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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FOUR: CASTLES CRUMBLING

AND HERE I SIT ALONE, BEHIND WALLS OF REGRET. FALLING DOWN LIKE PROMISES I NEVER KEPT.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, mentions of RUMORS of workplace sex scandal, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.4K+

☆ A/N: if you would like to listen to the song that eddie is recording at the end - it is an actual, real life song. :-) it is called "blood sport" by sleep token (one of my favorite bands i get to see live next week!!), and i highly recommend listening to it during your reading. especially the latter half of this chapter.

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

masterlist

“Alright, so – anyone care to fill me in on what the Hell that was?”

Matt stands like a disapproving father figure as the band lines up opposite of him just outside the building. Eddie had hoped nothing would be mentioned until they were in the car, but the driver was clearly running a few minutes late.

Three of the boys glance at each other, worried expressions immediately giving up the hoax even as Eddie only shrugs and says, “What do you mean?”

“Cut the shit, Munson,” Matt had never appeared so livid, so undone by irritation. His usual patience with Eddie is nonexistent, “What’s going on between you and that girl? Is she a past groupie?”

The insinuation gets a scoff out of Gareth. Jeff side-eyes him in warning, but Eddie couldn’t care less, “No, she’s not a past groupie. This was the first time I’d ever-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Matt points an accusatory finger at Eddie, narrowing his eyes, “I am your manager. If you have any unsavory connections with that girl, I need to know so I can decide if we need someone else to organize the event. We are not having another repeat of the Lewinsky scandal.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew you called it that, too!” Gareth cheers, but he’s quieted by one look from their furious manager.

The Lewinsky scandal had been their code-word for when the tabloids had become convinced that Eddie was fucking an assistant at the label. A girl had even come forward and claimed to have had sexual relations with Eddie, and he had taken heat for it for a full month before the buzzing novelty worn off.

Eddie had only spoken three words to the girl. No, thank you when she’d offered him a mug of coffee during a late night at the studio. He wishes now he’d been less polite.

And he also finds himself wishing that’s all this was. He wishes you were just another scandal, another terrible rumor spread around. If all the accusations between you two were false, if all the hatred was based on misconstrued circumstances, it would be so much easier. He can talk himself out of that. He can confess to those sins and get off with no more than the order of one hail mary from Matt.

But you? The reality of all that had happened, both all those years ago and just thirty minutes ago? He can’t find the words. They choke him up, unwilling to leave the cavern of his chest and enter the world, just like all the songs gathering dust as demos.

“It’s not going to be another Lewinsky scandal,” Eddie scowls, feet shuffling against the concrete below him. Can’t be another Lewinsky scandal if she wants nothing to do with me anymore, “Maybe she just doesn’t like me. I am allegedly a very polarizing public figu-”

The car pulls up, and Matt is quick to grab Eddie’s shoulder before glaring at the boys, “Get in, I’m not finished with our polarizing public figure yet.”

Grant and Gareth only let out low whistles, following instruction without lingering as they clamber into the back row of seats in the SUV. Jeff takes his time, though, going as far to pause beside Eddie and place a hand on his back.

“Just tell him the truth, Eds.”

It’s the final nail in his coffin. Eddie is cursing Jeff’s retreating figure as he climbs into the vehicle and shuts the door, leaving him alone with Matt.

“Explain,” Matt demands, “Now.”

Eddie’s eyes focus on a gaping crack in the sidewalk, jagged and uneven, right down the center.

He has two options. He could continue to lie, insist he knows nothing about you until Matt just gets bored of not being offered the truth. Or he could admit it all, reveal the muse behind the art he had been fiercely protecting over these last few months. Every line, every chord, every broken note that had left his lungs during those witching hours in the studio.

On one hand, it’ll rip away the opportunity that has been offered to him on a silver platter – the opportunity for closure. Selfish, bloody closure that neither of you had gotten, it seemed. But on the other hand, it might grant him some sympathy. Matt, the label, the producers – they had all grown tired of the dance Eddie led them in every time they’d inquire about the music. But if Matt knew-

It’s a dead end trail of thought. He knows he won’t admit to the worst of his atrocities he’s committed. No scandal, no late night ending with him in handcuffs, no fraudulent headline is going to compare to what he did to you. What you did to him.

It’s a little too late for damage control, anyways.

“I went to high school with her,” the lie works well enough, easing some of Matt’s frustration, “I was just shocked to see her. All of us were shocked to see her. No big deal.”

Eddie knows the people around him have come to learn that they must pick and choose the battles they engage in with him. And he can see that decision flash across Matt’s face as he decides that this is not a battle necessary to the war.

