album: red yellow and blue

Girls

Summary: 

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader, slightly implied ____ x Reader

Requested: By my mutual, @miza-spins-dat-pizza

Inspiration: “Way It Goes” by Hippo Campus and “Girls” by The 1975

A/N: tbh my friend @mehringguie helped me write this because like??? I almost gave up 

—-

Originally posted by lifesafjoke

Rock music. 

That’s the only way to describe someone like you. You pasted polaroids onto all of your folders, wore a cuffed bomber jacket at all times, and had these Red Wing work boots on no matter how rainy it was or how much snow was on the ground. 

You were a female John Bender, but with more class and less of an all-known personality. No one knew who or what you were, they ignored you since your family was known to be the owners of most of the local drugstores in Chicago before moving to Derry and buying even more of them. So, they knew you were a force to be left alone. Chicago, in the people of Derry’s minds, was a force of its own that shouldn’t be touched. With all the crime that happened there between Indiana and Illinois, they decided you were probably involved in that, too.

But Richie didn’t think you were bad at all. If anything, the only reason he even came around Maple St. was because you worked around there. Peaches Records & Tapes is the place he’d always been drawn to, the place you hung out more often than normal. He’d seen you there the first time a year ago when you’d almost been hit by his bike when he was too dumb to move fast enough.

You didn’t seem to be fazed by it and he watched you walk off with the same intent to get to Peaches’. He was a curious one, yes, so you would expect him to get hung up on where you were going and why it was so important. When he came back to see Peaches, he didn’t expect his curiosity to peak any higher. 

Because this time, you were dropped off by a bright red Audi Quattro. After you’d opened the door to get out, you were arguing with someone in the front seat and slammed the door shut before the car drove off in some kind of hurry. His interest in where you were going seemed to change once he saw how upset you were while walking into Peaches. His interest went to why you were upset instead, and he made it his objective to find out why. 

So now here he was, a month later in November. Not only did your punk rocker style change, it didn’t change subtly. Your simple brown bomber changed to a complete moto racer jacket complete with ripped up, cuffed jeans and a hat you’d probably gotten from your parent’s store downtown. Your eyes were brushed up with dark eyeshadow and you held your hair back into the cheap baseball cap. You looked absolutely different and you looked like someone intimidating, yet he still couldn’t keep his eyes off you. 

Richie hopped off his bike and nearly tripped from how fast he’d moved, and for once, he set his bike up against the kickstand. He rolled back his shoulders and stretched out his newly bought bomber jacket and flannel, the heels of his stiff boots shifting uncomfortably.

Yes, he changed his attire. 

Over the time span of a year, Richie slowly changed his outfits to match how you dressed. No one noticed until he started gelling his hair back once a week and wearing black nail polish. He was inevitably in love with you and everyone knew but him, he didn’t think it was love. To him, it was just an interest. A need to be your friend or a fling. Yet, every time he saw you, that interest grew stronger and a fling wasn’t an option anymore.

It was an absolute mission to get your attention, and that’s what he has been planning ever since he laid eyes on you. To get your attention, get your interest, be your friend, then branch out. Maybe it was because you were pretty popular and he was popularity-thirsty, or he was scavenging for what was left of any adventure in Derry and you were that adventure. 

Whatever it is, he wanted it.

“You need something, boy?” An old man stood at the front of Peaches with a bag of The Beach Boys’ albums with some Rolling Stones scattered around. Richie stared up at the tall man and sniffed before pushing past him. As a wise old wizard once told him, play hard to get and pretend you don’t care. So that’s what he’s doing. Maybe that advice was how to get grounded by your parents, but he didn’t remember. 

The ringing of the door as he shut it alerted you from the back of the store where you were filing the albums by color. Blue, purple, red, orange, yellow. You fingers pressed the last album down and you glanced into the front room where Richie was looking for the rock & roll albums. AC/DC, which he thought was an air conditioning company, was the closest one so he darted over to the crate and began searching through the covers. 

