everything, but, man, it was fucking hot. Of course I'd rather be Rocky if Eddie's mother was Janet and she'd make me touch her juicy tits while singing Touch-a, touch-a..."

—"Beep beep, Richie", everyone says, but Eddie says it louder, and that comment about his mother isn't what bothers him the most.

—Ben is so sad about the Brad and Janet thing that he's secretly trying to write his own musical about her. Even if it's not that good and it'll never get done, he really wants to make it like he was Richard O'Brien himself.

—If he wasn't so busy trying to create this thing, he would have overheard one of those million of conversations between Bill and Bev, when they talk about how Brad would rather have the narrator and Janet is kinda starting to see Transylvanian #8 (Ben) with love eyes.

—On Eddie's side, he's getting so angry about everything that he barely wants to speak to Richie. And he knows he has no right to get angry because Richie's not actually his man but that's his man.

—When Richie notices that he's been avoiding him and comfronts him about it, Eddie plays dumb in a very resentful way and Richie, who is kinda stressed because the play is in two weeks, won't take it. So they have a argument that makes Eddie confess his feelings and run away.

—After that scene, Eddie doesn't show at the rehearsals again and teacher gets so mad that she writes him out of the play. (Not that his character had any line, anyway...)

—But the losers are furious. They were supposed to be all together in this. And he even stops hanging out with them. He won't pick up the phone and always success to avoid them.

—The day of the play, Bill gets to talk to him leaving him with no chance of scape. He asks why is he acting so weird and Eddie finally tells the true. He declared his feelings to Richie and he assumed Richie would reject him.

—Bill makes the biggest facepalm of history. Richie likes him back! Stan told him that Richie told him that he was scared because Eddie was so ashamed of liking him that he had run away inmediatly after confessing and that maybe he was disgusted by all the sweet transvestite thing.

—Eddie feels so stupid. He wants to go and tell Richie that he's the most cool guy ever and he loves him. But Bill convices him that the best thing he can do is wait after the play.

—And the play starts. Eddie is sitting there in the front row, ready to watch his future man giving the best performance ever.

—Bill and Bev totally kill it as Brad and Janet at the beggining and the middle and the end.

—Stan is the best telling the story and showing everyone how to do the Time Warp. And Ben isn't that bad either.

—Then our dear Frankie appears. Fabulous is an understatement. He's absolutely amazing. The heels, the clothes, the walk. His voice does things that Eddie didn't even knew that it could and he just takes over the stage.

—You really can feel Mike's Rocky's torment at the "Sword of Damocles" number and there's something about Richie with a corset on teaching a Mike in golden underwear how to apply Charles Atlas' plan that is fucking hilarious.

—Ben's powerful "that ain't no crime" and his screams when Frank kills fake Eddie are amazing, and real Eddie can't help noticing the way Bev lowkey stares at him.

—The bed scenes are annoying, as always, but Eddie just smiles because his crush is such a good actor and he will get the real thing as soon as he solves what he caused.

—Bev and Mike's Touch-a, touch-a, touch me is closer to funny than to sexy.

—The Janet, Dr. Scott, Janet, Brad, Rocky thing is funnier than ever.

—The floor show starts. Mike, Bill and Bev? Stunning as always.

—RKO tower. Richie up there. Omg. Whatever happened to Fay Wray? Eddie can barely breath. He's so in love and Richie is so cool and everything is so perfect.

—Don't dream it, be it. Eddie finally gets the meaning of that. He always had been dreaming about things that he thought he couldn't have, that he didn't deserved. Health, real friends, real love. And now he seems to get it. It's always been there. And while Richie makes out with Mike, Bill and Bev at the same time (wearing women clothes, btw), Eddie starts to cry because, God, amazing. Best feeling in the World.

—I'm going home. At last, Richie looks to the audience and he seems to see Eddie. He's too focused on his big number, but their eyes meet anyway, for a few, subtle seconds. Eddie wonders if Bill had the chance to tell Richie that the feeling is mutual.

—Frank and Rocky get killed as, with great sound and light effects, the castle flies away into space. The whole room is in complete silence.

—Bill and Bev do an amazing closing number and Stan's acting as the last character who says something as the light fades away is tears worthy. At least that's what Eddie hears the next day.

—He doesn't gets to see it himself because he's too busy getting behind the stage into the changing room, where Richie is sitting, waiting for his last appearence at the very end.

—Richie looks so surprised that is obvious he didn't expected Eddie being there. Not with a bouquet of roses for the play star.

—"Eds, what are you doing here?"

—"Don't call me that, hot dog", he smiles.

—A second later, they both run into each other arms and share a kiss that's even better than any make out scene in the play.

—When all the actors get back to stage for a final bow, everyone is surprised to see Dr. Frank N Furter showing up carrying a boy who abandoned the play with one arm and holding a bouquet with his free hand.

—But he doesn't even care. He just throws kisses all over the place and says thanks and pecks on real life Eddie's lips again and again.

—People is even more surprised when Janet lets go of Brad hand and reaches back to hold Transylvanian #8 arm and bring him to the front of the stage, kissing his cheek and whispering something about winter fire and things that no one gets to understand completely.

—Brad doesn't look too shock. He seems more interested in the narrator, who just smiles and waves at him from the opposite side of the stage.

—Everybody lives happily ever after, until, a few years later, at Eddie's 22th birthday party, Richie sings a weird thing called Dammit Eds and drops the ring more times than what the musical number demands because he's too nervous. Eddie blushes and begs him to stop and gets super angry, but he says yes anyway.

406 notes · View notes

argylemikewheeler · 6 years

Text

not adopted (richie and mike twins) - part 2

So Richie has a twin. An honest to fucking God twin. What the hell is he supposed to do with that? He was supposed to be a one of a kind– not the one discarded of two. (reddie and byeler background) part 1 | part 3

Richie was on his third cup of coffee. He really shouldn’t have been. Every doctor his mother had dragged him to sternly advised against any caffeine. He could barely keep his body still as it was, but with his third cup and new-found twin brother sitting across from him in the diner’s booth, there were no chances his hands were going to be steady.

“Slow down, Richie. You’re going to send yourself into cardiac arrest.” Eddie said, placing his hand over the top of the mug as he lifted it to his lips. “Seriously.”

“It’s either this or I’m breaking into the Tozier liquor cabinet.” Richie muttered, looking at Eddie. “Do you want to push me to the bottle, Eds?” Eddie lifted his hand with a sigh.

