bigheadbrooke-9

[bigheadbrooke-9]

to answer your question re: the age gap in reader x older male character fics, it’s because the majority of the fandom who consumes that content is the same age as the “y/n” character. the point of those stories is for the audience to imagine themselves in that role. the “y/n” characters would all be in their late 40s if the majority of the fandom were in their late 40s.

I’m 19, and I write for people who are in the mindset of those aged 20 and above—30s, 40s, and so on. This approach adds variety to my work. I notice that many people still enjoy reading reader-insert plus-size fanfics, even if they themselves are skinny.

However, I find it strange to see age differences that are so significant. I understand that people want to connect with a "you/n" character, but it's odd when the male character is literally over 40 years older than the reader. I prefer to be paired with someone closer to my age or at least at a similar maturity level. 😭

[bigheadbrooke-9]

Why is it so normalized for young characters (like 'y/n') to be paired with much older men? It's concerning to see someone over 50 dating someone in their early twenties. Can we consider aging up these characters instead?

[bigheadbrooke-9]

.⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁Challenge. ݁⊹ . ˖ . ݁

Dad!Eddie Munson x Mom!fem!reader

Summary: Imani was upset after Eddie innocently told her she was too small to climb onto the couch alone. Though he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, she took it personally and gave him the silent treatment. Realizing she was truly upset, Eddie took it upon himself to make things right—with a lighthearted prank, hoping to win back her smile and forgiveness.

Warnings: This is purely just fluff 😭

A/n : This so good and cuteeee

The soft sizzle of vegetables in the skillet filled the kitchen with warmth as I stirred dinner, humming faintly to myself. It was early evening, and the gentle glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains. Just as I reached for the seasoning, I heard the unmistakable sound of small, bare feet pattering down the hallway—quick, uneven, and determined. Moments later, I felt tiny arms wrap around my thigh, clutching tightly.

“Mommy?” came a small voice, trembling slightly.

I glanced down to see Imani—her curly hair a tousled halo around her head, eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. Her little nose scrunched as she looked up at me.

“Daddy’s being mean,” she said, her bottom lip poking out in a pout.

With a sympathetic smile, I brushed her curls away from her forehead and leaned down to press a kiss there. Then, shielding her ears with my hands, I raised my voice dramatically.

“EDDIE MUNSON!”

A rustle followed my call—faint shuffling, followed by the thud of heavier footsteps echoing down the hallway. When Eddie entered the kitchen, Imani narrowed her eyes and stared him down with all the might her little frame could muster. She kept her grip on my leg, refusing to budge.

“What did you do to Mani?” I asked in a soft but scolding tone.

Eddie ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. “All I told her was that she’s still too little to get on the couch by herself. That’s all, I swear. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, princess.”

Imani turned her face away in protest, her arms now wrapped tightly around my leg. I gave her head a gentle pat, laughing under my breath.

“You’re mean, Eddie,” I teased, smirking.

Eddie crouched down in front of her. “C’mon, princess. I’m sorry,” he said, holding out his arms. Reluctantly, she let him scoop her up, though her little arms stayed firmly crossed as she stared at the wall. Still, when Eddie leaned in and kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth twitched upward—and though she tried to hide it, I saw the smile sneak through. She quickly turned her face, pretending it hadn’t happened.

—

Later that evening, Imani was on a mission.

“DADDYYYY! Where are you, silly?” she sang out, stomping through the living room in search of him.

I followed close behind, sensing the mischief in the air. Eddie was up to something—I could feel it. Imani whipped the blanket off the couch. Nothing. She darted into our bedroom, checking beneath the covers, then turned back to me with a look of confusion.

“Mommy, where did he go?” she asked, brows furrowed.

“I have no clue,” I said with a shrug. “Weren’t you mad at Daddy, anyway?”

She gave a small huff and crossed her arms. “I was… but I wanted to make him dress up.” Her pout returned as she stomped her foot dramatically.

“Don’t throw a tantrum, Mani,” I said gently, biting back a laugh.

Just then, Eddie appeared like a shadow behind her—silent as ever, crouching low with a grin spreading across his face. I stifled a giggle as he tiptoed forward and in one swift motion, scooped her up and began tickling her mercilessly.

“DADDY! Stop, that tickles!” she squealed, her tiny round teeth flashing in a wide smile as her curls bounced with each wriggle.

I joined in, dropping to my knees and tickling her soft thighs, causing her to shriek with laughter. She squirmed between us, her cheeks flushed and red from the joy.

“Say you forgive me and I’ll stop,” Eddie bargained, pausing briefly to let her catch her breath.

Imani shook her head stubbornly, still giggling, and we dove back in—tickling her until tears of laughter streamed down her face. Finally, she let out a gasping, “Okay! I forgive you!”

Eddie leaned back, wiping his eyes from laughing so hard. I released her, and in a flash, Imani pounced on him with tiny, determined fingers, tickling his neck. I joined in too, holding his hands so he couldn’t escape.

“OKAY, I’M SORRY MANI!” he cried out between peals of laughter.

“C’mon Mommy, let’s go!” Imani shouted, victorious, as she sprinted down the hallway.

