#constantreaderfool

Hollyyy!!💗 This is such an old prompt, I’m sorry! Have some ‘fuck- canon’ fluff (again).

“Come cuddle.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Read on AO3

Eddie woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed. 

While half asleep, he’d thrown his arm over the right side of the mattress, expecting to find a warm, lanky body that he could cuddle up against but instead, he got an armful of nothing. Eddie frowned and with his eyes still closed, trying to hold on to sleep for as long as he could, he felt around the bed for Richie but he wasn’t there. The man was all long legs and arms and the Town House bed wasn’t exactly big⎯ if he was there, Eddie’s hand would’ve found him already.

His first thought was that It was back. It was back and he’d taken Richie, taking advantage of the fact that they let their guard down after thinking they had killed him, for real this time. The thought made Eddie’s breathing speed up but he forced himself to take three deep breaths and calm down before he could drive himself into a panic attack.

“Rich?” He muttered, blinking his eyes open. The room was dark but the moonlight filtered in through the window, which was weird because Eddie remembered closing the curtains before crawling under the covers. With Richie. Which begged the question⎯

Where did the asshole go?

omg this is probably half a year late but here we go!!

The first time Eddie decided to leave for the bright lights of the big city, it was a rainy Tuesday afternoon in January and he was drunk on a fermenting promise to himself that never came true. He was nineteen years old, old enough to know better but young enough that reckless decisions could still be dismissed as the recklessness of a youth not yet over. When he’d told the others he was going to leave, the phone crackling wildly under the strain of their seven way phone call, they’d whooped loudly, cheering a victory that he hadn’t won yet.

“I knew this would be the year you left, Eds! I could feel it in my dick”

Fucking gross.

After he’d chewed Richie out for being crude, he’d remained silent for a very long time, listening to the others babble excitedly about how great emancipation felt, how the air had never tasted sweeter than the day they’d left Derry and never looked back. He’d planned to leave, he’d always meant to leave, got as far as having his bags packed on no less than four separate occasions over the last six months, but something held him back, an invisible red tether that cut deep welts into his heart, and it tightened viciously every time he so much as thought about shutting the creaky old door behind him for the last time.

His mother tugged on the tether, and reminded Eddie that his wings had been clipped a long time ago.

When Richie left Derry, nearly two years ago, Eddie hadn’t cried. Not in public, not so that Richie could see it. Richie had cried, great heaving sobs that choked his voice and dampened the soft jersey of Eddie’s favourite sweater. He’d cried on Eddie’s shoulder for a long, long time, but Eddie’s eyes remained firmly, petulantly dry. They’d remained dry when Richie had told him that, out of all the Losers, out of all the people he’d ever met and even the people he hadn’t, his Eds was his favourite. They’d remained dry when he’d watched Richie shove his guitars and the half-broken metal box full of old mixtapes into his half-broken old car that wheezed almost as much as Eddie did. They’d remained dry as he watched Richie drive mouse-slow out of the drive way, hollering out of the window, “I’ll never forget you, Eds! Not ever! I’ll always remember you and those fucking shorts!”

The shorts remained folded away in the back of his wardrobe, unworn.

Eddie didn’t leave.

The second time Eddie decided to leave for the bright lights of the big city, he was twenty-four years old, and working full-time at the pharmacy that he’d spent so many wasted hours in over the years, queueing up dutifully, waiting for the prescription to be filled, always jittering on the spot. He’d hop from foot to foot, wondering whether these pills would stop the throbbing in his heart and the mocking voice in his head, “you’re cracked you’re damaged you’re ruined”. So many years and so many sugar pills, enough to make his stomach churn and his teeth itch. The pharmacy was much the same, aisles of dandruff shampoo and cough syrup, and he spent his days drumming his fingers on the counter, each pound of each pad against the dull white surface a declaration, a plea.

“You’re never going to leave if you don’t do it now. Rip the band-aid off, Eds, and stop being such a fucking pussy.”

Richie was right, in that very frustrating way that Richie was always, always, right, especially when it came to Eddie and his pathological tendency to self-sabotage himself into oblivion. Rather than grasp his life in both hands, a fragile little thing that needed nurturing, Eddie instead condemned it to a solemn existence of self-hatred and apathy, all the while staring at the little white sugar pills that he’d taken for so long, lined up neatly in piss-coloured plastic bottles on the shelves of the pharmacy.

He packs his bag with all the gusto he can manage that evening, shoving t-shirts and pressed chinos into an old rucksack with wild abandon, until he stops. He stops, and he stares at the bag, really stares at it, and he realises it’s wrong. He hasn’t packed his favourite books, the movie ticket stubs he’d saved from when Richie took him to see the new Star Wars and Eddie had complained bitterly about how boring it was, how stupid the entire thing was, and he’d annoyed Richie so much that Richie had dragged him out by the arm and they’d gone for burgers instead. There was no room for his favourite shoes, the sweater with the holes in it that Bev had leant him when he was cold and then given to him because the purple made the green in his eyes shine brightly, a freshly cut lawn on a summer morning.