Over his mug, Richie looked at the three boys across the table from them. Bill was sitting on the outside, squinting at a specials menu across the room and muttering them under his breath. He was stuttering so much, Richie thought he was cold by the way his teeth were chattering. Next to him was a stranger, sixteen years old at his oldest, Richie thought, eyes wide as he looked between the other boys at the table. He was small, like Eddie had been when they were younger but without the growth spurt. He was holding the hand of the other stranger at the table. The one that looked exactly like Richie. His twin. He was better looking, Richie thought, looking at his hair hang with far more discipline than the curls bouncing all over his own face. He didn’t have Richie’s embarrassing glasses with the half-inch thick prescription. No wonder their parents wanted Mike instead of him; they made the right choice.

“Cuh-Can I ask you something?” Bill asked, trying to manage the silence. “Did you know Richie lived here?”

“No!” Mike answered, shaking his head. “Mom said Richie was… gone.”

“Why would she say I was fucking dead!” Richie cried.

“Richie, inside voice.” Eddie hissed.

“No, I’m serious. What kind of mother gives up one twin and then tells the other he’s dead!” Richie wanted to know the truth. He knew half the shit that came out of his mouth was shit anyway, but this time he was serious. He wanted to know why he was left behind. Why no one bothered to tell him he was a part of some bigger picture.

“She said you were sick.” Mike muttered, the words unambiguous as he looked at Richie, bad eyesight and scrambled brain staring back at him.

“Sick.” Richie repeated. “They thought I was going to be a goddamn mutant or something? Fuck, I wish I was. Then maybe I could feel better about this.”

“Richie, come on.” Eddie said, sliding his arm under Richie’s to hold his hand. “It’s not like that.”

“No, Eddie. It is. It is that.” Richie argued. “Listen, your mom fucking lied to you to say you were a half skip away from the grave at all times. Imagine that but… instead your mom just decided you’d be better dead. She just left you. Gave you to some other family because you were going to be too much of a hassle!” Richie couldn’t believe that his mother– his real mother– could have predicted before birth he’d end up such a fucking mess. He couldn’t blame her for giving him up.

“It’s not like she forgets you. We have that picture of you on the mantle. Next to Baby Holly.” Mike tried to comfort Richie, but kept making things worse.

“Holly?”

“That’s my little sister… She’s not much of a baby anymore.” Mike smiled. “She’s your sister too! Nancy too!”

“Wait.” Richie said, placing his coffee cup down. He let his hand fall below the table and grab Eddie’s hand. “You have a younger sister?”

“Yeah.” Mike nodded, furrowing his eyebrows at the intensity of Richie’s tone.

“Your mom had another kid.” Richie said. “Our mom got rid of me because I was supposed to be some goddamn handicap or something… but then had another kid.”

“Richie.” Eddie said, squeezing his hand. “You don’t know what happened.” He was trying to calm Richie down without stepping on any of his wild-fire emotions, flaring up and growing with every breath. “Maybe… Maybe it’s different.”

“Yeah! Muh-muh-maybe things were more complicated.” Bill reached across the table and placed his hand on the table, Richie releasing Eddie’s for a moment to take it. “Mike?”

“Oh, I don’t remember anything.” He said, shrugging. “My mom just always said that Richie was sick, he wasn’t going to live that long after they cut us apart, so they sent him to a foster family… to be well taken care of.”

“What am I? An old, dying dog?” Richie scoffed. “I can’t stand this shit. Eddie, let me out of the booth.”

“Richie, I drove you.” Eddie said, trying to coax him to stay.

“Edward. Get out of my goddamn way.” Richie demanded. “I don’t want to fight with you today, babe. Move.” Eddie looked at Richie with the same eyes that held the ability to melt him and make his entire world fade away. In that moment, they made Richie feel isolated and cold.

He hadn’t meant to fight with Eddie. Eddie was the only thing that was making any remote sense at that point to Richie. His entire life in Derry had been a lie and Richie had little to no hard time believing it, except with it came to Eddie. With Eddie, Richie almost refused to believe he was meant to have another life. Eddie fit perfectly, it made sense. It was Richie’s only reassurance that he wasn’t a complete fuck up. But to learn that it was a fluke? Richie couldn’t accept it. He loved Eddie. That couldn’t change.

Eddie slid out of the booth and let Richie stand, slamming change from his pocket on the table before storming out. Behind him, Richie heard the rest of the group bickering and trying to mobilize just before the diner door slammed behind him. Eddie’s car was at the end of the lot facing away from the glass diner windows. Richie had no other way to get home, so he sat on the trunk, feet resting on the bumper. Across the lot, Bill came walking out of the diner. Richie had expected Eddie first.

“What do you want, Bill.” Richie asked, sitting back and crossing his arms. “I am not going back in there.”

“I d-d-don’t blame you.” Bill said, reaching Richie and resting a hand on the trunk. “But take it easy on them. Maybe?”

“I just don’t understand, Bill.” Richie muttered, letting his arms drop to his sides. Bill reached forward and took his hand again. “I thought my parents loved me.”

“Being adopted doesn’t muh-muh-mean that they don’t.” Bill said. “And you don’t know about Mike’s parents– your parents– had going on. Maybe they’ll be happy to hear y-you’re doing okay!” Bill grinned, trying to lighten Richie’s mood, but the sentiment fell flat. Richie’s birth parents would not be pleased to know that he and Mike met. They wouldn’t be happy to know that he’s alive. Another person that would be better off if he was dead. The list kept getting longer– he was running out of arm’s reach.

“Richie! Wait.” Mike was walking out of the diner, Will and Eddie behind him. He was nearly in a run, not even slowing when he saw Richie stationary and slumped on Eddie’s car, keys in the other boy’s back pocket. “Maybe we can call my parents– our parents!”

“No. I’d rather not.” Richie said, standing and waving Eddie to the car. “I want to go home to my fake parents, to my fake house, with my fake hometown, and pretend that I wasn’t fucking fused to someone at birth. Like some goddamn medical mutant.”

“Would you stop.” Mike begged, reaching out and grabbing Richie’s arm.

