#outta nowhere I have been struck dead by the giggles

[taken-by-storms]

When you can't remember someone's name

Me: Uhh, I think his name started with a 'G'?

BF: Garden Salad?

Me: ...

BF: His mom just ordered off the menu.

[hawaiianshirt-s]

↪Title: Derry’s Own Vigilante

↪Pairing: Richie Tozier/reader

↪summary: you save Richie from what would probably have been an untimely death

↪Author’s notes: Zoe wanted this one first so here ya go guys, enjoy!xx

Some people said you and Richie Tozier belonged together, because you were almost just as fit for the nickname 'Trashmouth' as he was. You took this as something to be proud of; not many people could pull off being as charming as you are and as absolutely vulgar you are, after all. However, you didn't quite like the fact that everyone asked if you and Richie were a thing. It didn't matter who it was- strangers, classmates, your own damn friends. Everyone thought you two were either already dating, or quickly heading down that path. You knew better than that, though. Not in a million years would you date the Tozier boy. At least, that's what you thought.  

It was a normal Thursday afternoon for you, on the day where everything changed. Normally, on Thursdays, you couldn't hang out with the losers because you had singing lessons. Your mother had signed you up for them years ago, and although they weren't your favorite thing, you knew your mother would be heartbroken if you stopped attending, so you went anyway.  

The sun was just slipping its golden head under the horizon, the moon lazily taking its place in the now purple sky, as you rounded the corner to your neighborhood off Main Street. You were humming the tune of the song you had just been singing quietly to yourself, in your own little world. Usually, Derry was quiet at this time- the adults were not home from work yet, and the kids were just about winding down and going home. Most of the time, you could make it back to your house without any incident.  

However, this time, there was something of a commotion happening just a ways down the road. You squinted into the distance, trying to discern who was making the commotion, when you noticed the signature red car that belonged to Henry Bowers. You rolled your eyes. What poor kid was he tormenting now?  

You had no problem stomping confidently over to the scene that was unfolding down the pavement. Bowers never really gave you any trouble, because you were the only one that used to be nice to him when you were little kids, and you also didn't stand for his bullshit. You saw he was only flanked by Victor and Belch, Hockstetter being nowhere to be found. Good, that made it easier for you.  

"Henry, what the actual hell are you doing?" You called, before you had even seen who he was torturing. When his head whipped around to look at you, you caught sight of the familiar black curls of Richie Tozier, and you stopped dead in your tracks. Of course, it had to be Richie, didn't it? 

"(y/n), what are you doing here? Go home," Henry spat, voice dangerously low. You knew he was trying to keep up his façade in front of his goons, but that he wouldn't actually ever do something to you. You knew this was one thing you could count on.  

"Mmm, try again. I know Tozier has a big ass mouth, but I don't think he deserves you to rip all the teeth out of it," you said, and something about your tone of voice and the look on your face made Henry drop Richie from his grip.  

"Bye, Henry," you said pointedly, and grumbling, he nodded, walking back to his car. Once the rest of his goons made their way into the back and passenger seats, he drove away quickly, leaving you and Richie to choke on the dust kicked up in the air.  

"You alright, garbage can?" You asked, offering him a hand. You helped pick him up from the spot in the road where Henry had discarded him.  

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," he grumbled, dusting his shirt off once he was stood on his own two feet again, "thanks, by the way." 

"Yeah no probl- oh my god," you started, cutting yourself off when you noticed the rather large gash on Richie's cheek. Blood was dripping in thin, spidery lines down the side of his face.  

"What?" He asked, obviously oblivious. Maybe it's true that the brain blocks out unnecessary pain, after all.  

"Your fucking face is bleeding all over the place, that's what," you said, immediately beginning to fuss over your friend, "we gotta go to Ed's house. He'll have stuff to patch you up." With that, you grabbed Richie's elbow and began marching towards the Kaspbrak residence, Richie gingerly touching his face and then cursing over how much it hurts over and over again.  

"Will you please pipe down? We're almost there," you pleaded, done with his annoying strings of curse words. Also, the fact that he was wiping any blood he got on his fingers, onto your bare shoulder, was more than disgusting. 

Nearly an eternity later, you finally found yourselves outside of Eddie's house. Three bikes were strewn across the yellowing front lawn, so you could only assume that some of the other losers had gone to his house to hang out. Good, there'd be more than just Eddie there to help you patch up Richie. You knew Eddie didn't do exactly well with blood.  

Pulling Richie along to the side door so Eddie's mom wouldn't see you, you peered in through the window. Coincidentally enough, Eddie, Bev, Mike, and Stan were all sitting in Eddie's kitchen, playing cards in their hands. Rapping on the door, you caught Bev's attention, and upon seeing the bloodstained left side of Richie's face, she nearly knocked her own chair over to come let you in.  

"Wow, you guys sure lead interesting lives when we're not around," you snorted, gesturing to the game of what looked to be 'Go Fish' that they were in the middle of.  

"Ha ha, very funny. Now, why the fuck is Richie bleeding out on Eddie's back steps?" Bev asked, playfully rolling her eyes. She looked calm and collected, but you could see the concern in her robin egg eyes.  

"Bowers, what else?" You asked rhetorically, and Stan rolled his eyes almost comically. He'd had a run in with Bowers just the other day, and he was still very fired up about it. During your conversation with Beverly, you failed to notice that Eddie was dry-heaving in the corner. Every time he felt better, he would look over at the crimson waterfall coming from the side of Richie's face and start all over again.  

"Oh my god, no," Eddie started, but then dry heaved once again, "oh my god I can't look at it. You're bleeding all over my tiles." Mike chuckled at the shorter boy, before gently taking Richie by the shoulder, and ushering him in. Beverly helped sneak you and Richie to the upstairs bathroom, where Eddie's med kit was, trying not to alert his napping mother of your presence.   

Once the two of you were upstairs, Bev muttered something about you guys joining their card game after Richie wasn't bleeding into his own grave, and then disappeared back downstairs. You resumed the tune you were whistling before you encountered Bowers, as you took out the disinfectant from the kit. Without warning, you sprayed it on Richie's cheek, and he yelped in pain. Before he could start cursing all over again, you had slapped a huge white bandage over the cut, and were securing it with medical tape.  

"That hurt more than getting the cut itself," Richie grumbled, scowling at you.  

"Yeah, well. What're ya gonna do? Couldn't let you fucking die of blood loss," you shrugged, as you packed the med kit back up.  

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he returned, leaning back against the wall.  

"Why is it, that I always seem to be patching you up, Tozier?" You asked, bemusement evident in your twinkling eyes. 

 "Probably 'cause  I'm secretly a vigilante, fighting the world's crime one step outta time, starting with the sinful town of Derry, Maine," Richie said, voice morphing into that of an old-timey announcer's, as he struck a mock superhero pose. You dissolved into a fit of giggles, as a satisfied smirk made its way onto Richie's face.  

"You're pretty funny, Rich," you managed out, after your bout of giggles.  

"I try, at least, when I'm trying to impress pretty girls," Richie responded, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive way. This caused you to die of giggles yet again, the laughter escaping your mouth like music to the raven-haired boy's ears.  

"Well, let's just say that you might be onto something. Your ability to joke after almost dying is quite impressive." 

Tags!:

@beepbeeprichtozier @eggo-child @maroon-richie @letmewriteyoustuff@letmewriteyoustuff @derrysdenbrough @liyahisdabomb @trashmouthwheelr