“Alright. But if you’re lying to me-“

“I’m not lying.”

“If you are, that’ll be one of my last straws, Munson.”

It won’t be. Eddie knows it won’t be. Everyone, every single goddamn person in this world it seems, is capable of giving Eddie Munson unlimited chances — except you. You, it seemed, were the only person who had come to their senses.

You always were smarter than people gave you credit for.

—

“Run the track again.”

They’d spent a few hours in the studio already. It was an odd hour for them to be haunting the space, more used to visiting in the dead of night rather than the middle of a weekday, but it was down to the wire now. Vocals needed to be recorded, instrumentals fine-tuned, tracks properly mastered. Eddie could no longer hide in the night when it came to recording the haunting melodies stained with the blood of his past — no matter how wrong it felt to see a sliver of sunlight breaking through one of the windows, just through the top of the blackout curtains.

“I really think that was the one, man-“ the producer starts, probably just tired after repeatedly running in circles with Eddie’s perfectionism.

He doesn’t care. He’s paying them, they can stand to let him re-record as many times as necessary to satisfy Eddie, “Run it again.”

The silence only continues to buzz in Eddie’s headphones. He’s ready to cuss out the producer as he angrily shoves them down, off his ears and hanging loosely around his neck, the wire a leash as he whips to face the one-way glass wall. The lights are off at the main board, guaranteeing that they can see Eddie but Eddie can’t see them.

Until suddenly, the light comes back on, and the reason for the absence of the repeated track Eddie had requested becomes obvious.

Gareth.

He stands at the center of it all, a few paces from the seated producer with a deep scowl on his face.

“What the fuck?” Eddie says, mouth just close enough to the mic for them to catch his overflowing annoyance, “I said-“

“We heard what you said, Eddie,” Gareth interrupts, his voice just loud enough to be faintly heard even as the headphones curl around the nape of Eddie’s neck, “But I need to talk to you.”

It’s the strictest tone that Gareth has used on their lead singer in an unfathomably measure of time. Probably because it’s the most words he’s said to Eddie in a very long time, as well.

Eddie finally removes the headphones, hanging them carelessly on the mic stand and moving towards the door — surprisingly, without putting up a resistance.

The control room is warmer than the fairly large area that served as a ‘booth’. Smaller, as well. Cramped with a low couch and one too many chairs available to trip over, the control board spanses the entire wall that holds the oversized window into the recording room. A plethora of small lights twinkle like stars, and numerous switches that Eddie had come to know better than the back of his hand alternate positions to guarantee the clearest sound. Only Gareth and the producer occupy the room, the rest of the band having taken off around the fifth time Eddie had requested a redo of his vocal tracking.

“This better be good,” Eddie complains, furrowing his brows, agitated at the interruption.

But Gareth shows no remorse, “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“We need to talk,” Gareth repeats, eyes flickering to the poor soul still seated at the controls, “Alone.”

Eddie hardly has to open his mouth, the man jumping out of his seat the moment the lead singer flicks his wrist to signal for him to leave.

Whatever Gareth was about to say had to be important, and it’s that thought rather than the difference in temperatures that has sweat building on Eddie’s brows.

Is he about to quit the band? Is he about to tell me he’s had enough? Maybe he’s done with my bullshit — I would be.

“Speak, Emerson,” Eddie flatly insists, grabbing a small water bottle out of one of the mini fridges in the room before he throws himself onto the worn leather of the couch, “And make it quick. We’re on a time limit, you kno-“

“We’ve gotta talk about her, man.”

Her as in you.

For a moment, Gareth sounds like a friend again. He’s dropped all the persistent perturbation he’s taken to defending himself with when it comes to Eddie, his voice pleading as he stands before the distant man. All the rueful power plays that had developed over the last year vanish. It’s just Eddie and Gareth, bandmates who started out in the latter’s garage in some small Indiana town. Not Eddie Munson, infamous rockstar with a chip on his shoulder. Not Gareth Emerson, passionate drummer overshadowed by the ego of his lead singer. Just Eddie and Gareth.

“We all know you didn’t tell Matt the truth.”

“I did tell him the truth-“

“Not the whole truth, then. There’s no way he’d let it slide if he knew that she was your ex-girlfriend.”

The defiance vacates Eddie’s body quickly. He doesn’t even attempt to prowl his mind for a quick quip in response. All he does at the words is drop his shoulders, the defeat creeping up on him as he deflates.

Ex-girlfriend. The title feels so pitiful to truly describe what you were to him.

But to be fair, even when he had been in your good graces, girlfriend had also never felt significant enough.