His fingers wrapped around Richie’s forearm and the world faded away. Not in the way it happened with Eddie, it was much faster. The entire world turned black, echoing reality in shadows and warped versions of the buildings around them. Mike and everyone else disappeared from his vision, a strong, invisible grip keeping Richie frozen in place as he stared up at the cloud-filled, rumbling sky. There were particles, little white things, floating in front of Richie’s eyes like particles of the old Earth floating up to the sky. It all seemed like he had blacked out as soon as Mike touched him, but his eyes had kept a residual image of the town around him as his eyes closed.

“Fuck!” Richie screamed, yanking his arm downward, away from the ghosted touch. His vision returned and he was able to see Mike’s hand again, retracted from Richie’s body. Eddie touched his shoulder and Bill was staring at him with wide eyes. Mike looked offended, but Will looked frightened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Richie, who was beginning to sweat. “Did anyone else see that?”

“See what?” Mike asked.

“Richie, did you see something?” Eddie asked frantically, looking around. He was trying to find something far different than what Richie saw; he was looking for stray balloons, drops of blood, the rushing of bright colors. If he was looking, he didn’t see it.

“You did see that? All that black?” Richie asked, waving his hand out to the world that had seemed to drop away just a moment before. “It was gone!”

“Gone?” Bill echoed, cocking his head. “What’s that suh-supposed to mean?”

“Black?” Will asked, looking at Richie with the same narrowed eyes, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Yeah! Like, everything just kind of turned all opposite. It was like a fucking shadow town. You didn’t see that?” Richie knew what he saw. There was no way he had made that up. It was his mouth that spewed the bullshit, not his eyes.

“I didn’t see anything.” Eddie said. “Are you sure it wasn’t something else?”

“Positive.” Richie said, looking at Eddie and trying to find the lost comfort in his eyes. “I know what I saw, Eds.”

“Was it cloudy?” Will asked, his voice trying to reach Richie carefully. He was hesitant, but with enough confidence to know he was right. Richie nodded. “And none of us were here?”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie demanded, jerking his head to stare at Will. “We were all right here!”

“Mike.” Will said slowly, turning to look at the boy beside him. “Dark? Clouds and storms? Separate reality? That’s awfully familiar.” Will spoke grimly, the other three boys left in the dark, although Richie was mostly blind at that point.

“Oh shit.” Mike breathed, whipping his head to stare at Richie. He reached out to grab Richie’s arm again, the world flickering away like a bad bulb before Mike retracted his hand and granted Richie the world back. “True Sight.”

(tagging @thescaryflower at request)

#mike and richie twins #it and stranger things #mike wheeler #richie tozier #not adopted #minor reddie #minor byeler #if y'all like this I'll write more

246 notes · View notes

just-jordie-things · 3 years

Text

Amnesia - Richie Tozier (part four)

word count: 1785 warnings: swearing, conflicttt summary: loosely based on Amnesia by 5sos + (part one) + (part two) + (part three) ___

[ if what we had was real, how could you be fine? cause i’m not fine at all ]

Derry, Maine, 2019

Now that he was standing here, Richie was fairly certain this was idiotic. This was a bad plan, and maybe even a bit stalker-ish.

Bribing and lightly threatening the hotel clerk to give him the information of the room (y/n) was staying in was a bit over the top, he’ll admit. But he’d had a few drinks to give him the courage to finally get the closure that he desperately needed.

So, he knocked on her door.

“I don’t need room service,” (y/n’s) kind voice called from inside. “But thank you-”

“It’s not room service,” Richie said. “Unless this is a porno, then this is the sexiest room service you’ve ever experienced”

(y/n) opened the door, giving him that look, the one he had grown so accustomed to seeing when they were kids, but she was smiling, which he considered a win.

“How did you figure out what room I was staying in, Richie?” She asked, more curious than annoyed.

“G’evening to you too, babycakes,” He grinned back at her. “Let’s just say I have my ways-”

“Did you threaten the poor man downstairs?”

“Well not a serious threat-”

“Oh my,” The woman sighed, and rested her palm to her forehead. “Well, what’re you doing here?”

“I just wanna talk,” He said, and raised his hands innocently. “Honest”

Her eyes assessed him for a moment, unsure if that was such a good idea.

But she’d never been good at saying no to that face.

“Alright,” She murmured, and stepped aside to let him in. “Come on in then”

She shut the door behind him, and was quick to grab her hoodie to cover the still-healing marks on her arms.

Richie sat on the side of her bed, while she hovered at the counter. It was then that he realized her coffee machine was running.

“Are you drinking coffee right now?”

“It’s decaf, it sounded good,” She answered with a small shrug. “So, um… what’d you wanna talk about?”

She felt like a teenager all over again. Watching Richie while he watched her, and trying to figure out what was going on in his head. She was almost always wrong.

“You, actually,” He said. “Like… maybe why you… uh… stopped writing me?”

Her mouth opened, and then closed again, not knowing the right answer. The truth wasn’t an option, but she couldn’t think of a good enough lie.

“I… I forgot… about-”

“Come on,” Richie said softly. “Don’t lie, it’s alright, just tell me the truth”

He was being so quiet, and it troubled her.

She poured out her cup of coffee, and gestured as though to ask if he wanted a cup.

“(y/n),” He sighed, knowing she was avoiding the question. “Whatever it is-”

“I couldn’t, okay?” She murmured. “I couldn’t talk to you anymore, have you in my life, see you- I just couldn’t”

Richie’s brows furrowed, and his lips curved into a small half-smile.

“You couldn’t?” He asked, and she just nodded, and took a sip of her coffee. “As in… you didn’t want to?”

“No- no not like that” She said quickly.

“Then… what?” He asked.

(y/n) stared down at her mug, wondering why she didn’t pack up and leave tonight. She knew why. She knew exactly why. She couldn’t go back to Clayton, not now anyways. He’d kill her. She was lucky to have gotten out, to have made it here in the first place.

And now that she felt the need to leave… she wasn’t sure where to go.

“It’s hard to explain-”

“Maybe try,” Richie said, getting fed up with her dancing around the question. “Look if you fell out of love with me that’s fine, (y/n/n), I get it, life happens, and it’s been a long time but… I just want to know the truth”

“Fall out of- no, Richie, it’s not like that either,” She sighed, and sat next to him on the mattress. “I wanted to write, I really, really did, okay?”

“Okay… then why didn’t you?” He asked slowly.

It was obvious that she was holding something back. Anyone with eyes could see that. And that alone was breaking his heart, because there was once a time where she couldn’t hide something from him if she tried.

