Reddie Oneshots

possessive richie 🥺

on ao3 by sunxcherries
holy shit this was really good

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Airports are probably the worst place Eddie Kaspbrak could ever find himself. They're always packed with way too many people who are only paying attention to themselves, making Eddie a prime target to be bumped and jostled and overlooked. He's spent way too much time in them in the past twenty-four hours, and he can't wait to leave.

The five-hour flight from Maine to California was bad enough with Eddie squeezed in the middle seat instead of on the aisle due to a booking error, and as he waits for his suitcases in baggage claim, he fights the overwhelming urge to vomit and simultaneously rub down his entire body with hand sanitizer.

The only thing that's been keeping him sane throughout this whole experience is the knowledge that he's now a five-hour plane ride away from his overbearing mother who finally let him transfer and only a few doorways away from Richie Tozier. That thought alone makes his heart leap as he manhandles his heavy suitcases off the conveyor, dodging the airport employees and middle-aged moms who see the college sweatshirt that hangs off of him (an old one of Richie's that he mailed to him) and ask him if he needs help carrying anything, instead rushing toward the door labeled "pick-up".

Eddie turns around and walks out backwards through the door, dragging his suitcases with him and glancing around for Richie's signature rusted-out pickup. He scans the cars lined up on the curb but doesn't see Richie until he hears a honk from his left and a familiar voice yell, "Eduardo! Over here!"

He turns toward the voice and looks around, but still doesn't see Richie's truck. Finally, he hears the honk again and discovers that the Richie who left him in Derry last year is a completely different Richie than the one who's parked on the airport curb, calling his name loudly and waving him over to the annoyance of everyone else waiting.

The main difference is that this Richie is currently climbing out of a slick, black convertible, wearing brown-lens aviator sunglasses.

Eddie's jaw drops, and as Richie walks up to him and grabs his suitcases, the only thing he can think to say is, "Please don't tell me you sell drugs."

"You've always had such unwavering faith in me, Edward," Richie jokes, towing his suitcases down the sidewalk toward the BMW. And fuck, his voice is deeper. How did it get deeper? "C'mon, I'm getting honked at."

Eddie stays glued to the spot, shooting Richie a look, and when Richie sees it, he rolls his eyes. "No, I don't sell drugs; she's courtesy of Sir Wentworth. Let's go!"

Richie throws all of Eddie's stuff in the backseat, and then Eddie ends up spending two more minutes rearranging it so nothing flies out of the back while Richie impatiently drums his fingers on the steering wheel, the car started and engine purring. Once Eddie is sure everything is secure, he falls into the low-down passenger seat, Richie wasting no time before peeling away from the curb and out into the traffic lane with a screech of his tires.

They merge onto the highway, Richie immediately swerving over into the left-most lane, the engine revving and the wind flying through his hair. He throws a lanky arm over the back of Eddie's seat, relaxing and leaning back. Now that they're out of the airport and Eddie has the chance to breathe fresh air, he takes a moment to really look at Richie for the first time since the boy left for college a year ago. His dark hair is longer and curlier now, sprinkled with strands of lighter brown that catch in the sun.