“Did-“ Gareth starts after a beat of silence, noting the way Eddie couldn’t quite hide his wounds on the topic, “What did you guys talk about? When you went after her, what did she say?”

“Nothing important.”

Eddie turns into a shell, a zombie as he stares straight ahead and tries to compartmentalize. That always worked; with meetings, with arguments, with lectures. Even before the fame, it worked.

It doesn’t work quite as quickly when it comes to you. His brain, it seems, is incapable of uncrossing all the wires you twist within his brain.

“You two were alone for, what, ten minutes? And you’re telling me she didn’t say anything important?”

“What the fuck is there to say?” Eddie laughs soullessly, “Oh, hey, stranger! Remember me? The guy you up and left without a word?”

“Yes!” Gareth shouts unexpectedly, “Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done! She left. Not just you, but all of us. We never even really knew why. And now- what? Are we just supposed to pretend we don’t know her?”

Eddie knew why. She’d never had to say it, and that was the issue. He always thought about all the answers he swore he craved, and always let every question he claimed to have haunt him during the waking hours. But when the day turned to night, when he was left to nothing but his own devices in a dark and empty apartment during the witching hours, he knew. The question of why had been answered since the first phone call cut short with you during that goddamn tour.

The songs knew, too. He supposes it had been an arrogant assumption to believe the band had read into his lyrics and put the pieces together.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Eddie nearly whispers, throat tightening and fighting him on the words. It’s the opposite of what he wants and needs — but it’s what you want and what you need. And so he plays the messenger, even as it kills him, “We are going to completely disregard my past with her. We are going to treat this entire situation as professionally as possible. I’m talking the full nine yards: you will not mention the fact that we know her, you will not question her about anything from the past, and you will not, under any circumstances, ask her why.”

His own set of rules he’d privately set for himself in his own mind during the car ride over.

Gareth squints his eyes in disbelief, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you serious?”

“Deathly so.”

“This isn’t just about your past with her,” the boy nearly passes, starts to reach up to tug on his hair before he thinks better of it, “This is about the way she left all of us. Not just you. She was a friend to all of us. She was the one who taught me how to tape my drums when I’d bust a hole in them, she was the one who helped us design our first merch, she was the only person any of us would let be in the room during practices. And not just the band stuff, either,” Eddie watches tears form in Gareth’s eyes, “She was the only one who had the patience to help me with my fucking math homework back in school, man. She was the one who nearly curb stomped Jason Carver the week he sent Grant home with a black eye. She was the first person Jeff called when his parents broke news of their divorce, for fucks sake. Not me, not you, not any of us — her,” Gareth’s breaths come out as pants as he stops his pacing and stands before Eddie. The tears continue to lace his bottom lash line as he heaved silently at the end of his rant, his pained expression completely unexpected to Eddie.

This is the part Eddie chooses to forget. He’ll let himself swim in the memory of you late at night, he’ll indulge in vices that always amplify his pain rather than succeeding in his attempt to numb it, he’ll stare down the mirror each morning and curse the reflection he finds with all the blame in the world he is capable of holding in the palms of his hands. But in all the ruptures of his own old scars, he fails to consider that he is not the only one burdened with loss.

They all lost you. When Eddie lost you, so did the band. You’d become a ghost to more than just your abandoned lover — you’d become a tired haunt to boys you’d known, boys you’d befriended and burrowed your way into the lives of, just as well.

“She was our friend,” Gareth chokes out, fists curling at his sides, “Jesus Christ, I- I get it. She was everything to you. Whatever. But she meant a lot to the rest of us, too. Whatever happened wasn’t just some isolated event — you two didn’t just hurt each other. You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that.”

This is the part where Eddie should apologize. This is the part where, once upon a blissful time, he would have said his repentance.

He doesn’t.

“I don’t care how hurt anyone is,” he lowly responds, eyes unable to meet Gareth’s any longer, “I’ve told you the rules, we’re going to follow them. End of discussion.”

Gareth throws back his head, and Eddie winces at his scoff, “She’s not your fucking property, Eddie! She isn’t solely yours to keep or whatever the fuck you think you’re doing!”

Eddie can’t even deny the action of keeping you. All the demos, all the songs laid to the grave because he couldn’t stomach the thought of releasing them for others to experience.

But that’s not what this was. This, the cataclysm that was sending Gareth to finally release all this pent up frustration, was him following your rules. You’d made your wishes for this project very clear, and he needed to at least try to respect them. They all did.

So he takes on the role of the bad guy. He lets them paint him as the villain if it means no red will stain your ledger.