“I… I uh…” Her hands began to wring together, which didn’t go unnoticed by Richie. “I did get your letter- well, letters, but I mean the one from uh- from when you moved out of Derry,” She took another deep breath, and stared down at her hands so she didn’t have to face him when she continued. “Clay… he… uh, well, he didn’t like the idea of me flying out to see you… and then he didn’t like the idea of me keeping in touch at all… so…”

Richie’s brows furrowed, and for a minute, he didn’t believe her.

But when she covered her face with her hand, and was trying to hold back tears, he realized she was telling the truth.

“I’m sorry, Rich, I- I really wanted to come” She said quietly, trying to hide the fact that she was about to burst into tears.

“It’s… it’s alright, at least I know…”

He didn’t know what to say. He was pretty sure that Clayton was an even bigger dick than he’d originally taken him for.

“(y/n)?”

She wiped her eyes to make sure they were dry before looking at him.

“What?” She mumbled.

His eyes wandered over her for a moment, her slumped posture, her eyes that wouldn’t meet his for more than a second, the carefully crafted neutral expression on her face-

He gave her a sad smile, before offering her his hand.

She made a weird face, but he just tapped his fingers to his palm to prompt her to do it.

“Just take my hand, babycakes,” He chuckled at her reluctance, but eventually she gave in, and placed her hand delicately in his. “I missed you, you know?”

“I missed you too,” She nods. “I would… uh, pretend to write you letters. In my head. When I really wanted to tell you something… or just really missed you on that particular day”

He laughed, because that was such a (y/n) thing to do.

“You know you could’ve… brought him with you,” Richie said. “I mean, I might have murdered him. But still-”

“No I-” She started, meeting his confused gaze for a fleeting moment. “I don’t think that you understand,” She murmured. “Clayton, he- well he made me, um…”

Richie’s confusion only grew the more (y/n) spoke. And slowly, that confusion was warping into anger.

“He made me swear off my old friends,” She admitted. “I know, it sounds-”

“-toxic? You do know that’s a bigass red flag right?” Richie cut her off, but she ignored the comment.

“He’s just sensitive. He’s been hurt in the past, and just doesn’t want to be hurt again, you know?”

Richie frowned.

“I mean, I am too, you know. Everyone has things they don’t want to repeat” She said it so quietly, she thought he didn’t hear her.

But the hurt look on his face told him that he’d heard her perfectly.

“And what aren’t you trying to repeat, (y/n/n)?”

Her eyes wandered between his for a long, silent moment. And she surprised him when a soft smile spread across her lips. And then a small giggle.

He couldn’t help but smile back, even though he wasn’t sure what she was doing or thinking at all.

“He just wants to be loved, Rich,” She hummed. “I know he’s a little strange, but still-”

“Yeah,” Richie sighed. “You’re right”

He felt uneasy about it still, but he could leave it alone for now.

(y/n) stood to dump the rest of her coffee down the sink, and then rinsed out the mug so she could use it again in the morning.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” He asked, and she nodded, casting him a quick glance over her shoulder.

“Yeah- yeah, I think it’s for the best,” She said dismissively. “It’s not like you all really need me, and, uh, Clayton probably wants me to hurry up and get home-”

“Do you still love him?”

She spun around now, and scoffed.

“Richie-”

“I mean, if you separated, why are you so worried about his feelings?” He asked.

She blinked, and he knew he’d crossed a line, but he didn’t retract the question. Just waited for her to answer it.

“I- we were married Rich, partners. That doesn’t just disappear as soon as he-” She stops herself, chuckling and shaking her head. “That doesn’t just go away”

Richie stared at her for a minute longer, and his discomfort only grew.

“(y/n)...” He said her name slowly, and she knew that was his ‘just fess up’ voice. She’d heard it a million times before, but that was a lifetime ago.

“I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear Richie, but fuck you’re just going to have to accept it-”

“(y/n),” He said again, this time more sternly, before he stood up, and crossed the room to stand with her. “What is it?”

For a moment, she thought she would break down right there in front of him. His eyes were boring holes into hers, looking all the way into her soul. Her lip started to quiver, and she nearly started crying again.

No. No, you’ll only make things worse. Unnecessarily harder. You don’t want that for yourself, do you?

“We were going to have kids, alright?” She lied right through her teeth. “It’s hard to give something up like that”

He should’ve known she was lying. But he was too heartbroken from the statement to think about it.

“Oh” Was all he was able to say.

He stepped back from her, looking her over, like he didn’t recognize her, and then stepped back further.

“Richie-”

She tried to apologize for her harshness, but he shook his head, and made a beeline for the door.

“You’re right. You can’t,” He told her. “I hope you two figure it out”

The tone in his voice told her the opposite.

“Richie” She said, coming off a bit more desperate than she intended.

“Goodnight, (y/n/n)” He told her, and then promptly left her room.

Every bone in her body screamed go after him, don’t let him just walk away, go fix it!

But she couldn’t get herself to move. She was frozen in place, glued to the ground, stunned completely to her core.

And he was gone.

___

xoxo ~ jordie

#it 2017 #it 2019 #richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier scenario #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #bill hader #bill hader x reader

12 notes · View notes

80s-kaspbrak · 6 years

Text

Do It All Over Again (reddie au) part 3

Richie awoke to the plane shaking. At first, he thought the plane was going down, until the lady on the microphone spoke. “Were just going through a little bit of turbulance, no need to worry.”

Richie turned his head to see that Stan look alike was not in his seat. Richie looked out the window to see nothing but a blue sky. He sighed and closed his eyes again, sleep taking over him again.

“Sir, wake up.” Richie felt sombody shaking him.

He opened his eyes, his vision blurry before he blinked his eyes a few times, then everything was clear. The stewardess was standing infront of him, a smile on her face.

“We’ve landed, you can get off the plane now.” Richie nodded and stood up, pushing his glasses up his nose and running a hand through his hair.

He thanked her and reached up, grabbing his bag from the over head compartment.

As he walked out, he notived that something was different, but he couldnt put his finger on it.

He was welcomed by the warm air of the summer. He smiled and looked around as he walked down the airplane steps. “Feels great to be back home.”

As he walked into the airport itself, he noticed that it had changed. He walked to the baggage claim and grabbed his blue suitcase as soon as he saw it. He wanted to see Mike and the rest of the Loser’s left as soon as possible.

