#pulls a switchblade from his back pocket. walks over to chuck. stands above him

[godsquad]

conceptualizing an au where adam didnt get raptured in 15x18

[thecreativeangel]

Accidental Stabbing (Richie Tozier x Reader)

Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: You tried to stay out of trouble, really you did. But while running from Henry Bowers, you bump into the only group people who seemed to have noticed you since your arrival at Derry. One particularly stupid boy in thick glasses catches your attention as you ‘accidentally’ stab Henry. 

Warnings: Cursing, stabbing someone (I mean… duh), blood, mention of assault, mention of cult activities (it sounds worse that it is, but holy fuck I sound satanic).

Word Count: 1,312

Being a resident of Derry officially sucked ass. Seriously. You glanced behind you as you ran and saw that Henry Bowers was still close behind, shoving little kids and adults alike. Your head snapped back to face front and you prayed that your legs could carry you just a little bit more. Ever since moving here a two months ago, there were a specific group of people you knew to avoid, even if it meant always being quiet and keeping your head down. Not that you were quiet in real life, but it was best not to trigger the anger that you kept locked away. Henry shouted something about you being a slut, his voice louder and closer. Your throat was growing tight and dry but the adrenaline kept you moving, sprinting through the town, ducking under people’s arms, sidestepping old folks, trying not to trample toddlers… All because the Patrick kid from Henry’s gang thought your shorts were too small. Well he can go fuck himself. You think, pumping your arms and legs faster. Fuckin’ pervert.

Deep in thought, you didn’t notice the more crowded intersecting roads of the marketplace and the dense crowd that came with it. You skidded to a halt just as the curb ended, earning a loud honk from at least five cars, curses being shouted from inside. I can’t cross now… Shit! Bowers and his trolls were barely five meters away. You spun on your heel and ran down the empty lots of the town’s center, not acknowledging the group of kids that blocked the sidewalk. They turned their heads at the loud footsteps and Henry’s cussing, noticing you for the first time.

“Motherf-” You cut yourself off, squeezing past two taller boys and ducking under one kid's fanny pack.

“Shit, sorry-comin’ through-sorry,” You yell as you try your best to politely push them aside, then shout another apology over your shoulder. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re dead!” Henry roars back, probably knocking over the other kids to get to you.

You briefly turn around and start running backwards, purely to shout: “EAT SHIT BOWERS!” and turn back, cackling maniacally. Yeah, being chased by him was fucking terrifying, but yelling that was so much fun.

You were confused when another set of voices mixed with Henry’s.

“You know I don’t run!”

“Shut the hell up a-and help her!”

“I’m on it, okay?”

A hand grabbed yours, yanking you back into someone. You looked up to see Henry towering over you, yelling for his friends to catch someone.

“She’s got backup!”

What the fuck? Backup? Henry lifted you off the ground by your collar, kicking your feet in hopes of hitting him. You gripped the neckline of your shirt, trying to tug it down, the air was being cut off completely and your face turning blotchy red. Your hand itched to the back pocket of your shorts, the switchblade peeking out from the fabric. This was it, you were going to get killed. Or raped. Or drowned in the creek. One moment he was holding you up and the next you were dropped on the floor and the humanoid gorillas that were Henry and his gang were circling the group of kids from before. You landed painfully on the bumpy gravel road, scraping your hands and knees, the little rocks digging into and leaving red spots on your skin. You spit blood and saliva on the concrete, reaching with shaking hands for the switch blade that had fallen out of your pocket.

Looking at the kids closer, you realized why they were so familiar; they were in all of your classes. The taller ones were Bill and Stan, you were sure of it. The one with the fanny pack was Eddie, and the kid with giant glasses…was being punched to death. You decided to call him Glasses for now.

You sprang up, flicking the blade out just as Glasses was shoved backward. Poor boy stumbled over a pebble and nearly fell over, earning a round of laughter from Henry’s gang.  

“Come on, do something!” Henry taunts, pushing Glasses back again. He plucked the thick spectacles off the boy’s nose and chucked them behind his back. “Your little girlfriend’s gonna get it anyways. C’mon! Hit me!”

In a feeble attempt, Glasses sloppily swung his fist at Henry’s face but Patrick caught it in his hand and twisted the boy’s arms around to near breaking point. Glasses bit his lip to keep from groaning, trying to act tough. Your temper flared again, boiling dangerously high. Maybe that was what finally snapped inside, because the next second you stabbed Henry in the thigh and slashed his jeans open, pulling back and brandishing the knife. Everyone backed up as you pointed it at every boy in turn, your eyes darting around.

“B-back the hell up,” You snarl. “D-don’t fucking come any closer or I’ll spear you like that hooker speared your mom.”

Despite being on the ground, Glasses sniggered. Henry snapped out of his trance and advanced, his hand outstretched to grab you. You panicked. Like, your mind completely shut down and instinct took over. Not thinking of any consequences, you lunged forward and buried the blade in Henry’s palm, pulling it out to raise it above your head, ready to strike again. Belch and Patrick  began shouting and turned to run the other way. Henry gave you one last loath filled look and ran after them, cradling his limp hand.  

You exhaled and dropped the knife at your side, crouching down to pick up the stupid boy’s glasses. He was already on his feet, yelling something along the lines of “Go suck a dick!” and “Crawl back into hell you dirty son of a-”

You gently tapped his shoulder. Glasses spun around, surprised to see you standing there. Before you could chicken out, you took his thick lensed spectacles, hastily wiped them off with the corner of your t-shirt and placed them carefully on his face. He stared at you, his face, ears and neck slowly turning a nice shade of light pink.

“Thanks.” You say, watching the glasses fall down the bridge of his nose.

“I-uh, no p-problem.” He mutters. “He’s a mullet wearing asswipe, and um-you stabbed him, holy shit…”

“Yes, why did you stab him?” The curly haired boy you were sure was Stan, asked.

You smiled bashfully, kind of proud of yourself, in a weird way. “I always carry a switchblade… Guess it actually made itself pretty useful.”

“Pretty…” Glasses mumbles. His eyes widen and he fumbles to correct his mistake. “Pretty useful! Yup, the knife was-it was smart. Very smart!”

His eyes distracted you. Forget the fact that they the nicest doe eyes you’d ever seen without glasses on, but with glasses they were magnified to be even more innocent looking than before. Weird… Isn’t this the kid who wrote “you’re almost uglier than your mom’s vagina” on Gretta Keene’s yearbook?

“I’m Richie Tozier.” He says, offering you his hand to shake. You take it.

“I’m-”

“Please,” Eddie scoffs. “He already knows your name, don’t you Richie?”

“Go wipe your mom’s ass!”

“Not funny! At all!”

“If you wanna see something funny go look in a mirro-”

You laugh, enjoying the banter. So this is what it’s like to have friends. Sort of. “Whatever group you guys are in, I wanna join.”

“It’s more of a cult, really,” Richie drawls, watching you dust off your shorts. “The blood sacrifices are every Wednesday.”

“Cool,” You say passively, liking his odd sense of humor. How you hadn’t gotten to know his name before this baffled you. “I’ll gut the dead animals. See you at school!”

“Yeah!” Richie calls at your retreating form. “See you…”

While walking away, you could have sworn you heard someone yell “Whipped!”, followed by a loud whack and cursing. You smiled to yourself. It was going to be a good year.