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ghost-proofbaby · 4 months ago

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SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER TEN: RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

DID YOU EVER HEAR ABOUT THE GIRL WHO GOT FROZEN? TIME WENT ON FOR EVERYBODY ELSE - SHE WON'T KNOW IT.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.9K+

☆ A/N: lyrics used towards end of the chapter belong to the following sleep token songs (in order of appearance) - chokehold, ascensionism, and take me back to eden. 10/10 recommends listening to them <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

When you wake up, you’re shocked to find cold sheets beside you.

Your hand stretches out on instinct, joints cracking as you barely slip into consciousness, and it’s the one thing capable of jolting you awake. These aren’t your sheets (they’re too nice to be your sheets), this isn’t your bed (there’s a cologne across the fabric that no longer stains your own mattress), and the bed is cold. Not even whispering of the warmth of who should be in bed with you, no trace of him having been tangled up with you the entire night to be found.

Eddie had been here. You know he had been here. Last night couldn’t have possibly been a dream, or a hallucination, or some cruel twisting of reality done by your brain out of the terrible yearning that is bubbling back up to the surface of your chest.

He had been here. And now, he’s gone.

It reminds you too much of those mornings you’d awake while he was on tour. The mornings you’d roll over in a shared bed, only to find the other owner was still a country away. Mornings where you took your coffee cold and alone, and took your updates from some online source posting blurry photographs of the man you were waiting up on rather than from his own two lips.

Bile almost rises in your throat until you properly sit up, and you properly remember.

Eddie. Kisses. His guitar. His song. Whispered falsetto of taking aim, painful words about the way love is a weapon.

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t dense. And Eddie Munson was a rockstar, not an actor.

The room is still dreary, faintly lit with the wisps of daylight peering through the curtains over the window. You can’t tell if it’s stormy out, or it’s early out, but neither really matters. Neither really explains why you’ve woken up in a bed alone, after a night of playing pretend.

Eddie’s lips, trailing down your skin. Eddie’s hands, bruising your hips and holding you to him in all the ways you begged him to. Eddie’s legs, entangling with yours beneath sheets he used to not be able to afford and blankets that kept the rest of the world as far away from the two of you as possible through the night.

You swear, for just a moment, your back is still warm with the imprint of his chest curling against you.

With every movement you make, you wait for Eddie to magically appear out of thin air. To jump up in front of you, to smile at you with that toothy grin and greet you with some ridiculous good morning. You keep waiting as you kick off the covers, and as your feet meet his cold floors, and as you make your way to the unfamiliar bathroom attached to the bedroom.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

You sort of fucking hate waiting. Especially when it came to Eddie.

There’s no sign of him in the apartment. It becomes clear once you’ve brushed your teeth, almost hesitating to use the toothbrush available until you realize how ridiculous that would be. He had his tongue down your throat last night, amongst other places – he could bare for you to borrow his toothbrush just this once. You make your way out of the room, down the hallway, to the kitchen.

Nothing. No Eddie. No breakfast. No reminders to call Matt and no ambulances on speed dial.

You feel like a fool.

“Talk about karma, hm?” you mumble to yourself as you lean against his kitchen island, staring at the fridge, weighing your choices.

You could stay, make yourself breakfast, enjoy the luxuries at your disposal.

Or you could leave. You could get out now while he’s not here to stop you, erase the night from your skin and memory. There’s still time to pretend that none of it ever happened. There’s still time to scrub the stain he’s once again left across not just your skin, not just your mind, but your entire existence. A newly reopened wound, and you still had time to make amends and stitch it right back up. No blood stains necessary this time around. And things were always easier the second time around, right?

Wrong.

Something keeps you rooted in spot. Maybe it’s the nostalgia, wrapping its way up around your bones. Maybe it's the wishful thinking, the smallest of hopes that Eddie will eventually burst through the front door and wash away the doubts.

Or maybe it’s the post-it note that you’d initially missed, barely clinging to the surface of the fridge as it leaves behind a sticky residue.

Went to the studio, I’m in trouble with Matt :( Help yourself to anything in the apartment. If you leave, just make sure to lock up behind you. I’ll text once I’m done.

It’s written in messy penmanship, the font of someone in a rush. The phrase ‘if you leave’ is only slightly neater, as if written slowly and given more thought than anything else said.

As if Eddie might have hesitated, for just a moment, at the thought of you leaving once more.

You’re probably imagining things. You’re probably making up that difference in your mind, projecting onto what you want him to feel so desperately. It shouldn’t make a difference in if you stay or if you go. It shouldn’t.

And yet, it does.

The hours pass by slowly. Morning bleeds into the afternoon as you keep yourself entertained and take Eddie’s encouragement in full stride; you make yourself a decent enough breakfast from what food he does have in the fridge, and you almost make a note of scolding him for having little to nothing in there. But then you remember that it isn’t your place anymore, and your toast is nearly burning, and so the mental note of any slaps on the wrist is pushed away. You wander about the living room, taking in what photos he does have displayed. There’s not much – a few awards, some nice recounts of the band’s successes, but nothing that is Eddie. No photos of Hawkins. No photos of friends. No photos of Wayne. You hadn’t realized just how empty, how vacant, the place had felt until you properly inspected it all.

There’s only one trace left behind of Eddie. The man you once knew and loved, not Eddie the Rockstar. Eddie, the caring best friend. Eddie, the doting boyfriend. Eddie, the one you’d once spent all your days weaving a future with, threads intertwined and dreams perfectly aligned.