As Richie walked outside, he saw a row of yellow cabs waiting for people. On the side of them was the name “taxi service” and that was all.

Richie got into one, situating himself before he sighed and smiled at the cab driver. “Derry town house, please.”

Richie then expected the cab to begin moving, but the cab driver just looked back at him with confused eyes.

“What? Where?”

“Derry town house…?” Richie said it like it was a question.

“Uhm, this is Bangor Maine, not ‘Derry’ whatever the hell that is.” The cab driver seemed to become annoyed.

“What… This isnt Derry? Where the hell am i then?” He asked the question to himself before he turned to the cab driver and said. “Just take me to the nearest Cafe please.”

Richie took out his phone, unlocking it, and tried to call Mike, but he didnt have any service. “What the fuck.” He said, frustrated as his messages didnt send either.

“Were here. $5.60 please.” Richie was surprised at how small the bill was but handed the man $7 and got out with his stuff. He turned and looked at the small cafe, and walked inside.

It was small but cozy inside, and it almost seemed empty, besides a man writing on his computer and a teenage girl at the counter.

Richie walked to the desk and smiled at the girl and ordered a hot chocolate, with extra whipped cream. She nodded and asked for $3.20. He handed the money to her and was about to ask to use the phone but she went in the back and began making his drink.

Richie turned and looked at the man writing at his computer. He was typing fast, his eyes trained on the screen.

Richie slowly walked over to him, dragging his suitcase behind him.

“Uhm, hi, i was wondering if i could use your phone? Im not getting any service for some reason?” Richie asked the man. He looked up with a blank look on his face, looked at Richie and then grabbed his phone out of his pocket. Richie cringed as he looked at the 2007 flip phone and flipped it open.

It was confusing as fuck. He went to the phone icon and clicked on it, then typed in Mike’s number. It went to voicemail immediatly.

“Hey Mike, its me, Richie Tozier, i was just calling because my plane to Bangor Maine, instead of Derry, ill find a way to get there, just letting you know that im gonna be late. Okay bye.” Richie hung up the phone and handed it back to the man, who was looking at him with a look of shock and confusion.

“Youre Richie Tozier? From Derry, Maine?” The man asked, slowly taking his phone back.

“Uhm, yeah…” Richie trailed off, looking at the man with furrowed eyebrows. “And you are?”

“Im- im, im Stephen King.”

Richie’s heart dropped. He suddenly felt angry.

“You… You killed Eddie and Stan. My best friends. How… How could you do that?” Richies voice cracked, and so did his heart. Why would anyone want to kill Eddie and Stan, hey were great people. Or, characters, to Stephen King.

The barista called for him, saying that his hot chocolate was done.

“When i come back, were talking about how and why you killed my best friends.” Richie said quietly, then went to get his hot chocolate.

When Richie game back, Stephen had closed his laptop and was sitting quietly sipping his drink.

Richie pulled out the chair from across him and sat down. He took a sip of his hot chocolate and looked Stephen in his eyes. “Tell me why you did it.”

Stephen avoided Richies eyes in shame. “I-i didnt think it mattered.”

Yeah you dont think it matters.“ Richie laughed bitterly. "You dont think it matters to the characters. We are real, as you can see, we have feelings, we feel, and we die.”

“I havent even killed Eddie.” Stephen said. This confused Richie. “I was going to, its apart of the plan.”

“What do you mean you havent killed him yet? I literally read it like 2 days ago! I read his death! It was exactly how it went in real life, the words and all.” Richie felt tears sting his eyes. He quickly blinked them away.

“Im like, halfway through writing the book.” Stephen said, opening his computer quickly and typing in something and then showing Richie his screen.

IT 568 pages

“But, but how?” Richie asked taking his gaze from the computer to Stephen.

“Do you think that maybe its possible you went through a time warp or like another universe and it brought you back? Because youre a character from a book… And youre probably from the future, what year do you think it is?” Stephen asked.

“2012.”

“Yeah, you went through something, its 1997.” Stephen said, then quickly added on, “did anything weird happen on your way over here, like on the plane?”

“Uhm, there was a bit of turbulance, and we went through the Northern Lights, but i was asleep for that and didnt see them.” Richie thought about talking about the Stan look alike but decided against it.

“It might have been the Northern Lights that did it, made you go through another universe, and go back in time.” Stephen said, then typed something on his computer.

“What are you writing?” Richie asked. “Hopefully no more of IT, you cant kill Eddie and Stan, you have to bring Stan back somehow. Or just rewrite the book.”

“No, im not writing anymore of that until we figure this all out.” Stephen said, and finished what he was typing. “Just a book idea.” He closed his computer and took a sip of his drink. “How about we go back to my place and figure out what were gonna do?”

“You’re gonna bring Ed’s and Stan back to life, that’s what you’re gonna do.”

–

Tag list: @hawaiiantozier @richie-loves-spaghetti 💓💓

(not edited so sorry for mistakes. This would have been up earlier but my phone broke and I just got a new one soo)

Ask me if you want to be tagged when there is a new update!!!

#reddie au #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kasprak #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #stanley uris #mike hanlon #it

10 notes · View notes

aoibhs · 6 years

Text

Jump

Chapter One

Chapter Three

She didn't spend all that long with Vic when they fled the scene of the party. They walked together down a few different avenues. Together, but in total silence. It was quite awkward but neither of them were going to change that. Nora counted, and she was pretty sure they circled the Derry suburbs three times. It was now nine o'clock. Nora felt that was an acceptable time to start making her way back home.

"I... I'm gonna..," She jerked her thumb in the direction of her avenue. It was a bit weird, seeing as they had walked past it a few times already. But surely they had gone by Vic's house too several times, so maybe it wasn't so bad.

"..Yeah, I mean, sure," He nodded after a moment of trying to comprehend what she meant.

"See ya," Nora gave him a pathetic wave and a shy smile, then turned to leave. He said nothing, just watched her leave. He stood there, staring after her until he was sure she was gone. After that, he just went home, half expecting an annoyed and concerned phonecall from Belch who'd be wondering why he ran off without telling him, especially since Patrick had gone missing.

Nora watched tv with her parents for two hours, enduring plenty of nosy questions from them about her Keene-party-experience. Most of her answers were true. She left most of the night out, including the fact that Gretta's invitation was a dud and the fact that herself and Victor Criss, a boy, had been wandering around Derry for a hour and a half. They didn't need to know that. She only told one lie, and that was that Beverly Marsh was there and they walked home together. It was two lies if she counted the one where she said they had only left Gretta's at quarter to nine. If her parents knew anything about teenagers' opinions and gossip, there'd be no way in Hell the Sheridans would believe that Beverly was invited.

