Young and Yearning (IT Imagines and Oneshots).

Reddie; Tattoo.

Eddie had been patient throughout his life. He had been calm, secluded and isolated - yet he remained optimistic. It was only after the 'Gazebo Incident' as he referred to it as, that he began to lose his - dare I say, shit? Eddie had learnt that his whole life, every phobia and every fear - had been built upon a lie, on bullshit. Through the wise words of Richard Trashmouth Tozier; did Eddie make a grave, forever mistake.

"Come on, Kaspbrak!" Richie was urging him, "Live a little!"

"Like you're such a bad boy, dickwad," Eddie replied, calmly flicking through a comic as he lazed on Richie's bed. Richie's heart was fluttering but he pushed the butterflies down his gut.

"Okay, okay," Richie breathed out, "Compromise?"

"What do you propose, Trashmouth?"

"I'll stop being a dickhead-"

"Oh praise the lords.."

"-If you do something stupid," Richie finished, giving Eddie a subtle glare as he interrupted.

"What's something stupid?"

Richie had to fight the urge to say,

'I'm stupid, do me.'

And his breathing heaved as he did so.

"Look around you, Spaghetti. What do you see?"

"An asshole, his room and an X-Men Comic?"

"No no no, Spaghetti," Richie chuckled, "An empty house, and a full alcohol cupboard."

"Richard Wentworth Tozier, you do not propose..?"

"I do indeed, Eddie Spaghetti Kaspbrak.."

Eddie pondered on his options for a moment. Have Trashmouth continue to bug you, or get flat out wasted and end up making out with him? He chuckled at the last thought, and decided on the best.

"Fine," He said finally. Richie jumped to his feet, clapping his hands like a fucking cheerleader. He linked his arm smoothly with Eddie's, before physically dragging the petite boy out to the kitchen.

"Close your eyes, Eds."

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me."

"No, makin' you a special concoction," Richie explained, placing a comforting hand on Eddie's knee. This sent Eddie haywire, but he managed to hold himself together on a thin, thin thread. Richie didn't have the faintest clue of how to concoct a drink, as Eddie said - he wasn't exactly a bad boy. But he did his best. After filling a cup with some guava punch, he emptied the dregs of a Vodka bottle into the small red cup, and gently put it between Eddie's small hands. Their hands touched for a moment, before Richie's jerked his away violently.

"Shit, Rich!"

"Drink up, Spaghetti."

Eddie did so, taking a small sip at first - wincing, before downing the rest. Richie watched in awe.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Pure fuel, as the bad bitches would say," Richie chuckled, "Want another?"

"Oh god no," Eddie laughed, too, "Got anything better.. stronger?"

"Shit.."

"Just washin' down the demons," Eddie laughed, relieving the tension. Richie nodded, falling to his knees to rummage through the cupboard as Eddie sat, his legs swinging - on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Richie stood, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"Rich.."

"Please..?"

And that is where shit went downhill. The last thing Eddie remembered from that night was Richie's stupid, beautiful face - pleading him to drink more, and live a little.

Eddie woke with a splitting headache, meanwhile the rest of his body was numb.

"Fuck.." He groaned, slowly rising to his feet. As he did, he felt a brain piercing pain on his waist.

"Mother fucker.." He continued droning, standing up and walking to the wardrobe mirror opposite his room. Eddie swung his shirt off of his small torso. No bruises, no cuts, no nothing. Maybe this whole alcohol thing wasn't too bad after all.

A small something poked out from Eddie's shorts. He peeled them away, clenching with pain to reveal - a fucking tattoo?

"Oh fucking fuck no," Eddie said as his eyes widened. He took a closer look towards it. As he continued observing the small inkling on his waist, the door slammed open and a disgruntled Richie stood in front of him. Richie eyes widened as he turned a violent shade of crimson.

"Richard, what the fuck is this?" Eddie said loudly, clearly - turning to Richie as he did and showing him the tattoo. Richie took a cautious step forward, peering at it as he did. He had to muffle a laugh as he realised what it said.

"What, what the fuck does it say?" Eddie said, jumping backwards as Richie tried to pry Eddie closer.

"You don't want to know.."

"I really fucking do."

"Really?"

Eddie nodded as Richie grinned from ear to ear.

"It says, and I quote 'Richie Tozier's Bitch'," Richie said, sitting cross legged on the floor.

"You're pulling my leg."

"Dead serious, swear on Stan.."

"Fuck.."

"We're meeting The Losers at The Quarry in twenty."

"Fuck!"

"Just cover her up," Richie assured him gently, "How the hell did we even get it?"

"We're eighteen, dickhead. It's Derry. You think anyone cares?"

"True.." Richie looked Eddie up and down, "I'll leave you to uh - get dressed?"

And with that, Richie left the room in the blink of an eye. Despite the chaos, Eddie found himself chuckling. He pulled on some clean shorts gently, wincing slightly - chucked on a new shirt and met Richie in the living room.

"You okay, Eddie?" Richie asked gently. Eddie nodded, smiled - and put his hand in Richie's. The two headed to The Quarry. Everything there seemed normal. As the two approached the rest of The Losers Club, their hands fell - which both were painfully aware of.

"What did you two get up to last night?" Beverly asked slyly. Richie's eyes widened as Eddie glared at her.

"Nothing, Ringwald," Richie huffed, pulling his shirt off quickly, "I'm jumping, anyone care to join?"

Eddie jumped to his feet.

"Please," He said simply, pulling of his own shirt. The tattoo was now out in the open, for every Loser to observe besides Richie and Eddie. The two jumped in, leaving Bev red faced and bursting into an eruption of laughter.

"Fucking - Bev?" Ben spluttered, as Bev fell into his arms.

"He's Richie Tozier's fucking b-bitch!" She spat.

"E-Excuse me?" Bill asked quietly as Stan watched inquisitively. Mike's eyes widened as he listened in, and he scooched closer to the group.

"Eddie has a fucking tattoo!"

"You're pulling my leg," Stan said seriously.

"I swear on Stan," Bev said, placing her hand to her heart.

"We'll see," Mike said, standing to his feet and pulling his shirt off, "Come on,"

They followed, jumping into the water with an astonishing splash. And sure enough, there it was. The tattoo. Richie Tozier's bitch. Not only did it signify that, however. Eddie was free. Free from his mother's grasp. Free from every placebo that had ever entered his life. Now he just had to figure out what the hell to do about the tattoo.