A single photograph of just him and Gareth. Or at least, what’s been framed to appear to be of just him and Gareth.

Eddie, front and center. Gareth to his left. At a quick glance, it seems like one more homage to the band, maybe even to his friends.

It’s more than that, though.

Your hands can’t work fast enough as they grab the frame, not even thinking clearly about how Eddie might feel if you rip the back off the nice piece of memoriam. Your heart is racing out your chest, breaths starting to come out in harsher and harsher puffs as you struggle to flip the clips and remove the backing cardboard.

You find exactly what you knew you’d find. Exactly what you’d dreaded you’d find.

Yourself, staring back at you.

Creased over so purposefully, the section of the photo containing you has been prestigiously folded to appear as though you’d never existed. You, with a fool’s grin and eyes squinted out of appearance. You, hand on Eddie’s shoulder as you’d lifted yourself up dramatically on your tippy toes, body full of pride beyond the point of containment.

A version of you that you can remember crystal clearly.

“Wait, wait!” you had squealed, the stick of beer on concrete floors meeting the rubber sole of your shoes audible as you’d ran across the bar, “Don’t you dare take that photo without me, assholes!”

You’d nearly slipped in a puddle of only God-knows-what as you’d made it to where the boys were gathering, but Eddie’s hands had already been there to catch you before you’d met an untimely demise.

“Woah, woah, woah,” his face twitched with concern, but his smile wasn’t fading, “Trying to kill yourself there, Sugar?”

“No, I’m trying to get into the photo with my favorite people,” you’d corrected, looking around Eddie to shoot a smile Gareth’s way, “Gotta make sure they don’t forget me in the history books in ten years, when they put you guys’ into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.”

Gareth snorted immediately, shaking his head, his own head of curls bouncing with the movement, “Right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Eddie’s hands left your waist, leaving you to bounce on the balls of your feet as you looked back to Jeff still poised with a camera. “Don’t be such a pessimist, Gar.”

“Don’t call me Gar.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I use the full nickname? Would you prefer Gare-Bea-”

“Okay,” Eddie cut you off with impeccable timing, putting his hands out between the two of you, “Can we not kill each other after we’ve just played our biggest show yet?”

Biggest show yet, indeed. Everyone had come out to show love to the boys you’d been rooting on from the hot floors of garages for several months at that point. More than just a few drunks being forced to listen to the live band playing at their favorite joint, and more than just a few friends who’d spared their evening to show support.

Everyone was there. The bar had even made an exception for a few of the boys in Eddie’s Hellfire club, and that alone had already gone to Dustin Henderson and Mike Wheeler’s heads.

“She’s right!” Dustin added without any prompting, standing to the side and looking just as giddy as you did, “You guys are gonna be goddamn rockstars!”

“Language, Henderson!” Steve Harrington scolded, scowling at the younger boy, “Jesus, we let you guys come to a bar one time to support Eddie, and you immediately start acting up-”

“Can we please just take the photo?” Jeff waved the camera as he looked between you, Eddie, and Gareth, “Please?”

Surprisingly, every single person listened.

Gareth resumed his cool-guy position, clearly trying to not show just how excited he was. Arms crossed as he didn’t move any closer to be more fully in the photo, offering the limited effort of leaning in.

You knew he was just playing it cool. You’d seen the smile light up his face, even behind the drumset, the moment the boys had seen how large of a crowd they’d garnered.

Dustin jumping up and down beside you, waving his hand, trying to just get a glimpse of his blurry palm in the shot.

No one could even be mad at him, the air was too thick with excitement. He was only exerting it the way all of you craved to do so badly, guided by his youth and genuine love for his friends – his mentors.

And then there was you and Eddie. Eddie wasn’t hiding his joy at all, those dimples you so adored in full throttle as he looked at the camera with starry eyes. All that hard work, all those late nights, finally beginning to come to fruition. He didn’t have to say it – you knew. You knew he was beginning to see the shape of a rockstar forming that you’d always been able to view. Seeing himself in the spotlight that you’d always shone on him, blind faith and all.

He was proud, and you were prouder.

On your tippy toes, hand curling around Eddie’s shoulder like an anchor as your chin tilted up and your teeth flashed to the camera. You probably looked ridiculous – you felt ridiculous. But there was no time for some elegant pose or faux cool act like Gareth or Jeff. You were bleeding out all your pride and all your happiness, and it was all for the warm body beneath your palm. The boy you’d be holding dearly when it was all said and done at the end of the night, letting him collapse into your solace as he giggled and muttered his disbelief at how well the night went once you were both safely back in his bed.

“Say cheese!”

Jeff was all but ignored, only Gareth loudly proclaiming the word through gritted teeth.

You squeezed Eddie’s shoulder a bit tighter, and he smiled a bit wider as you whispered, “I’m so proud of you, Rockstar.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the first tear drops onto the photo, narrowly missing your overly exuberant face and landing instead on the back of the part of the photo unseen from this point of view.

The part that was on display. The part that Eddie would let the world see.

The tears can’t become more; you can’t let them. You weren’t going to break down in sobs in the middle of Eddie’s apartment. Not after the night before, not after what felt like the precipice of progress. Not after the beginning of what felt like a peace offering.

Closure. You were both so close to closure, and yet had never felt further.

Instead of putting back the backing of the frame like you should, you pull out the entire photograph, slowly unsticking it from the glass so you can unfold it to witness the entire picture. You thought it might feel wrong to see this version of you standing beside that version of Eddie, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the burn of nostalgia worse.