At eleven Nora said goodnight to her parents and retired to her room, not that she was going to sleep straight away. Not that she was going to sleep at all. She lay on the bed for an hour with her headphones over her ears, listening to a cassette. And for some reason, for some reason, her mind was cast back to that morning, to Patrick and Henry and Henry eyeing her hungrily, and then to Patrick mysteriously vanishing. And as she thought about this, her mind was overcome with a tide of unease. She felt all clammy, that a cold fever was slowly washing over her skin. She tore her headphones off, switching her walkman off. And she just lay there, unable to shut her eyes. What if she had a nightmare? What if she couldn't wake up? Her skin crawled, so much so that she was basically twitching. Something catch her eye then, in the mirror of her wardrobe, something out of place, something red.

A balloon?

Nora propped herself up with her elbows to get a better look. Yep, it was definitely a balloon. She turned her head to see the source of the balloon's reflection, but there was none. The only red balloon was the one in her mirror. She went to get up to inspect the mirror, in a stressed fashion. Hopefully, she had actually fallen asleep. Or hopefully, she wasn't. Just as her body had lifted itself off the bed, two arms burst out of the mattress, grabbing onto her torso and pulling her back down again. They scrapped at her body, holding her down as she struggled and all that before she even screamed.

"Need help sleeping, Nora?" As she shook violently against the white arms laced with dirt and blood, Nora looked over to the closed door. In the darkness, a tall, tall figure loomed. She couldn't see its features but something was in her room and her mattress was trying to kill her so Nora, naturally, felt like she was having a heart attack. She could she a red smile, sharp teeth with a mad mop of ginger hair and glowing yellow eyes, "When you sleep, you can float too! Don't you want to float?" Then it laughed, their deranged chuckles warping and becoming distorted and unlistenable to the human ear.

Nora screamed.

She didn't sleep that night. She wasn't sure if she was even awake, but her mounting tiredness said otherwise. She had to just label it as a nightmare and move on. She sat on the bathroom floor all night, after locking herself in, just sat there shaking. The following morning, she told her mother she didn't sleep well and needed to just walk about town for a while, that she needed fresh air. She didn't eat anything, and brought nothing with her but the clothes on her back and her walkman. Her main objective was getting out of that house, away from her room. She could still feel the arms imprinted on her body, like a weight.

"Oh! Gosh, I am sorry," In her haste, she had walked right into someone. In fairness, they were totally fine, almost unphased. Nora was the one who was nearly falling over.

"Don't worry about it, it's fine," Once Nora had focused herself, she realized that she had walked into Beverly Marsh, "Are you okay? It's Nora, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. I'm fine- I mean, I'm Nora," Beverly giggled at how flustered she was, "And you're Beverly,"

"I am," She nodded, "Were you going somewhere when you barged into me?"

"Not really actually," Nora snorted at her remark.

Beverly stayed quiet for a moment, thinking.

"..I was going to the quarry, if you wanted to come?" She suggested. Nora seemed like a nice girl, from what she'd gathered at school. What was the harm?

"I don't want to impose on anything," Nora shook her head, smiling at the girl's intentions. Part of her was inwardly laughing because she had supposedly hung out with Beverly the night before.

"You won't, I swear," Beverly laughed, "The others won't mind," Nora felt herself bite her lip. Was this another practical joke? Something told her to be wary. But something else said that Beverly had no reason at all to pull pranks on her. Beverly was a victim of rumors too, if anything she would be looking to bond with Nora, "Come on, it'll be fun," The girl with copper hair grinned at her and she knew how much she actually wanted to go with her. She nodded and Beverly's smile grew even wider, offering the girl the space on the back of her bike. Nora accepted even if she was a little skittish regarding the unsteadiness at times. She knew they'd get to the quarry far quicker if they took they bike there. Regardless, she held onto Beverly for dear life, making the ginger laugh.

"By the way," Nora said, "I love the new look. It's very you," It took Beverly a second but then remembered her new haircut, still not entirely used to it.

"Thanks," She smiled. It didn't take long for them to get to the quarry but once they got there, there were five boys, stripped to their underwear lined up at the cliff's edge. Nora stifled a laugh at the sight of them but then realized that's what Beverly was planning on doing too and felt herself blushing furiously.

"Alright, who's first?" She recognized that as Bill Denbrough's voice. His friends exchanged glances. Were they all afraid of heights or something?

Having just gotten off the contraption, Beverly dropped her bike and began to unbutton her pretty dress. Although she was an embarrassed mess, Nora found herself automatically following suit and untied her blue wrap-over top, stepped out of her gray skirt and kicked off her shoes and socks, not to forget leaving her walkman and headphones carefully on the ground.

"We'll go," Beverly announced, taking her newfound friend by the hand and starting to run to the edge, "Sissies," She smirked.

They jumped, and in that moment, Nora forgot that five boys were looking at her in nothing but her underwear.

"What the fuck?!" Richie Tozier exclaimed as they went hurdling through the air and plummeting down into the water, "Holy shit! We just got shown up by some girls!"

"Was that Nora Sheridan?" Stan looked down at the water in bewilderment.

"She's not gonna think we're cool now," Eddie Kaspbrak whined as Ben Hanscom attempted to send a wave in the direction of Beverly.

"Do we have to do that now?" Stan made a disgruntled expression.

"Yes," Bill almost sounded as if he was scolding him.

"Come on!" Beverly yelled up in hopes of coaxing the boys to follow them. Nora was still reeling from the leap as the boys began to jump down to join them. When Richie started splashing water in her direction, she found that she couldn't stop laughing. That led to a full on play fight amongst she, Richie, Stanley and a terrified Eddie. And that led to games such as Chicken Fight, which included Nora on top of Stan Uris' shoulders trying to knock Richie off of Bill's shoulders while the bespectacled boy pretended to flirt with her. It really wasn't as coy and distracting as he thought and wound up falling back into the greenish water.

"She cheated!" He yelled upon resurfacing. Nobody listened to his profound accusations. It wasn't long after that when they all made their way out and headed back up to the rocks where some of the boys had left their stuff. Nora ran back to Beverly's bike to get her cassette as soon as she seen the radio.