“Oh, I think she’s made it very clear that she isn’t mine,” the mask slips on far too easily for Eddie. Cool demeanor, compartmentalizing. Not you, but his emotions towards his friends, if he could even still call them that. His bandmates that he had once seen as brothers. “Doesn’t change what I said. Don’t push it, Emerson, or there’ll be Hell to pay.”

“What are you going to do? Disappear on us?” Eddie finally looks back up to meet Gareth’s fiery gaze as he spits out hateful words, “Hate to break it to you, but you already left this band behind two years ago. And if you ask me, you should start leaving the vanishing act to her. At least she doesn’t make us pay for her mistakes.”

Eddie is by no means done with the conversation, more than willing to continue fighting with Gareth, but the other boy clearly feels differently. He leaves his words hanging in the air as he spins away, storming out of the door, the air in the studio now several degrees hotter now with the irate fuel of the fight.

It was all a blood sport. All of it. It didn’t matter if Eddie was fighting with the band, the management, with you. It was all bloody and fruitless, and it all left him the same awful type of hollow in the end.

He stares blankly at the wall as he makes a silent decision.

By the time the producer has timidly returned to the room, Eddie has already set up his laptop to connect to the studio's system, prepped so that any recording would automatically copy into his personal hard drive. A way for him to listen and ruminate in the privacy of his own apartment.

The sheet music torn from his notebook already lays at the table besides the entrance to the booth.

“Do you… want to run the track again?” the man, the stranger, asks. He clearly heard the fight. Eddie and Gareth hadn’t been exactly quiet in their screaming match. At least, Gareth hadn’t been.

Is it really a screaming match if only one side fights back?

“I want to lay a new track,” Eddie’s voice is deadpan as he clicks a few buttons, finalizing everything. He only needs the man to click record, “A raw piano and vocal demo. We can add the rest of the band later.”

“I-“

One look from Eddie, hardly passed over his shoulder with a glimmer of unbridled determination, and the man quiets as he takes his seat.

Eddie storms into the booth without another word, fist curled around the page of lyrics and terribly hand-drawn music clefts.

She isn’t yours to keep.

Eddie was aware of that. Painfully, painfully aware. But it had never been about his claim to you.

Gareth was right. Eddie never wanted to own you. Keeping you, however, had been something he should have taken more care with.

The chill of the small room to record in does little to lessen the flames eating Eddie up as he bypasses the assembly of various instruments all crowded in the space. Gareth’s drum set, Jeff’s guitar, Grant’s bass — he storms right past them, eyes locked on the grand piano in the fair corner. It took up the most space, far too large to have been forced to be contained within this compact room.

Eddie drags the mic from where it had been stationed previously with him, quickly and recklessly resetting it at the piano.

Once he’s seated on the bench, crumpled pages thrown up onto the music desk of the piano and headphones snug over his ears again, the producer finally clicks on his mic to speak.

“Hey, uh… Does this demo have a name by chance? Or do you just want to label it as an unknown for now?”

It certainly does have a name.

“Blood Sport,” Eddie spits out. “Just name the file Blood Sport.”

The hum that would indicate to Eddie when those on the other side of that glass window were speaking clicks off, and he takes it as his cue.

He’d written the song a while before. There were some gaps in the lyrics, some notes he’d played with on his personal piano scribbled over and never replaced. He’d never played it in its entirety before.

It starts slow. His fingers hold the ivory keys delicately, arranging for the first opening notes as if he were slotting his knuckles against your own for the first time over again.

She isn’t yours to solely keep.

Were you ever his to keep, ever?

Even the ivory keys of the Steinway are more solid than you ever were. You were nothing more than water, than blood, destined to slip between Eddie’s fingers. He never stood a chance in having you, in holding you, in keeping you.

Not just now, but before all the blood shed, as well. He should have recognized Cassandra’s curse the first day he looked into your eyes. He should have known the twist in his stomach was only Fate sinking its claws into the two of you.

A tale fit for a Shakespearean stage — a tragedy always meant to be.

“I want to roll the numbers, I want to feel my stars align again.”

Eddie’s voice is soft to match the steady beat of piano notes that emit from the crooked curl of his hand against the keys. A soft thump, a gentle lull. And instead of losing himself in the music, he finds himself wrapped up in one of the many memories he’d chosen to lock away for the last two years.

Something was off.

Eddie’s stomach had twisted with anxiety of something being wrong for weeks. You stopped answering his calls, his texts, every form of connection with him. But as he stood in front of the door to your shared apartment, the bile rose even higher in his throat.

He smelt the decay of what he had done before his key had even entered the lock.

“Would you invite me again? Won’t you pay for your arrogance? Won’t you show me your weakness?”