The night before, Eddie had asked you a question.

“Do you know how many times I played this moment back over in my head?”

And you didn’t know. You never found out, never bothered to ask him for the answer. But you couldn’t but wonder if he knew how many times you’d played moments like the one in this photograph back, over and over in your mind, until it drove you to madness. Just how many late nights in that lonesome apartment, haunted by the memories, it had finally taken before you’d had no choice but to move. How many breakdowns had been spurred on in public when you’d heard his song playing in a gas station, or you’d seen a magazine that he’d occupied the smallest corner of the cover of.

How many times, during those moments, you’d thought back to nights like the one in this picture, and wished you could go back.

Even now, even with progress on the horizon, you want to go back. Everything in you screams for this time rather than the present. You want small crowds in the Hideout and an overly hyper Dustin Henderson to annoy you all. You want Eddie kissing you in the bar’s bathrooms, everything reeking of stale beer, and you want the only interruption to be the others banging on the door to let you know it was time to go, not Eddie’s cell phone ringing with a call from his agent.

You want, and you want, and you want.

For an innocence neither of you can return to. For a life both of you left behind in ashes. For a love that had seemed so infinite, not as though it might be a momentary time bomb waiting to blow.

You want to take past you by the shoulders, and shake her so hard that there’s a chance she’ll listen to you when you demand she just enjoy it.

Enjoy all the late nights spent in diner booths with all the boys, none of them witness to the pathway of a heart that Eddie’s thumb is drawing on top of your hand. Enjoy all the grand firsts, and enjoy how everything feels like the ends and beginnings of your world when you’re that young. Enjoy Eddie while you can, even when he annoys you, even when he finds a way to get perfectly on your very last nerve. Enjoy it.

Because one day, it would all be gone, and you’d be crying over a photograph in the apartment of the man you once thought you were going to marry.

Now is the time to stop. Now is the time to put the photo back, gather your things, then leave. Put away the shovel and walk away from the grave of the past.

You can’t do it.

It turns into some wild scavenger hunt, lacking in guidelines and etiquette as you search through the rest of the apartment. Not truly snooping, but certainly scouring every corner for any other possible remnants of you. Small markings, brutal stains. Proof you weren’t the only one left maimed at the end of the day. Proof you weren’t the only one stained.

Nothing else is found, because nothing else in the apartment is seemingly as personal as that one photograph.

You’d noticed the apartment was barren, but hadn’t taken the time to see just how far the emptiness went. His living room, his kitchen, his bedroom – not a single sign of the Eddie you once knew. Only the new Eddie. The Eddie with awards, with a reputation, with adoring fans.

The Eddie that you couldn’t tell if you really cared for all that much.

The first sign of life only creeps into your vision when you crack back open that door to his makeshift studio. Guitars he once only spoke of owning, a keyboard that tells you he’d finally taught himself how to play piano rather than only speaking about it as a one-day, notebooks and loose-leaf pages scattered across the coffee table that’s situated in front of the comfortable couch.

It reminds you of the coffee table back in the Munson trailer. Of his desk, back in Hawkins.

There’s no sporadic Hellfire campaigns across the pages, though. No small doodles in the corners of the crumbled pages.

Your curiosity gets the better of you as you take the same seat you’d occupied the night before (or technically, the earlier morning). No guitar fills your lap – only the weight of the first notebook you could get your hands on. He’d told you to help yourself to anything in the apartment, and he’d never said that the studio was explicitly off-limits.

There’s rings of coffee stains across the front of the notebook, half the pages visibly used from the side while the rest stay pristine and uniform. Before you can overthink it, you’re flipping the cover of the spiral notebook open, holding your breath as you read across the first line of penned words that you find.

When we were made, it was no accident.

Lyrics. They’re clearly lyrics. You keep reading, out of order as your eager eyes drink it all in.

I’d turn my walls to gold to bring you home again.

You turn the page. You refuse to linger. You refuse to over analyze.

MAKE IT REAL. ‘Cause anything’s better than the way I feel right now.

The first three words are angry, aggressive, large. Screaming off of the page. And the remaining ones are small, almost cursive as they flow together like a whisper. Like the writer couldn’t handle telling the world something so vulnerable, so loudly as he had his demand.

Below, a phrase takes up an unexpected amount of space, circled around several times, a few stray question marks penned around the edges.

Diamonds in the trees, pentagrams in the night sky.

You recall all of Eddie’s doubt when you’d interrupted him writing a song last night. The muttering to himself, questioning what the words might even mean. It seems that was not an occurrence saved solely for you – it seems, when he’s been left to his own devices, the process always remains.

You turn the page again.

This time, you’re met with the largest conglomerates of lyrics yet. Spreading across the available lines preset for him, but also spiraling about the page. Written in the margins, forced to fill the gaps between the lines. There’s a sinking feeling in your gut before you even read the lyrics, based on the title alone – Take Me Back to Eden.

I dream in phosphoresces, bleed through spaces. See you drifting past the fog.

You’re holding your breath again.

I’m a winged insect, you’re a funeral pyre.

Your eyes wander further down the page.

I need you to see me for what I have become.

The word become is angrily underlined, over and over, until the pen had torn through the page in the slightest.

Something rises up within you, and in a panic, you jump to the bottom of the page.

I guess it goes to show, does it not? That we’ve no idea what we’ve got until we lose it.

The first fatal blow – you can practically hear Eddie’s voice singing the line to you.

And no amount of love will keep it around, if we don’t choose it.