Eddie emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor, and stepped over it. Tomorrow, he assured himself, tomorrow he’d leave. Tomorrow.

Eddie didn’t leave.

The third time Eddie decided to leave for the bright lights of the big city, he was thirty-three years old and he couldn’t remember why California called his name so loudly, why its sirens call echoed across the country, beckoning, seducing him with its call. California, a nihilistic melting pot of overworked and underpaid wage slaves who bowed to the corporate bell and submitted themselves to the scrutinising eye of the Silicon Valley start-ups. Surely there was nothing for Eddie there, a pharmacist with two degrees under his belt but no actual understanding of how the world works beyond the safe confines of his small town existence. Highways, supermarkets with more than ten aisles, electric cars, save the turtles, sandals in winter, and heatstroke in summer, sweat on your upper lip and tan lines on your knees. California.

His phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Is this Eds? Eds Kaspbrak?”

“Don’t call me that. Who is this?”

“Uh, it’s Richie?”

A question, not a statement, as if the caller is asking, ‘is it okay that this is Richie?’

“Richie? Richie who?”

“I thought you’d say that.”

A pause that stretches like tar, sticky and black.

“Oh Shit!”

Eddie remembered. He remembered a tangled mop of dark brown hair, he remembered bucked teeth and freckles that skate across skin like sand in the wind, he remembered the lisp, and the gangly limbs that hung awkwardly, gorilla limbs that were too long, too grabby, too energetic.

“Richie fucking Tozier”

“The one and only! Gonna be honest, Eds, I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t pick up, that some housewife would answer all, ‘he doesn’t live here anymore’, but … here you are”

“Here I am.”

“Still there.”

“Still here,” Eddie confirmed, and his gut trembled with the sort of embarrassment that hangs low and heavy in the air like smoke.

“I’m in California, got a sweet little place on the oceanfront if you ever … y’know …”

Oh. There it is. The static that had been buzzing around Eddie’s brain when he thought of California, the angry bees that stung him for not remembering finally relented, finally dropped down dead, because Richie’s on the other end of the phone, still lisping, voice a little deeper and a little hoarser, but Eddie had  remembered.

“Ocean front, you say?”

The most reckless thing Eddie had done before this was leave the house during a torrential rainstorm with an only shower proof coat, knowing full well that the long fingers of Flu would be tapping at his arm in the morning. Now, here he is, sat in a tacky sea-food restaurant with someone he hasn’t seen for over a decade, and he’s drunk. Not too drunk, he can still see without his vision blurring, and he can still count all the freckles that litter Richie’s face, and he can still wonder whether these are new freckles, or whether these are the same freckles he used to stare at when they were lying in the quarry, sunning themselves like heat-starved reptiles.  

But, nevertheless, here he is, stuffing paella into his face with one hand and with the other waving wildly in the air as he talks through bites of rice.

“Do you remember when you got kicked out of band?”

Richie groans, wounded.

“Don’t fucking remind me, I was washing that fucking yellow paint out of my hair for at least three years after that.”

“I’ll never forget the look on Mike’s face, he was so ready to beat the absolute living shit out of you!” Eddie brayed, stray pieces of rice escaping his mouth as he spoke, disgusting but in the dim light of the restaurant, Eddie didn’t care.

The wind whips Eddie’s face when they stagger out of the restaurant three hours and ninety dollars later, and Richie grabs him by the chin roughly.

“You never left, did you?”

“You know I fuckin’ didn’t”

“I shouldn’t have left without you, I never should have left you there.”

Eddie pushed at Richie, gentle enough not to hurt. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, Rich. I’ve grown roots, I’m … I’m stuck there, like one of those plants that dies in the winter but is back again in summer. All I would have done is dragged you down with me.”

Richie readjusted his grip on Eddie’s chin, and tipped Eddie’s head up, so he was looking directly into Richie’s eyes.

“I nearly kissed you when I left,” Richie said, the alcohol swimming in his veins dimming his inhibitions, if only for these few snatched moments. “I really nearly did, but you looked so …”

“So what?”

“You didn’t cry.”

Eddie blinked. “I cried every day for a month after you left, Rich. I cried so much my mother sent me to the fucking doctor because she thought I had hysteria.”

Richie barked out a laugh, a sad wet sound that sounded more like a sob, “I left you.”

Eddie pushed his face up, out of Richie’s grip, and pushed his lips against Richie’s quivering ones. The kiss is small, timid, and Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and clung.

It didn’t last long, Richie was crying too much for it to be the storybook cliché that Eddie had so desperately hoped that it would be.

The next day, Eddie left.