You were never his to keep.

His voice nearly cracks as he approaches the first chorus, not finding the strength behind the vocals he’d always envisioned for the song.

The click of the door opening echoed through the apartment. It felt empty the moment he’d crossed the threshold – you could have just been tucked away in the bedroom, or even in the bathroom, but he knew.

You hadn’t been returning his phone calls. You hadn’t been returning his texts. He knew something had happened, something had changed. Irreversible damage had been done, and he would now have to face the mess he’d created to return home to.

“I made loving you a blood sport.”

He repeats the line until it rings in his head, over and over. Until he swears the words could crack his bones, and the stars that will show in the night sky will do nothing but mock him for the self-inflicted pain.

At first, he convinced himself you just weren’t home. You’d gone to the store or to see friends. You’d be home soon enough and then, the two of you could scream at each other all you wanted. You were angry with him, rightfully so, but he’d rather you yell and scrap with him than the alternative. He didn’t care. Because he was here, back in the flesh and willing to take any and all cruel words you had sharpened for him. The two of you would fight, yes, but at least that meant there was still something there worth fighting for.

After the first three hours, he realized with a sinking stomach that the alternative might just be his reality.

“I want to be forgiven.”

He recalls the look on your face when you’d first seen him today. The fall of your act, the discarding of grace and composure.

The look that told him that he can want all he’s capable of. He can want, he can crave, he can yearn, he can tear himself apart bit by bit with his feeble yet shattering cravings — it won’t change a thing.

You were never his to keep.

After the clock struck the fifth hour of his return, he started his calling.

Over and over and over, he was met with your voicemail. Endless messages spoken and sent alike. Every single one trying to be gentle as they inquired where you were. Letting you know he was back. Going as far as to ask you if the two of you could talk.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to fight, because it meant you still saw something worthy within him.

But even more than Eddie wanted a fight, he wanted you to come home. He wanted you to be there, to welcome him into your safety and remind him he was human again. It was selfish – he was so goddamn selfish – but he needed to feel your skin against his and remind him that he was still a person beneath it all. Beneath the demand, beneath the unwarranted adoration from strangers, beneath all the fractures the sudden traction had left him with – he was still a breathing, living person. He was still your person.

Eddie’s fingers begin to slam against the keys with increasing urgency as his chest heaves out with every syllable. Repeating, and repeating, and repeating the chorus as if it changes a single thing. He loses himself in it all; in the music ringing in his ears and the memories now drowning him as he confesses all his sins to the microphone.

You never came home.

There was no fight, and after the hours reached double digits right along with his ignored phone calls, he had to accept the truth.

You weren’t just at a friend’s, or the store. You were gone. Truly, truly gone.

The drawers once filled with your belongings were vacant. The smell of your perfume was nothing more than a whisper across the pillows. Eddie scoured the entire apartment for signs of you, turning every single piece of furniture over looking for clues. He never thought to check the counter until he’d already ruined the space, terrorizing it in a frenzy before his eyes landed on the letter and the key.

He had approached them both hesitantly. All his denial drained from his body, like the blood pumping through his veins, as his fingers pinched that silver key so gingerly.

A past he can never return to. A home he will never hold the key to again.

The joints of his fingers ache and his lungs begin to burn for all that he lost — all that they all lost — because of him. His own foolishness, his own downfall. He did this.

The aftermath is blurry.

He read the first few words of your letter before promptly crumbling it with his tortured fist, knowing exactly what it said without needing to fully swallow all the words just yet.

He never fully read the letter. He skimmed it, a week later, but not that night.

Then came the flashes of the pain. The way he’d swung his fists at air and menial objects alike. A vase holding wilted carnations met its demise on the kitchen floor, a hole in the wall appeared that he later had to patch up, one of the coffee tables ended up across the living room with a leg splintered half off.

He never dropped the key.

Even as he dropped to his knees in the center of the broken glass, bleeding shins to match his bruising knuckles, he still held that small piece of silver fiercely. He pressed it so tightly, dug it so deeply into his palm that it later left a scar. And not even the way he had grabbed at the broken glass surrounding him had the capability to mar it away as he let it slice his skin, crying out, hopeless and devastated.

You were gone. He had lost you, and he had been arrogant enough to never even notice it.

“You say it doesn’t matter.”

The headphones had long since slipped off his head, and he makes no move to adjust them. He hadn’t even noticed that his body had begun to fall forward and curl into the piano until he’s weakly choking out the final lyric that he hadn’t even written down onto the page.

He hadn’t noticed the tears falling, either.