Another blow. Flashes of simpler times. Times when Eddie was yours, when the world didn’t lay claim to him the same way your own shaking palms would.

No amount of self-sought fury will bring back the glory of innocence.

It doesn’t matter how small he’s written it. No matter how tiny and insignificant he attempted to make the line, it cuts deeper than any knives that have ever passed through your flesh before. Deeper than the knife of losing him, so terribly slow. Deeper than the knife of hearing Corroded Coffin in public for the first time, playing out of someone’s car on the street as they listened to the Alternative Rock station. Deeper than the knife of burying his mother’s ring at the back of your closet, no longer yours to wear but somehow still yours to keep. Deeper than the knife of seeing him sitting there, in your office, completely unaware for the first time in two years.

You slam the notebook shut before you can end up bleeding all over the pages, tears gathering once more and wounds all ripped back open mercilessly.

The glory of innocence.

All the reels of memories that had hit you as you’d held the photo in the living room come barreling back, striking you down, hitting you exactly where it hurts.

Because he had felt it too. He had experienced it too.

The nostalgia, the want for the past, the need to go back in time when things were simple – innocent. When the stakes were low and love was more than just a ghost wandering through your graveyard in passing.

Self-sought fury.

All the headlines, all the self-destruction. Every news article that had chipped away at the great Rockstar’s reputation. It hadn’t been the Eddie you’d known, just as you’d immediately thought; it was a new version of him, a new shell of him, seeking out damage wherever his furious hands could grasp it.

But you’d never self-imploded. You’d never gotten your fury out, never got to kiss strangers in bars or destroy hotel rooms to move past all that you had lost. You’d been sitting in silence, a brewing pique that you’d let fester for far too long. All the hurt, all the fury, all the heartbreak.

You didn’t have songs to write about all that. You didn’t have notebooks filled to the brim with those emotions.

All you had was a shovel, and a deep hole inside yourself that you never thought you’d excavate again. Deep, russet brown eyes that had once lit the pavement for your future, now patronizing your past from the grave.

A grave you hadn’t been digging alone, apparently. Worlds apart, and you two still had been seemingly in sync with the murder of who Eddie Munson once was.

But the grave is excavated now, and you don’t think too much as you all but sprint out of the room, a clear destination in mind, that damn notebook in hand.

—

Google is your greatest friend, your greatest tool, in the end.

You don’t have the right connections at first. No numbers saved in your phone that you could call for the information, no emails beyond Matt to reach out to. And if there’s anything you’ve learned in working in a business where emails were the sole form of communication, it’s that no one would reply to you as quickly as Eddie had been.

You didn’t have time. So you decided you’d already crossed a line, and you’d scoured the address of the recording studio that Corroded Coffin uses.

You’d almost lost hope until you’d seen a paparazzi photo of him leaving said studio. Most news outlets had clearly been paid to keep hush about the location, but some were still the scum of the Earth, and some had left behind evidence. It took more effort on your part than expected, and more scrolling through fan forums than you were proud of, but you’d found it.

You’d found the address where you would find Eddie Munson.

Hell hath no self-sought fury like a muse scorned, you suppose.

That’s what had hurt the most. In hindsight, you’d always known he’d write about you one day. He was an artist, and he had always pulled inspiration from his real life experiences. You’d just always been under the assumption that when the day came, the words on the page may be a happier tune. Something softer, something less hurtful.

He wasn’t even insulting you, but it certainly felt like he was mocking you.

You’re blinded by pain as you storm through the front door of the surprisingly small studio, finally feeling the need to lash out after two long years. Two long years of silent misery, silent suffering. You’re no longer the same person who had taken the cowardly way out. There is no instinctive running away from this, no gathering up your existence and disappearing from his life.

This time, you want to fight. You want to scream at him all that you had felt as well. You wanted him to know the damage done, whether it was the right response or not.

It probably wasn’t. And there was probably something to be said about the fact that this time, you were willing to fight with him over it.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” a young receptionist greets you from the front desk, “Do you have an appointment?”

“Nope.”

She doesn’t deserve your venom, but she’s getting it straight out of your clipped tone regardless. You’re not here to play niceties with her – you’re here to see Eddie.

She’s clearly taken back from your straight-forward answer, “Oh, I see. Unfortunately, the studio is currently occupied, but we can-”

“I know the studio’s occupied,” you reply blandly, eyes looking for the elevator, “I’m here to see the bastard currently occupying it.”

“I- excuse me?”

You spot the elevator, feet working faster than your mouth as you start to walk over to it, “I said, I’m here to see Eddie Munson. I know he’s in the studio currently, I know him-”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You’re not really in the business of letting me do anything-”

“Ma’am.”

You hadn’t noticed the security guard until his hand comes down on your shoulder. The receptionist girl is wide-eyed, looking nervous enough that if you weren’t in the middle of your own spiral, you might feel bad.

“Let go of me,” you shakily demand, standing still under his hold, “I just need to speak with Ed-”

“No one goes in there without permission from the band or their management,” the man gruffly replies. He may have a good foot on you in height, and the stretch of his muscles beneath the plain black t-shirt might be impressive, but you’re almost convinced by the adrenaline racing through your veins that you could take him. One swift kick of the legs, and you could get to the elevator – you could get to Eddie.

Fight with Eddie. Call Eddie out for all the pain he’d let fester within you for far too long. Probably not even realizing you were calling yourself out in the same breath.