Once you spotted the black-clad boy with rolled up sleeves, you felt your eyes widen and your heart skip a beat. His gelled back hair was a bit over the top, but his features in the pale, cold sun made your breath hitch. The way his eyes scanned over the titles and his lips moved in the slightest while he whispered the names aloud. He was practically a dream-guy in your eyes, though he did seem to not know what he was looking at with his squinted eyes.

His glasses were thickly rimmed yet, that wasn’t a problem for you. He was just plain cute and in all honesty, this was the first cute boy to walk in since forever, and you were set on getting his name. Then you had a sudden realization. 

What if he was from your school? If he was, he most likely knew the rumors about you. That you were in the mafia, that you were dangerous, that you were some kind of murderer. Did he agree? You’d think he would be somewhat the same as you since his attire, but what if you’re completely wrong? You might be, and he might be just as mean to you as Gretta Keene.

“Uh, hello?” The boy you’d just been staring at walked over to the counter during your daze and rang the bell, two albums tightly held between his gloved hands. He may be dressed a bit over the top, but you honestly thought it was adorable. With all his friendship bracelets and his watch, it was cute yet daring. 

You stumbled over your feet to get to the counter and stared at the boy while clearing your throat, “Hi, welcome to Peaches. Is there something you need?” You mentally scolded yourself for sounding so stiff and stuck up, but the boy didn’t seem to notice and placed the albums onto the wooden counter with ease.

While you were nervous about talking to the boy, Richie was trying his best not to break his cool. After a year of studying your aloof personality, he could practically be Stanley with how much he trained himself to hold in his jokes and outbursts of comedy. All the time he spent went into making a good impression, but by your distressed expression, he thought otherwise.

Richie nervously fiddled with the ripped, fingerless gloves and watched you bag the albums while looking at a list of CD names. They lined down a yellow paper and you pointed your finger down the A’s and furrowed your eyebrows to read the fine print.

The butterfly feeling in his stomach became noticeable once you pursed your lips and lightly bit your bottom lip, focusing intently on the paper. He could see your eyes shine, something that he’d see only happen when you came across something you liked, like music. Oh, how he wished you’d look at him with the same look. Your beautiful way of concentrating made him swoon in a way he suddenly knew that it wasn’t just an interest anymore. It was something more, something new, something that only happened in cheesy movies at the cinema.

“That will be,” Your voice trailed off while you looked for the album and your fingertip finally found the title. AC/DC’s Back in Black and Fly on the Wall, two of the albums you owned and held proudly pinned onto your bedroom wall. You even had similar interests in music! Maybe it was meant to be? “Ten dollars.”

Richie gulped down whatever lump that started to form and replied, “Okay.” You slid over the bagged albums to him while he rummaged through his pockets to find something. It didn’t matter what it was, even if it was the slingshot Beverly gave to him last week, he didn’t care. He’d give it away in a second just to seem cool to you. You saw how he struggled and closed the register, to which his head perked up and he watched you rip off the receipt effortlessly. 

As you handed it to him, he realized what you just did. You paid for his albums. Well, to be real, you gave them to him for free. You, the person he’d been chasing after for a year, gave something to him and not because you were annoyed. You willingly gave him stuff that was pretty expensive. 

“Here,” You leaned across the counter and placed the albums between his jacket and flannel to hide them carefully. Richie’s breath hitched while you tucked the disks away and the butterflies in his stomach turned into an absolute flock of birds. You were only inches away and he could smell the scent of raspberries in your hair. Despite your scary demeanor, you actually smelled pretty nice and not like a goth or punk. You smelt… nice. Maybe it was weird of him to be smelling your hair, but to him, it was one step closer to getting you in his arms. “Don’t let my manager see. Go!” 

Richie nodded and turned to leave while stiffly walking toward the door with his boots squeaking against the wooden floor. He turned to you with a slightly worried look before you snorted in laughter at his ridiculous noise and waved him off. Before he left, he turned to you one last time with a forcefully and ridiculously serious face, one that he scrunched up his eyebrows to make him look more adult. 