What were meant to be gasps for air as his fingers fly across the keys in a haunting melody are only sobs. Cries of pain as he no longer can see mere inches ahead of him, a scar of the center of his palm stinging as if brand new, his heart and head pounding in sync. He isn’t even sure if the producer he’s forgotten the name of is still recording. He lets the sobs slip out as he continues to play.

He can’t quite end the song yet. The moment he does, he’s terrified of the version of him that he will have to face once more. All those surface blemishes from the beginning of the end had run deeper beneath his skin. He was nothing more than rubble and fractures now, splintered every which way until he had become unrecognizable. When he looked in the mirror, all he could see was a creature of destruction.

“You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that,” Gareth’s voice echoes in the silence beginning to gather between the notes.

Another wrecked sob leaves Eddie as he finally finishes off the melody, playing entirely unaffected up until that point. Reality crashes down. His body shakes, shoulders hunched as his forehead connects against the freezing wood of the piano and he pinches his eyes shut tightly enough to be left in total blackness.

He couldn’t play another note if his life depended upon it.

The memory fades with the final note before his head rattles with a new image. The smile, the grimace, you had offered him before you two parted ways today. An effort at professionalism that Eddie had seen right through.

Pain. That’s what had twitched in the corners of your mouth. The same pain, if not worse, as the one that now radiated through every atom of Eddie’s broken figure on the piano bench.

He can’t fix it. Not your pain, not Gareth’s pain, not his own pain. The time for damage control, for sincere apologies and any reconciliation has passed. Just like watered-down blood through his fingertips.

Eddie hopes that the producer has had half the mind to stop the recording when he stands and slams the drumset behind him into the wall. Destructive, just as he had been the night he returned to an empty apartment. Just as he had been when he’d been the one to rot and wither away all that you two had once held between you.

They can replace the drum set. Surely, he has a person for that.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

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#ghost's writing #eddie munson #maroon #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #finally long enough tag lists to separate lol #voila! corroded coffin is sleep token! wahoo!#i recommend everyone listen to the discography of that band #just sayin #(dial tone is the only non sleep token song that is canon here)#i just can't let go of the death grip i have on that song when it comes to this fic #it was either gonna be catch your breath sleep token or bad omens #and sleep token captures the yearning #Spotify

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nethhiri · 6 months

Text

Marooned: Chapter 26

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sexual content, violence lite

...And Find Out

On either side of you was a wall of muscle, effectively trapping you in your seat at a booth in a new bar. Kid had made sure that you wouldn't be getting into mischief here, unless he was a part of it. You had gotten some food into you, though you were still swiping drinks from Kid or Killer's glasses when they were preoccupied talking with someone else. Kid's hand was wandering under the table, torturing you on purpose. This was your punishment for making a fool of him. First it was on your lower back, playing with the edge of your pants, then it was pulling at the strings lacing them up the sides. Your legs were crossed tightly since it was only a matter of time before he got bold.

"Remind me again what ya wanted?" Kid taunted.

His hand pinned yours to the table when you tried to grab his French fries. "For you to shut up," you grumbled. You jumped when he pinched your thigh.

He faked a pout. "If ya keep hurting my feelings I might not wanna...what was it?" He tapped on his chin, pretending to have forgotten what was now seared into his brain. "Put your ankles behind your-"

You covered his mouth with your own and bit him to make him stop. "Shut up. Shut the fuck up," you said against his lips. Why did you drink fucking absinthe? You could hear Heat and Wire laughing in the background. You harshly whispered into his ear. "If you don't cut it the fuck out, I'm not gonna let you put my ankles behind my ears."

Kid grabbed your chin and bent into your neck to whisper back, "Keep acting like that and I'll tie you up that way so everyone can have a turn." He snickered at your reaction. His metal arm was around you, such that his hand was resting on your thigh and he could feel the temperature change in your body when he said it, heat pooling around your thighs. Kid stopped openly fucking with you, returning to talking about what supplies they needed to stock up on while they were in port.

It was just the upper officers and you at the table, which you were grateful for at the moment since Kid's hand was inching ever closer to nestle itself between your thighs. He was good at acting like nothing at all was going on. You tried your best to mimic that, as hard as it was while his metal finger traced over your clothed slit. Your flushed skin was giving away how you were slowly unraveling. You clenched your knees together trying to trap his hand from continuing to move. His ankle hooked around yours, gradually prying your legs farther apart. Taking a drink of ice water and pressing it to your temple, you were trying not to think about it.

"You ok, Y/N?"

You didn't immediately realize Heat was talking to you. "Oh... yeah I have a headache." And its name is Kid.