“Then fucking call them,” you snap, reaching up to swat away his hand, “Call them, and tell them my name-”

“We’ve been given strict instructions to not interrupt them-”

“I could give two shits if we’re interrupting!” you finally yell, fulling tearing yourself away from the strange man’s grasp, “Fucking call Eddie, and tell him-”

It’s the sudden call of your name that breaks the tense moment entirely. Not Eddie’s voice, not even Matt’s voice, but a different voice from your past that has hardly changed.

Standing before you is Gareth Emerson, almost looking entertained at the current exchange happening.

“She’s with us, man,” he chokes out, clearly holding back laughter as he locks eyes with you, “I can take her back up.”

“Are you sure?” the security guard presses, looking at you with narrowed eyes, “If this is some insane groupie, Matt will kill me if-”

“I’m not a fucking groupie!”

You have no reason to be so angry, so defensive. But you’re already a wounded animal, and you’re primed to bite at the slightest inconvenience.

The wounds of the past are gushing, and being reduced to nothing more than an insane groupie is salt in the blood. Callous, burning, hurtful.

You’re not just a groupie.

“She’s not a groupie,” Gareth echoes after you, and his words are far more effective. The guard takes a step back, and Gareth finally lets out a snort that he tries to cover with a cough, “C’mon, Hellfire. Let’s take you upstairs before you burn this whole place to the ground.”

You swallow down any shock at the old nickname, and you rush to join Gareth’s side, being sure to knock an elbow into his side on your way past him.

“No one even calls me that anymore,” you mutter, still half-angry, guns still ready to begin blazing in Eddie’s direction once he’s in your sight.

“Maybe that’s because you haven’t been around the only people that did call you that,” he points out, tone entirely unaffected by your elbow.

“You guys didn’t trademark Hellfire.”

“No, but we sure as Hell made a name for it back in Hawkins.”

You two stop in front of the elevator, and neither of you make a move to press the call button. You’re all deep breaths, trying to settle yourself as Gareth continues to stare at you.

“You haven’t changed one bit, you know.”

His words have you looking up sharply, brows crinkling as you let them sink in, “Excuse me?”

“I thought you might have changed,” he says, face softening, “You know, the years and city changed you or something. But you’re still… still that same girl we knew. All fiery, always ready for a fight.”

His last sentence is laced with a bit of sarcasm, some light-hearted joking you hadn’t realized you missed until you’re face to face with it.

You swallow hard, and you know your own face melts to match his, “That�� I… I have changed. That guard was just being a dick.”

“He was doing his job.”

“Yeah, well,” you sigh, feeling the wisps of fury slip out of your grasps. You almost feel like a toddler, prepared to stomp your foot just to emphasize a losing argument. “He should do his job worse.”

“And you say you’ve changed,” Gareth teases, bumping his shoulder to yours, “Bullshit, Hellfire. You just let the suits at your job get to you. Maybe you should stick around this time, remember who you were.”

The words shouldn’t make your chest tighten, but they do.

Who you were.

Leaving behind Eddie meant more than just leaving behind a failed relationship. It meant leaving everyone. And that included Gareth. That included the version of you that you’ve missed so terribly today that you’ve gone grave-digging, pulling back all emotions to the service. It’s not just anger, it’s not just nostalgia. It’s something deeper and something you can’t erase. A stain on the deepest parts of you that you can’t rid yourself of, even if you’d wanted to.

Neither of you have pressed the elevator button yet.

It’s impulsive, but there’s a decision to be made that you won’t overthink. You’re brimming with impulsivity anyways, “Give me your phone number.”

“What?”

“Give me your number,” you repeat yourself, already digging out your cell phone as you balance Eddie’s notebook in your other hand, “And I’ll stick around this time.”

You don’t necessarily mean it in the same way he implies, but you mean it in the way that counts.

You hand your phone over to his waiting palm, and for a moment, it feels like a weight has lifted.

Even if it all burns down with Eddie. Even if you find the closure you’ve been so desperately seeking out with him, it doesn’t mean you have to leave the others behind. People like Gareth, like Grant, like Jeff – there’s still room for them, somewhere in your new life. You had grown up together practically, at least during the years that had counted, and there was no need to erase them from your history.

You could find a way. You had to find a way.

Compartmentalize, rationalize. Justifications and explanations were plentiful. You would find a way to meet the you that once existed and the you that was left behind in the rubble, somehow, someway.

When Gareth hands you back the phone, there’s a smile twitching in the corners of his mouth, “We should meet up for dinner sometime. I know the rest of the guys, Jeff and Grant, they miss you. And we know this killer pizza place.”

You don’t fight your returning smile, “Yeah. We should. I think I’d really like that.”

“Right,” he claps, looking around to clearly see if the guard and receptionist are still watching. They’re momentarily distracted, it seems, by some sort of delivery driver, “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Our studio’s on the third floor.”

“Wait,” his finger has already jabbed at the call button, the sounds of an elevator creaking on its quick descent to you sounding from behind the metal doors, “Aren’t you coming back up with me?”

“Oh, God, no,” Gareth’s nose scrunches, and his overgrown hair bounces as he shakes his head, “I think I’ve had just about enough of Eddie for the day. The rest of the guys left about an hour ago, anyways, and I’m guessing you two might want some privacy?” You nod at his questioning tone, “Perfect. Then, in that case – third floor, like I said.”

“Thank you, Gareth,” you blurt out, fighting down all the nostalgia. Part of you is aching – part of you just wants to see the other boys again, no longer needing the fight with Eddie, “I- I missed you guys too, for what it’s worth.”