"Mind if I put this on?" She asked meekly, holding it up.

"Sure yeah, go ahead," Richie nodded, suddenly a bit shy. The lack of water around them made it evidently clear that Nora and Beverly were still in their bras and underwear.

"Really?" Eddie made a slightly disgusted face once her tape began to play, "Duran Duran?"

"I like Duran Duran, E-e-eddie," Bill shot his friend a defensive look.

Beverly giggled as she and Nora laid down on the stone ground to bask in the sun. Nora subconsciously began miming the words to the song to distract herself from the idea of inevitable sunburn. The girl was so damn pale, it was bound to happen.

Chapter Five

10 notes · View notes

the-tozier-boy · 6 years

Text

Surrogate Chapter 1 “Crawl”

Intro Can be found Here

Hope you enjoy

An ache had seeped into every joint of the dark haired boy along with a numbness the had begun to creep agonizingly slow from his fingertips towards the palms of his hands like an unwanted infection. Mind spinning as little flashes and remnants of memories were rearranged in his half conscious mind to make a partially cohesive story that perhaps could be used to explain just what had occured. He remembered falling from his bike, and Bill offering to take him back to his home to clean the thin abrasions upon his knees. Now those were the least of his worries. Inhaling sent a sharp burning pain deep within his lungs, if Richie possessed any real medical knowledge he would have thought to check and see if his ribs were in their correct placement.

Opening his crystal blue eyes it became clear his glasses we no longer part of this equation. His vision had been reduced to little more than a mass of color blurred together like the smudged paint of a canvas running together into one mass of unrecognizable mass of color. Something in the pool of color shifted, it moved into one over powering shape that loomed over him like the threat is really was. Drawing in a ragged and pain filled breath Tozier’s slightly pale lips moved to breath life to words but he was cut off by another. It was a warm comforting voice, one he knew rather well. A voice that belonged to someone that given any other circumstance Richie would have trusted his life with them.

“You’re so Cl-Cluh-Clumsy” Bill’s voice scolded softly as the wooden step under him groaned under his weight.

Richie’s eyes rolled back slightly as once more his mind was plunged into a lake of hazy. ‘Did I fucking fall?’ his mind questioned the situation. There was a phantom sensation down his spine on the small of his back, recalling the pressure of a hand that had been there only seconds ago before the accident. Tozier could have sworn that he was pushed but perhaps that was a false memory brought on by one of the hits his head had suffered in the fall. Doubt naturally held a place in his mind so why wouldn’t it take the opportunity to invade when Bill’s words reached him?

His head bobbed for a second as he toyed with the thought of trying to move, however the pain that tore through him quickly reminded Richie that there was serious damage done to his being. A rather pathetic whine escaping him as he tried to will himself to even bring his limbs in closer to his torso. Movement brought him back to the moment at hand. The Denbrough boy had moved in, closing the space between them now. If his friend’s vision wasn’t so far gone he would have been aware that he was know kneeling beside him. Taking note of how bent and broken his body was.

Richie’s shirt was slightly raised showing the already deep reddish purple bruises starting to form over his pale flesh. On his right side there was a deformation where a lump had made itself known. It was the broken rib Richie wasn’t quite aware of just yet. In the silence between them he took the time to admire the scars and wounds that speckled his being. No doubt gifts from Bowers and his goons. Richie always had a way of attracting the group. It could have been for a number of reasons. Perhaps it was the fact that those thick glasses made him seem so much smaller with how they made his eyes appear far too large for his face, or maybe it was the fact he was a designated loser, or the reason that probably was the real reason which was that damned mouth of his. Little Trashmouth who without warning would fire off into a monologue of voices and crude jokes that often forced his friends to try and wrangle him in for five seconds. Which had originally been one of the reasons as to why Bill didn’t think of picking him. Too loud, too strong a will.

This perfect picture before him however sealed Richie’s fate. Richie Tozier could be broken, he was a small being with flaws that caused him to crumble. The blindness being one of them, one that had simply slipped Bill’s mind. Without those damned things he was dependant upon others to navigate the world for him, and being the Bowers Gang’s punching bag meant he needed to be protected. Tozier needed someone and Bill needed to take care of someone. In his mind this would be a symbiotic relationship a give and take if you will. Though that was far from the real truth now wasn’t it?

A warm hand slide over the broken boy’s chilled cheek. His body wasn’t holding much warmth as blood was rushing to injury sites to try and start reconstruction of tissue and bone that had been warped. Bill’s hand felt almost scalding against Richie’s nearly frozen cheek. He physically flinched as if the touch had actually burned him when the contact took place.

“Fuck” Richie’s voice was low and trembled slightly as the words he wished to speak were now almost stuck within his throat. Piling atop one another forming a dam within him that refused to let his voice truly be heard.

A sigh took flight into the air above both of them from Denbrough who once again almost too calmly spoke as his thumb rolled over the other’s pale cheek. “What am I going to do with you?” Behind those words some sinister darkness could be felt. It squeezed at Richie’s heart sending panic throughout his body which was refusing to function still.

Suddenly Richie felt two things. The first being his body being shift and pulled up from the floor and the second being an almost unbearable pain. Back popping, shoulders cracking as everything was brought back to its correct resting place. He couldn’t help himself Richie screamed. It hurt like hell and it was here when his chest was now pressed into Bill’s back that he was finally informed that his rib was broken as it was now being pressed upon with such a great amount of weight he could almost hear the creaking of it teasing that it might snap even further.

The teen now carrying him upon his back called from over his shoulder. “Shut it Tr-Trashmouth” his words sharp and sudden that it did indeed catch him off guard. Bill wasn’t usually so harsh to him and the others. They were friends right? They looked after one another. Hell they had faced off against some unknown being that took the form of a clown together and now suddenly this Bill had shown up from nowhere without any real warning. Then a frightening thought settled into Richie’s mind. ‘This isn’t Bill, it’s that thing, we didn’t kill IT’ and his blood ran cold. Why couldn’t that be that answer? That, that thing had taken on the image of his friend to lure him away and kill him? To tear apart the lucky seven one by one and devoured them bit by bit as IT had promised in the sewers that day.

Richie felt sick suddenly from both the pain and his now panicked thoughts. As adrenaline began to take hold he was able to momentarily forget that he was badly injured and began to thrash about trying to tear himself free and attempt an escape from what he believed to be the clown. Bill who was already greatly annoyed with Tozier growled lowly and just let go of him. Letting his friend’s body fall to the floor once more with a loud and hollow thud.