"Do you need to go back to the ship?"

You waved him off, shaking your head. You couldn't say anything at the moment, teeth clenched to keep any other unwanted noises from leaving your mouth. There was a low laugh from next to you as Kid saw how hard you were struggling. Since it was his metal hand playing with you, there was an element of coolness wherever the metal touched, and also since it was his metal hand, he could make it do whatever he wanted, including vibrate. That took you by surprise, causing your knee to hit the table when you jerked back. "Sorry, adjusting mmmy legs."

"Headache has you a little restless, huh?" Killer sympathized. Or at least you thought he was sympathizing until you felt his hand holding your knee in place. He was met with a black look from you.

You swore you could see a blue glint from within one of the holes in his helmet. There was nothing you could do trapped between the two of them. If you had been in a more private setting, this would be a dream. Even if it was the same scenario without Wire and Heat, that would be better. You hid your face in your hands under the guise of the lights bothering you, which was obviously not the case since the lights were fairly dim to begin with. Both of your legs were pinned apart and Kid had not stopped teasing his fingers across your core. Controlling your breathing was hard, made harder when Kid pressed down at the apex of your cunt with a medium strength vibration running through his fingers. A small moan slipped out, though it could have still been confused for one of discomfort. You shifted slightly to glare at Kid through a crack in your fingers. He was hungrily grinning back at you, pressing the vibrations harder into your core. Your legs quivered. If he kept doing this, you were going to cum right there at the table. The thought made you hotter, yet you still fought it. The fact that Killer was in on it too was really making your mind race. Did that mean you would get both of them when you went back to the ship? The thought made you lose composure, burying your head into the crook of your elbow resting on the table, your other hand falling under the table and grabbing Killer's. Your fingers entwined with his over your knee, nails digging into skin as you got closer to the edge.

Kid withdrew his hand, stretching. "I'm bored. Let's go somewhere else."

The orgasm that had been building faded away and left you yearning. You picked your head up and blinked at him with lust-clouded eyes. "Fuck you," you said breathily.

It almost pained him to stop, you looking up at him with such pleading eyes. "Don't worry, doll. I got somethin to help that headache."

Next to you, Killer shook his hand out from under yours. "You got a strong grip, darlin." He patted you on the leg.

It took some time for you to blink back into awareness. So this is how it's gonna be. A long night of teasing seemed to be ahead. You weren't wrong. The next establishment was a little rowdier so no one noticed when Kid took you into a dark corner to make out, sliding his flesh hand between the leather of your pants and your skin, edging you again. The one after that was more of a dance club, where you were bounced between Kid and Killer and their grabbing hands. The third one was a gambling hall, where you patiently sat in Killer's lap, listening to him whisper compliments and dirty thoughts alike and watching Kid play cards. After that, at the insistence of whatever straggling crew remained, it was a whorehouse.

At this point you were drunk and very horny. You were promised that this would be the last place they stopped before returning to the ship. The men other than Kid and Killer found companions to take upstairs fairly quickly. You had gone to the bathroom and came back to both of them having their laps occupied by women. They were just as drunk and horny as you were, though you were hoping to harness that energy for yourself when you went back to the ship. There was motion in the corner of your eye as a man scooped you off your feet and started carrying you upstairs, thinking you were one of the working women.

"I think you're mistaken. I'm not for sale." Kid and Killer were still preoccupied as you glanced back.

"Everyone has a price, little miss."

You toyed with the man's earring, giggling. "I don't think you can afford me."

"And why's that? I don't look like I have money?" His voice was slightly angry.

"Let's find out." You pointed to the wall next to the staircase, that was decorated with bounty posters. "I should be up there somewhere. Last time I checked, I was close to 90,000."

The man stopped in his tracks and looked at you. "You?! 90,000?" He had started to open a vacant room.

You didn't appreciate his unbelieving tone. "Yeah. 90,000. So unless you're gonna pay me or a fuck from you is worth 90,000. Put me down." He didn't move. "I SAID PUT ME DOWN! ARE YOU DEAF?" Kid was rubbing off on you, in more ways than one.

The man dropped you on the floor, stepping over you to find another lady.

Pulling the switchblade out of your boot, you caught his ankle and sliced his Achilles tendon, sending the man tripping down the stairs. You put the knife back in your shoe and pushed yourself up. "Fucking rude." You stepped on his hand as you came down the stairs and returned to your table, noticing that the ladies were no longer there. "Where'd your friends go?"

"Where'd yours go?" Killer shot back, a drunk lilt to his voice.

"I asked first, but if you must know, I stabbed him and tripped him down the stairs."