“We know,” he jokes back, although there’s something in the way he says it that makes you think that maybe they didn’t know that. He finally glances at the notebook in your hands that you’d nearly forgotten about, lively eyes turned simply sad. “Just go and give him Hell, yeah? You’re not the only one who's lost themselves.”

There’s no chance to ask what Gareth might mean as a ding sounds and the doors slide open. The boy that you have genuinely and sincerely missed nods his head, signaling for you to get in, and you do just that. Mentally preparing yourself with one last gulp of air, one last look at Gareth, before you ready your boxing gloves once more.

You’re not the only one who's lost themselves.

The doors slide shut, and you punch the button for the third floor.

eddie's taglist:@capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo @findmeincorneliastreet

#ghost's stories #maroon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #side note: i fucking love gareth #im so excited to write the next chapter AAAAH #if i could i'd go back and make past ghost make all reader chapters taylor songs and all EDDIE CHAPTERS SLEEP TOKEN SONGS #that would have really hurt my feelings mainly to see the comparison #s.t. and t.s. always #we got all the t's and s's in these parts

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nethhiri · 7 months ago

Text

Marooned: Chapter 34

Kid, Killer, Wire, Heat x Reader (Sexual)

Pure smut; No plot; 18+ only (could be read as a standalone I suppose?)

Warnings: Sex, group sex, blood play, knife play, rough sex, no holes barred, dp

(Was inspired to write this by Bestrafe Mich (Punish Me) by Mike's Dead)

Audience Participation

Kid's hands weren't long for wandering around your body before the flesh hand was shoved under your waistband, and the metal one was tearing your shirt over your head. If you minded being watched, there were no protests for Heat, Wire, or Killer to leave. You had seemed sheepish when you were telling him about this dream of yours, though there was no hint of that shyness now, while he sank two fingers into you.

The only reason you had reservations about being shared was that you were friends with Heat and you thought Wire hated you. You didn't want your friendship to be tainted, since you had so little of them to begin with. As for Wire, you didn't know if he would be into it. You didn't have much of a chance to give a shit about that as Kid tore moans from your mouth with his fingers. You did, however, notice that Killer excused Minerva and sent her out of the room. Always so thoughtful.

Your own hands were occupied fighting Kid's belts. Why did he have to lock his dick away like this? You were struggling to focus on them as Kid pushed you closer to the edge. You felt other hands push yours away, both flesh hands, which caused you some confusion. You looked over Kid's shoulder to see Killer, who had reached his hands around Kid from behind.

"Let me help, darlin." Killer spoke in a low tone that sent electricity straight to your groin. "You seem distracted." He undid Kid's pants in record time, himself an expert at getting to Kid's dick.

Kid tsked. "What a slutty lass you are. Already reaching for my cock." He spit into his hand and gave himself a few pumps.

You were unaware that Kid had been walking you back towards the wall until your back was flush against it. You couldn't take your eyes off Kid, his heavy member in his hand. Only vaguely do you recall shedding your pants along the way. He tugged your panties to the side and pressed his weeping tip to your entrance, pushing the head in before suddenly removing it again. You whined, desperate to have something filling that space.

"How bad do ya want it?"

"Badly. Give it to me."

"What will ya do for it?"

You swallowed thickly. "Whatever you want, Captain." You knew he loved when you called him by the proper title, an instance where you let him have dominance over you.

Kid hummed. "And what if I want to be rough?"

"I'm not fragile." You looked at his bandolier. "Will you... use this?" Your hand tugged at the hilt of his blade.

Kid's brow quirked up. "Ya sure about that?"

You nodded. A chill of excitement running up your spine.

Kid pushed his tip in again and then pulled it out, with a devious look in his eyes. "I change my mind." Kid turned you around so your chest was against the wall. "I think I want this hole instead." His hands ran down your sides and paused at your hips, pulling them against him to rub his cock between your cheeks.

From this angle, you had a hard time seeing what Kid was doing, though you heard him slide his knife out of the sheath. Killer had been on the side you could see and moved to be behind you, Heat taking his place. You couldn't tell where Wire was. There was pressure, followed by stinging pain on your lower back. You sucked in a hiss.

Killer spoke from behind you. "You can say stop if you need a break, ok?" You felt his broad hand cup the back of your neck.

You nodded. Finding it difficult to look Heat in the eyes, yours drifted down to his feet. They came towards you until the scent of burnt wood filled your nostrils. That's not how you thought he would smell but you weren't mad about it. You felt his fingers lift your chin, causing your gaze to pass over the bulge in his pants. He paused for a moment, either to look at you or give you a chance to pull away, or both, then brought his lips to yours. He tasted like fire, too. You don't know whose hand it was, but it found your clit and immediately went to work rubbing circles into it. The sting on your lower back turned into a blissful burning sensation, growing as Kid slowly continued to drag his blade over your skin. Warm liquid that you almost couldn't feel since it was your own body temperature starting dripping down your back and into the valley Kid was rutting against.

You moaned against Heat, allowing your tongues to slide past each other. You were able to move the hand on that side from being against the wall to press against his erection through his pants. Caught up in your own haze of pleasure, your hand stuttered, and Heat took it upon himself to grab your wrist and move it for you. Something about that mad you shudder. The pressure building in your abdomen made your legs twitch. The hand that played with you dipped its fingers inside, pressing its palm against your clit. You whined again as you felt the absence of Kid pushing against you.

