Reddie Oneshots

really dark but hella cute 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

on ao3 by rainbowsandgucci
this is really dark and fuckd up but also really cute. basically they are murderers, but they get the ending they deserve✨✨

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Work Text:
1990

Somehow, the Losers have lived to see another summer.

They're a little jaded now, sure, and less keen to be outside after dark than their peers, but they're alive, and at the end of the day, that's really all that matters.

Bev is back from Portland for the entire summer, and though Richie's not entirely sure how she managed to convince her aunt to let it happen, he's sure as fuck glad that she did. The Losers Club just isn't the same without her, isn't whole without her.

A perk to Bev being home, is Richie now has someone to smoke with.

Currently, they're lying in the grass in Richie's backyard, staring up at the slowly appearing stars. For once, they're both unconcerned about the impending nightfall, and, really, it's nice.

Eventually though, Bev sighs. "I have dreams." She says it softly, carefully, almost like she forces herself to, then takes a drag. The smoke, when she releases it from her lungs, swirls up and up and up, until Richie's just staring at the stars again.

"What kind of dreams?" He asks, somehow knowing she won't go on without encouragement.

She's quiet for a moment and takes another drag, shallower this time. "I've watched every single one of you die every night since..." she trails off, and Richie sighs.

"Since It."

She nods, he hears it in the grass underneath her head, then breathes out a soft, "yeah."

They're quiet for a long time afterwards, both of them smoking until their fingers are burning from the short sticks between their fingers.

Richie relishes in the pain, the burn. It reminds him that he's alive, reminds him that he's here, that Bev is, and their friends are alive and whole.

Reminds him that just a few minutes away, there's a certain someone that's going to cuss him out vehemently even as he treats the burns. Is going to yell at him for even touching the damn things (for the billionth time), and even as he's annoying as shit about it, all Richie will be able to do is think about how much he loves the sound of his voice, and how he doesn't want to go a day without hearing it in his entire life.

Finally, what Bev has said really sinks in, and Richie thinks about it. Really thinks about losing his friends. His family.

He sits up, lets the cigarette butt fall to the ground, and stomps on it to put it out. Then, he looks at Bev, still laid out in the grass, looking absolutely lost, and suddenly, he's overwhelmed with determination.

"That's not gonna happen Bev."

She laughs, though it's just a huff through her nose, and turns her head just slightly to give him a judgemental look. "Right. And you're going to stop that how, Trashmouth?"

Richie rolls his eyes, but doesn't let his eyes leave hers. Doesn't let his resolve waver. "I mean it. No one's going to hurt any of you. Never again. I'll kill anyone that does."

As he says the words, he feels an odd sense of calmness wash over him. He knows, without a doubt in his mind, that they're true. He means it. The seven of them are best friends, they're family, theyre meant to be, and not a single thing, demonic killer fucking clown or otherwise, is going to take that from them.

Something in his eyes must tell Bev just how serious he is, because she sits up, eyebrows furrowed, and clutches at the sleeve of his shirt. "Hey, same goes for you," she says earnestly. "We'll kill anything that hurts you too, Rich. No question about it."