Kid laughed loudly and patted his lap. "Atta girl." He grabbed your waist as you took your seat. "Those are just the waitresses, doll." Kid laughed again. "Were ya jealous?" He played with your hair and buried his face in it, inhaling deeply, breath tickling your neck.

"Fuck no," you laughed. "Why would I be jealous when I know the whole time you would be thinking of me?" You leaned your head back to rest on his shoulder and grinned at him, simultaneously poking Killer with your foot.

One of the waitresses returned with 3 beers in her hand, a disappointed look in her face when she saw you perched in Kid's lap.

The three of you drank and chatted while the crew did god knows what upstairs. You wished Killer didn't have to wear a helmet all the time, because you felt a little bad about only making out with Kid. You tossed back the rest of your beer before moving from Kid's lap to Killer's, Kid only whining minimally. Killer's hand sat on your hip, thumb brushing at the skin. You couldn't kiss his face, so your lips found his neck. He didn't stop you. By the time you left, his neck was covered in different shades of red, some from your lips, and some from Kid when he was feeling left out.

When you returned to the Victoria Punk, there were scattered pirates passed out all over the deck. Even Mini plopped on deck to sleep, not wanting to walk all the way to your bunk. She wasn't used to late nights. Kid threw you over his shoulder and made a beeline straight for his cabin. You noticed that Killer didn't follow. Kid tossed you on his bed and started tearing his clothes off.

"Where's Killer?"

Kid gave you a questioning look. "I'm not enough?"

You rolled your eyes. "Don't be stupid. I thought he was into it, that's all." You kicked off your shoes and started to unlace your outfit.

Kid shrugged. "He's probably tired. Stop worryin bout him when ya have to worry bout me." Kid tugged your pants off, and made quick work of your top. Kid kissed from your hip to your neck, nipping at your ear as he climbed on top of you.

You had been waiting all night for this. You didn't honestly think he would wait this long, you thought after you initially pissed him off, he would come fuck you in the back alley. He had a hard time waiting you guessed, since he was already grabbing your hips and pulling them up to meet his own as he sunk his cock into you. You let your head fall back on the pillow and groaned.

Kid grabbed your hair and jerked your head back to look at him. "So ya think ya can tease me and get away with it?" He started slow, watching you move underneath him impatiently.

"I was counting on not getting away with it," you smirked at him, rolling your hips in time with his. You gasped as he took one of your thighs and brought it back next to you, opening you wider for him and allowing him to get a deeper angle.

Kid picked up the pace. You were much too coherent for his liking. "If ya wanted it rough, ya can say so."

"Nnn-not as fun." Still too coherent.

Kid picked up your other thigh and matched it to the first one, pressing both down into the mattress. If you thought you were going to manipulate him like that and get away with it, you were mistaken. He could feel you twitch under him. Kid knew it wouldn't take long to put you on the edge again since he had done it several times during the night.

Folded in half under Kid, you couldn't move much. You didn't have to with the way he was drilling into your deepest parts. Your thighs were covered in your own juices from being so wet. The knot in your belly got tighter and tighter with every thrust. The only sounds you could make were whines and ragged moans. It wasn't much longer before your thighs were shaking and you were gripping at the sheets. Kid sucked at your breast and moved up your neck to your ear. The sound of his panting was too much. Right as you were about to snap, there was a feeling of emptiness as Kid came across your stomach with a grunt.

The thought of how mad you were about to be and how much begging you were about to do was enough for Kid. His release felt heavenly, even though he would have preferred to stay buried in your hot, gushy walls. But he couldn't let you cum that easily could he? The glazed over look in your eyes was turning into frustration and then into a glare, so hot it almost made him hard again.

"Was that fun enough fer ya, doll? I had yer ankles by yer ears. Just like ya asked."

"Fuck.. you, Kid," you said between pants. You reached your hand down to take care of yourself. You didn't need him.

He grabbed your hand. "I don't think so." He grabbed your other one, holding them both over your head. "Killer."

Killer came from somewhere in the room. You didn't know where he had been. Was he there the whole time? He was shirtless and his jeans were unzipped, but he was still masked. He had something in his hands, which he put around your wrists.

"That's not gonna do anything. You know I can..." A panicked look entered your eyes.

Kid laughed. "Oh, Killer was into it. This was his idea."

Killer attached the manacles to something on the headboard. "Picked up a souvenir from that marine vessel." Killer traced a finger down your center. "Seastone."

Next Chapter

#eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #marooned #kid x reader x killer #killer x reader #eustass kid x reader #x reader #how much is Killer gonna be a tease I wonder #is Killer actually an evil mastermind?

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