Kid looked down at his artwork, licking your blood from his knife. His dick throbbed at the act of marking you. In sanguine letters, "KID" was carved into your skin. He pressed his fingers against the lines, tracing his name again, coating his fingers with your blood. With every touch, you cried out with a mix of pleasure or pain. It was hard to say which, especially since Heat was greedily keeping your mouth occupied with his own.

"Heat, I can't fuckin hear her."

"Switch with me then," Heat teased.

"Not a fuckin chance." Kid took the fingers with your blood and introduced one to your back entrance. "Her ass is mine. Isn't that right?" Kid smacked your ass with his metal hand and slid another finger in simultaneously.

It was too much. You couldn't answer him. Or maybe this was your answer. The coil had been building and you knew you would cum soon, but the smack and the feeling of fingers shoved up both holes made it happen without warning. "FUCK!" You shrieked, almost losing your balance as your knees buckled and your eyes rolled back. Your body clenched down on Heat and Kid's fingers from both sides. You realized they were Heat's fingers because he shoved them in your mouth while you were coming down from your high.

"If you're good for them, maybe I'll let you have a taste," Killer mused, touching the soaked fabric of your panties. Your hips instinctively tried to grind against his touch, but he pulled his hand back. "Uh uh. I said if you were good."

All touches were removed from you while you caught your breath. You leaned with your back against the wall.

"Please, Killer."

His hands briefly skirted across your belly before hooking his fingers on either side of your panties, shredding them with one pull. His finger slid under the bra you still had on. "Take this off too unless you want me to ruin it."

You tossed it away. "I want you to ruin me." You were only mildly aware that you were completely bare in front of all of them, two for the first time.

Killer motioned for you to get off the wall and come to him, which you did gladly. He pulled you to his chest so you were slightly bent forward. You looked so cute with those eyes pleading up at him. He would love nothing more than to fuck your sassy mouth, but this was still his game and he still wanted to torment you. "You have to relax or it will hurt." He watched as your eyes widened when Kid spread your cheeks apart.

"I want it to hurt." This wasn't your first time. You were aware of the risks, but you were also aware of your own body. It was going to hurt regardless since Kid was bigger than anything you had before. Unlike before, you could heal yourself if anything went wrong.

Kid still worked you open a little more with a third finger and then a fourth. The blood dripping down from your future scar made it plenty wet still. He couldn't wait to feel that tight ass wrapped around him. Though he tried not to think about it so much or else he would cum.

Killer still held you, praising you for taking Kid in. It stung, as you knew it would. In the beginning it always felt a little sore and weird, but after he started moving, it would be better. Just the idea of being 'violated' in this way had you dripping wet. The twinges of pain sending shivers up your spine. Killer released you when Kid was all the way in. You expected someone to come fill your mouth. Instead, you felt Kid's arms reach under your thighs to hook under your knees, picking you up while still on his cock, and spreading you wide open in the front. That was the first time you were acutely aware of Wire. He was rubbing himself through his clothes, enjoying the show.

Kid groaned into your ear. "Fuck. Ya really clenched down when ya saw Wire. Ya thinking about him hate-fucking ya?" Kid slowly moved you up and down his cock, using you like his personal sex doll. Kid snickered. "In fact, I want ya to tell them about yer dream."

You slowly shook your head. "I d-don't want to." It was hard to get the words out when Kid was fucking your ass. "Embarrassing."

"Ya got a dick in your ass and your pussy spread wide for everyone to enjoy, and that's embarrassing?"

Killer appeared in front of you. "Being good includes doing whatever the Captain says." He put his thumb against your clit, moving it very slowly.

"Please fill me up. I'm begging you." You writhed in Kid's grip, desperate to feel full. The slow pace that he and Killer set was agonizing.

"Heat will be glad to oblige, but first ya have to satisfy my request."

"I-"

"Louder. Wire can't hear ya from all the way over here."

"I-I had a dream that Kid was f-fucking me and that you were all g-gonna take turns."

"And what was that bit about Heat and Wire? They need details if ya want it to happen."

"They tossed me back and forth, l-like a rag-doll."

"That's still not everything. Go on, tell Wire what you were interested in."

"K-kid please."

"Tell him," Killer pressured, pausing his ministration.

"I want to get hate-fucked by Wire." You felt your face heat up.

"Good girl," Killer gave another firm press against your bud before turning it over to Heat.

Heat quickly blocked your line of sight, but not before you saw Wire with a sneer on his face. That look went straight to your cunt.

Kid held still for a moment while Heat bullied his way in. "So tight." The pressure around his cock was made more intense by the feeling of Kid's cock filling up the space next-door.

Heat's hands found their way to your breasts, kneading them and twisting your nipples as he bit at the smooth, warm tops of them. His mouth moved up the side of your neck, adding to the marks Kid had left earlier. Kid was moving you only slightly up and down the tips of both of their cocks, so Heat could kiss you. The height difference made it hard in this position to kiss and fuck at the same time. Heat released you, moving his rough hands to your sides, aiding Kid in moving you, though he didn't need it. They met over your shoulder to make-out with each other. The feeling of being ignored and used as a toy was dizzying. It's not exactly something you would have thought you liked. They used you to jerk themselves off while they moaned into each other's mouths. You gripped harder as the thought wound the knot in your stomach tighter. The overwhelming feeling of being filled and stretched by two, exceptionally large cocks was sending you to the moon. You were pretty sure there was a steady stream of moans from you mixing in with their own, tongue panting. You didn't know for sure, so focused on how good you were feeling. It could be your imagination, but Heat's dick had a warm sensation to it.