The fourth time Eddie decided to leave for the bright lights of the big city, he left, and never looked back.

@constantreaderfool: “I would LOVE to hear more of shoulder angel and demon reddie PLEASE”

thank you so much for taking for taking interest in my headcanon it means a lot!! 🥰 i’ve had this au on my mind for quite a while but i’ve never gotten around to writing it, so i’m glad people wanna hear about it hdjshdj

@reddieloves suggested that it actually be switched around and eddie could be the demon and richie the angel which i love!!! i definitely considered this when i first started thinking of the au and i think for now i’ll go with it :)

eddie’s the brave type and i think that would have him pushing stan to do risky things that could definitely have some negative consequences but in his opinion, the thrill is more important than the possibility of something going wrong so why not go for it? richie’s a lot more cautious, and he usually just chastises eddie gently because he’d rather be nice than argue, but he can’t help going into a strop when eddie starts to get a little flirty or just tries to talk about random things like the different diseases he’s heard of with him to take his focus and distract him from his responsibilities

the real loser in this scenario, though, is stan. he has to deal with them for every waking moment, they only quieten down at night to let him sleep and sometimes he thinks that they forget they’ve even got a job to do—they talk all through his classes and bicker when he tries to have a conversation with his dormmate—he just feels thankful that everyone can only hear their own angel and demon because god he thinks he must’ve gotten the two who were the absolute worst at their jobs and that’s not a dramatic statement at all

when stan is maybe twenty one he starts to notice that occasionally he’ll wake up to find eddie crawling back up onto his shoulder and lying down as if he’d been there the whole time, but stan doesn’t really know where he’d be going. richie and eddie usually just lay down on his shoulders and stay quiet to let him rest or they go to sleep themselves just to pass time, not that they need it. i think he’d let it go the first couple of times but when he manages to undeniably catch him in the act, he asks eddie where he keeps going and not surprisingly, eddie refuses to tell him anything—richie stays quiet as stan interrogates eddie, but stan supposes he wouldn’t know much about eddie’s devious antics anyway

one night he decides that he’ll pretend to go to sleep so that he can find out where eddie’s going and it actually works, maybe fifteen minutes after stan’s eyes close and his breath evens out eddie’s climbing off of his shoulder and he thinks he can feel his feet quietly pattering across his chest? he’s not too sure, but then he hears—

“eds, we’re going to get into trouble for this.”

“but that’s the fun part, rich.”

“no it’s– i mean– i know trouble is your whole thing but you know that’s not what i meant.”

eddie sighs and richie continues—

“this is the kind of thing you’ll actually be punished for.”

stan cracks his eyes open just enough for him to be able to see that eddie has in fact moved over to his right shoulder where richie sits, and he’s holding one of richie’s hands in both of his own and kissing the back of it gently

“i won’t try to tempt you anymore if it makes you uncomfortable, rich, just say the word.”

!!!!!! Everything I listen to is just making me FEEL rn tbh but here’s a few :)

razzmatazz - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

breaking free - night riots

age of consent - new order

chit chat - beach weather

lemon boy - cavetown

bad decisions - the strokes

this is fun tysm holly!!

• recently i’ve taken the mbti test again and turns out i’m an enfp and that backs up the fact that i’m hyper and enthusiastic and vocal about what i like so finding that out was nice

• i have 5 piercings

• i have brown hair and i’m 5’5

• i’m lanky. like the weird kind of lanky

Ladies, I should have known this was coming when I saw your names in my inbox…So I’m combining them! Lol I hope that is okay!

NSFW below

Eddie grinned when he heard Richie giant feet slap on the wet tile, meaning he was following, and Eddie tossed his towel over on one of the benches along with his goggles. After pulling off his suit, he made sure to slip his shower shoes on before he entered the shower area, not for one second trading the safety of stepping into a bacteria infested hell hole just for some dick.

“Grab my shampoo and body wash!” He yelled, knowing Richie knew his locker combination as he turned on the water to let it heat up. “And don’t forget my washcloth!”

I was tagged by @constantreaderfool Thank you so much , love ya a lot!!

🌿: favorite comfort food: coffe, sushi or a bunch of cookies&cream ice cream

🌼: favorite alcohol (or hot drink): Baileys

🌷: favorite relaxing activity: going to sleep and ending reading, or read and end having a nap 

🌸: favorite fluffy/feel good fic: I really in love with Heart Beats Slow writing by the lovely  @mrosenkov , is angst but it calms me,I think its because the way its writing

🌻: favorite calming scent: the scent of my bed

🌺: favorite relaxing or uplifting song: Highway to heaven by NCT127, especially the english ver

🌵: favorite white noise: a fan

🍄: favorite book to get lost in: IT, I know,predictable

💐: favorite chill out tv show: Gravity Falls

🌹: best advice I’ve ever had: Being weak is nothing to be ashamed of... Staying weak is!!