“My name’s Richie, by the way!” He spoke in the burliest, manly voice he could and ended up sounding like an idiot. Either way, he made you laugh a second time and he found that amazing. After you laughed, you waved him off and he ran out of the store and toward his bike not before almost tripping from the unknown step out of the door. You cringed at the sound of his bare knees hitting the ground but he got up and brushed it off, giving you a thumbs up from behind the tinted glass and running to his bike right after.

While Richie ran to his bike, he searched through the bag in his jacket to see what he’d actually bought. Two AC/DC albums, both that he probably wasn’t even going to listen to. At least they looked cool, right? Before he could fold the bag and hide it in his jacket again, he noticed writing on the receipt at the bottom. He reached into the back and pulled it out, squinting to read the pen-written message.

‘312-###-#### -call me, punk boy :)’

Richie couldn’t feel his face by how much he was smiling at the note. He couldn’t believe it. He got your number. You, (Y/N) (L/N), gave him your number. He never thought someone like you would like him, who would like him? Richie was a hopeless, trash mouth romantic who needed intense help, yet you still gave him your number. But he wasn’t thinking about the bad things, all he could think about was that he actually got your number.

What a girl.

Barnacle Goose
Born Ruffians
Barnacle Goose

Barnacle GooseBorn Ruffians

“And I’m frustrated with myself
But I can’t change
I don’t want to be me anymore
And all of the tics & tocs & clicks of clocks
That tell the time tell me this is just a phase

And everything every day
That’s been scraping away
At the side of my brain
Can’t come to form a thought, except…

And all the thoughts I think I’ve saved
Here for days that remain
Just keep eating away
And I still can’t sleep, sing…

Why can’t you tell me what I wanna hear
To help me get some rest
Oh my darling dear?

The songs of the birds
Don’t bring calmness no more
Oh no, no they don’t sing

And none of the girls seem to think you’re cool
It’s probably because you smell bad

A skin disease won’t get you
Nowhere these days
It’s true, it’s sad but true

And everything every day
That’s been scraping away
At the side of my brain
Can’t come to form a thought

And all of the thoughts I think I’ve saved
Here for days that remain
Just keep eating away
And I still can’t sleep I sing…

We’re going to make plans
We have plans to make plans
We’re going to do it right
We’ve locked it in our sights
I’ll la-dee-da & they can dum-dee-day
We’ll tra-la-la all night and day we’ll go far

And if I write enough
And think about it it’ll happen
It’s not as tough as mom said
As it so happens

Your analyst lied to you when
She told you the truth
About boys, fear, open sores
And things that are simple
Like opening doors

And all the thoughts I think I’ve saved here
For days that remain
Just eat eat eat away
And I still can’t sleep, sing…”

I Need A Life
Born Ruffians
I Need A Life

I’m looking down, come help me up
And stumbling ‘round trying to fill my cup
It’s half empty, been that way all my life
So come pour some in, and take me out tonight

The sun is shining but we stay inside
Oh but we go out at night
We stay in looking for a better life
Oh but we go out at night
We put up curtains, block out the light
Oh but we go out at night
And we stay in bed until we feel all right
Oh but we go out at night

I need meaning
I need a mission
I need a path
I need conviction
I need a life I’ve never had
I need much more good, and much less bad

The sun is shining but we stay inside
Oh but we go out at night
We stay in looking for a better life
Oh but we go out at night
We put up curtains, block out the light
Oh but we go out at night
And we stay in bed until we feel all right
Oh but we go out at night

I found meaning
I found a mission
I found a lord
I found religion
I found something I never had
I’m not sure what but it’s not half bad
I’m glad, I’m so, so glad
Those party habits are gone and dead
I’m turning in my old sinful ways
For a dull new life so I can pray, pray, pray

The sun is shining but we stay inside
Oh but we go out at night
We stay in looking for a better life
Oh but we go out at night
We put up curtains, block out the light
Oh but we go out at night
We stay in bed until we feel all right
Oh but we go out at night

I need a life
I’ve never had
I need so much more good, lord
And much less bad