“Jesus fucking christ!” he screamed as he found himself landing upon his side with the broken bone at full force and with all of his weight. Instinctually his body curled in on itself trying to protect vital organs and possibly control all bleeding if there was any. There wasn’t thankfully.

Shaking his head despite the fact that he knew full well the other couldn’t see he spoke again and frighteningly enough found that he didn’t stutter, maybe it was the odd sense of power with this moment or some other strange and unknown force that cured him of this ailment for a few seconds. “Fine, don’t want me to carry you back up stairs?” Bill thought for a moment. Richie needed to know he had a place now. That he was going to behave or things were going to be rough for him.

“Crawl” It was a simple command but it held far more weight than it would appear. When Richie didn’t immediately show he had heard what was expected of him Bill roughly kicked Richie’s side causing him to roll over onto his back with another cry. “Are you deaf without those glasses too?” Again another harsh set of words fell from him. Bill wasn’t all too sure where all of this was coming from honestly. Most of this was like an out of body experience. Like he were watching someone in a Bill suit doing all of this and he were simply an on looker to this distorted play before him.

Those blue eyes were now wet with the threat of tears once more, but Tozier didn’t want to cry. He wasn’t willing to show just how frightened and hurt he was just yet. There was still some pride left within him deep down in there.

Fed up with just how slow Tozier was being Denbrough thought he should coax the boy onward. His fingers slipped into the mess of wavy dark hair where he soon took hold of a fist full of dark chocolate brown locks. Yanking his head back he pulled him along. Richie scrambling to following to ease the now blossoming pain in his scalp. His fingers bumped into the first step and Richie registered just where he was.

“Now, I'll say it one more time nice and slow. Crawl, and if you even so much as try to stand I will throw you back down these stairs”

Those words solidified the idea of this not being his Bill. He wouldn’t threaten him right? Whether or not this was Bill he was now presented with a choice. Listen and crawl up the steps like an animal or hold onto some shred of dignity and refuse.

In most cases perhaps he would have fought the request but his body was already dealing with enough and something told him that the longer it took for him to do what was demanded of him the worse off his injuries were to be. Every inch of him cried out as his hand was pulled up and found its way up onto the step. For a second Richie settled there trying to mentally prepare for the journey upwards knowing full well just how much this would hurt given his current condition, however those thoughts were cut short when a foot pressed against his ass pushing him forward like one might do if they were urging a dog onwards. He stumbled nearly ramming his face teeth first into the lip of the third step but was able to catch himself just in time.

Something behind him was mumbled but he hadn’t caught it and therefore simply dismissed it. Right now he had other things to worry about. Other things to focus on. Again he reached up and placed his hand one step above his first pulling his body upwards towards the second floor. Internally his mind was begging for him to stop already. Bone and muscle straining to keep itself from collapsing right there and then and he had hardly even moved a foot.

‘Fucking pathetic’ his own innerself berated him as it often did when he was allowed to get inside his own head. ‘Can’t even do something so god damn simple when your own fucking life depends on it.’

‘Worthless’

That was what pushed him, not the instinct for survival. It was to prove that voice wrong. If he did then his will was still somewhat intact. A will he would require if he didn’t wish to end up as a hollow shell of who he once was.

Every step he counted burning that number into his memory. Richie would make sure it was engraved into his very being. He was going to escape this place. He was going to get out and the first thing he needed was to remember. To focus so he could remember every inch of this blurred maze that would soon either become his new home or prison depending upon the actions he took from here.

Between every two or three steps Bill would praise him with something along the lines of “Good Boy” The words were sweet and warm like fresh honey but they made Richie feel further like an animal. He couldn’t help the heated red stain that came to his cheeks and the knots that formed within his stomach. The dark haired boy didn’t like the sensation of being treated like this. There was an embarrassment eating away at him from within knowing full well that at this point in time he couldn’t really fight this. In his mind he pictured Bill Denbrough right behind him smirking as his dark brown almost black eyes bore holes into his very soul. Taking him apart and watching his thin body move in a demeaning manner simply because he willed it, and this wasn't far from reality. Yes Bill was enjoying the sight. It was oddly pleasant to him. He considered shoving him back down. To watch his body fully break, to run his hands through his messy hair as he lay there completely unable to move, but he didn’t. Richie was obeying and that was good enough for him currently.

It took about a minute and a half for them to reach the top and for Richie to simply collapse there in the hallway.That was all the strength he could exert at this point in time everything now refused to function without rest. His blue eyes grew hazy once again as he was plunged into an abyss of darkened thoughts that whispered his own demise to him.

‘This is it, you’ve reached the end’

If only he were so lucky. This time he didn’t fight nor protest when he was lifted from the ground and carried like the broken thing he was. He was hardly clinging to consciousness. When had Bill become so strong? When had he become like this? Someone capable of such cruelty to someone he once called a friend.

Bill didn’t see anything wrong with what he was doing. Richie had chosen to make this hard on himself hadn’t he? If he only listened from the start he wouldn’t have had to be so forceful with him. He only wished to keep him safe from the world and sadly that meant making sure Richie couldn’t escape. From this day forward he would deny him his sight. Tozier wouldn’t need to see anything anyways right? Bill had it all planned out perfectly in his mind. Richie would stay here and anything he needed food, water, comfort Bill would give it and in return Richie would love him and he wouldn’t lose Richie as he had Georgie. No this time he wouldn’t fail as he had before.

He deposited Richie upon his mattress. The sheets wrinkling as the dead weight of Tozier caused the bed to dip slightly. Half lidded eyes flicking around for any detail to inform his captive of just where he was and what was coming. As much as he wanted to know he wouldn’t get much other than the sound of someone shuffling about the room he now resided in. Richie told himself not to fall asleep to stay awake for as long as possible as he was sure the second his eyes were to close he’d die, but his injuries won him over. Denbrought watched silently as Richie passed out gently he rubbed the now slumbering boy’s forehead and then he set to work setting up for Richie’s long stay. For when we woke the real nightmare for Richie Tozier was to begin and this day would seem like a sweet memory in a photo album of fear, suffer, and broken spirits.

#Surrogate #richie tozier #bill denbrough #I decided that I would write more #the losers club #the losers

2 notes · View notes