"Look at you. Taking two huge dicks at the same time."

Killers words were going to make you crash back to earth.

"After this, no one will be able to fuck you as good. Your cunt will never be full like this again."

"Shit. Killer." You didn't have words to warn him.

"Tell me. Are you close?"

"Yeah," you moaned.

"Do you want to cum?"

"I want to cum. Please."

"I want you to hold it until they cum. Can you do that?"

You shook your head.

"Yes you can."

You felt both Heat and Kid's grips dig into your skin, slamming you down on themselves. You strained to keep your orgasm at bay. They were definitely close, their breaths ragged, their cocks twitching. Your arms were around Heat's neck for support. "Cum in me! Please cum in me! I want to be dripping from both holes," you repeated various iterations of this mantra until, nearly at the same time they grunted, filling you with hot semen. As they did, they held you tighter to their bases, pushing them into your sweet spot. Finally you were allowed to release. Your cry of pleasure was so earth-shatteringly loud, the dead guys in the room could hear it. There was a rush of fluid down your legs as your own juice and the force of your cunt clamping down caused cum to leak out.

Before you had a chance to recover. You felt Kid remove himself, but Heat held you up. And suddenly you were on Wire's lap, facing him. He had been sitting on the table. "If you wanna be tossed back and forth you better get to work on Wire before I go soft," Heat said. You barely processed what he said before Wire impaled you on his cock, shoving it so deep, you felt it in your stomach. It was a good thing you were thoroughly prepared, because Wire was proportionate in every way. He bullied your cervix and just as you were about to cum, he lifted you off himself and gave you back to Heat who opted to take Kid's position, lifting you with your legs spread open, his hand barely reaching your clit. He already came, this was purely for you. Right as you were on the precipice of your climax, Heat passed you back to Wire. They did this several more time before Heat had to tap out.

The last time Heat gave you to Wire, Wire got off the table and set you on it instead, on your knees, facing away from him. "Spread your legs until your stomach is flat against the table."

It was slightly uncomfortable with your legs splayed completely out, bent at the knee. Your ass hung off the edge of the table and your arms were above your head. Wire's palm pressed firmly into your back, crushing you against the table. You felt him lean over you, the blades of his necklace touching your skin, so if you bucked, they would cut you. You wondered if that was their purpose. He didn't talk, simply shoved his cock back inside and railed you from behind. After edging so many times, you came fast and hard, gripping him so tightly, you earned a grunt from the otherwise silent man.

Killer thought you had been good enough. And he was feeling a little left out if he was honest with himself. Watching you cum over and over again, dripping with sweat, blood, and tears. He wanted to take some responsibility for your impending fuck coma. You were beyond the point of fucked-out. Your pretty pink pussy was puffy around Wire's cock from the repeated battering. And your ass was still gaping for now. But your poor mouth had no use. He positioned himself on the table in front of you, legs splayed almost as wide as yours, as wide as his jeans would allow, to get his cock as close to you as he could. You were practically drooling as you looked up at him, making his dick twitch within its confines. He freed his cock from his jeans and it sprung forth, bobbing in front of your face.

Wire released the hand from your back so you could lift your front half enough to reach Killer. "Choke on his cock you filthy fucking marine bitch."

You eagerly opened your mouth. Finally Killer was going to reward you. You gagged as Killer unexpectedly pulled your head down on him. Your ponytail was wrapped around his hand.

"Fuck the little slut tightens up when you do that. Do it again."

Killer did it again, bringing tears to your eyes. You were being bounced back and forth by the thrusts of their hips. "You're so cute when you're crying on my cock, breadcrumb."

"You like getting used, don't you? I bet you'd like to be chained down here, free use for all the Kid Pirates, huh? I can feel you getting close. You want me to come visit every day and fuck you until you cry?"

"That's it, darlin. Relax your throat. You feel so good."

"Marine whore. Cum on this pirate cock."

The opposition between degradation and praise was strangely working. Wire slapped his hand down on the freshly carved "KID". The vibrations from your yelp going straight to Killer. He felt his balls empty. He meant to last longer, but he had held out for so long he was straining from the start. The salty taste hit the back of your throat. You swallowed most of it, though some leaked from the corner of your mouth. Partially because you weren't ready and partially because that sensation forced you over the edge.

"Fuck. I'm- I'm-" The words were lost as Wire felt you start to pulse around him. He pulled out and slammed back in, not into your cunt, into your ass. He shoved his fingers in your pussy at the same time. It was the most intense orgasm yet. Your feet cramped from your toes curling so hard. Your whole body shook and twitched. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and you would have screamed even louder had your voice not been hoarse already from being so vocal. The vice grip you had on Wire pushed him over the edge too, he chose to pull out, showering the letters on your back with cum.

You couldn't move. Arms and legs too weak to push yourself up. Eyes completely glazed over. Still twitching with aftershocks. You didn't even want to heal yourself at then moment. The dull throb and the burn felt good.

"Don't worry, darlin. I've got ya."

Next Chapter

#MDNI #sorry I keep banging out chapters #I'm sick at home and this came to me in a vision #I hope you guys like it #this is my love letter to the Kid Pirates #No plot so you can skip if you don't enjoy smut or read if you don't like fic LOL #massacre soldier killer #killer x reader #eustass kid x reader #x reader #marooned #one piece #kid x reader x killer #eustass kid #heat #wire #kid pirates x reader #heat x reader #wire x reader

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