But just as I turned to chase after her, Eddie caught me by the waist, pulling me back. I barely had time to laugh before he began tickling me next.

“MANI! He got me—HELP!” I shrieked, twisting in his arms.

Like the superhero she believed herself to be, she ran back in, giggling and diving onto the bed to save me. Within moments, the three of us were a heap of tangled limbs and breathless laughter, wrapped up in love, chaos, and everything beautiful about this little family we’d built together.

My grammerly is going to work dudeeeee 😭

[bigheadbrooke-9]

✮⋆˙ Her eyes ⋆˚࿔

Dad!eddie Munson x mom!fem!reader

Summary: After delivering your daughter, Imani, you were surprised to see she inherited Eddie’s deep brown eyes and thick curls instead of your features. Despite the unexpected resemblance, she was breathtaking—her beauty a perfect mirror of her father. As the doctors tended to you, Eddie held her for the first time, overcome with emotion, unable to stop the tears streaming down his face.

Warnings: use of y/n, y/n giving birth, and possibly Eddie crying a lot. THIS IS SOO CUTE

A/N: You all know it's my specialty to write emotional content, and this is filled with a lot of emotions. I love you all ❤️

“Don’t push too hard, Y/N—this is the last one. Just one more, you’ve got this,” one of the female doctors instructed gently, her gloved hands steady and prepared.

I nodded through gritted teeth, my face flushed and drenched in sweat, every muscle in my body screaming. Eddie was beside me, cradling the back of my head with one hand and gripping my hand tightly with the other. The pain was unbearable, searing and overwhelming, and I was sure I couldn’t possibly endure another second. I let out a choked sob and buried my face into Eddie’s chest as I pushed with every ounce of strength I had left.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing, full of awe and love. “She’s almost here. Just a little more. You got this.” His hand rubbed gentle circles against my damp hair, and despite the agony, the touch grounded me, helping me hold on.

And then, as though the world stopped for a single beat—

“She’s here!” the doctor cried out with a mixture of relief and triumph.

I gasped for air, my body trembling, and lifted my head just enough to see her—tiny, squirming, with a shock of dark hair and flushed skin. Her cries rang out strong and immediate. She was perfect.

“You did so great, baby. I’m so proud of you,” Eddie murmured as he kissed my temple, lowering me gently onto the hospital bed as I tried to regulate my breathing. I felt numb from the waist down, but the relief of knowing she was safe and alive overwhelmed everything else.

“Dad, would you like to cut the cord?” one of the nurses asked. Eddie looked at me for permission, his expression full of reverence and disbelief. I gave him a faint nod, and he kissed my forehead again before stepping forward to make the ceremonial cut. The staff moved quickly and carefully, cleaning her up while Eddie returned to my side, his hand resting on my arm.

Moments later, a nurse placed her gently onto my bare chest. Her cries faded the instant she felt my skin and heard my heartbeat. She nestled close, her tiny fists curled near her face, as if she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life.

“She’s… she’s so warm,” I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes.

“She’s listening to you,” Eddie said softly, his eyes wide with wonder. “I thought she’d look like you, but… she looks just like me.”

He smiled through tears, brushing a trembling hand over her soft curls. “She even has my birthmark,” he added, pointing to a faint, lighter patch of skin on her upper arm.

I looked at him and then back down at her, my heart swelling with a love I didn’t know was possible. “You just became a father, Eddie. And she’s beautiful. You both are.”

The doctor approached again. “It’s time for skin-to-skin with Dad,” she said gently. Eddie glanced at me again, silently asking for permission. I smiled through the exhaustion. “It’s your baby too, bighead. Go on.”

He chuckled softly, his emotions still raw and visible. He pulled his shirt off, revealing the tattoos that danced across his chest and arms, and settled into the chair beside me. The nurse gently lifted our daughter and laid her against his chest. She immediately stilled, her tiny hand resting over his heart.

“Do we have a name for this beautiful little girl?” the nurse asked, beaming.

Eddie looked at me expectantly, his eyes still wet.

“Imani Munson,” I said, my voice quiet but full of certainty.

He kissed my cheek tenderly. “You’re naming her after me?”

I nodded. “She’s your mirror image. She’s an official Munson now.”

The nurses began cleaning me up, their voices hushed and efficient. I watched as Eddie held our daughter like she was the most fragile, precious thing on Earth. Her small eyes opened briefly, locking onto his as if she knew him already.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” I teased weakly. “Where are my features in her?”

Eddie chuckled, his voice breaking. “Give her time.”

She reached up then, her tiny fingers catching a lock of his long brown hair—not pulling, just touching, like she was memorizing him.

“She can’t really see yet,” I murmured, “but she knows who we are—she recognizes our voices, our heartbeats. She knows she’s safe.”

Eddie wiped his eyes quickly, embarrassed by the emotion that spilled over his face.

“It’s okay, Eddie,” I said gently. “You’re holding your first baby. You’re allowed to feel everything.”

He nodded, cradling her a little closer.

⸻

The hospital room was quiet, save for the gentle humming of machines and the occasional soft coo from the bassinet nearby. The midday sun poured in through the slats of the blinds, casting golden streaks across the white linen and pale blue walls. Imani was fast asleep in her bassinet, her tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically beneath the pastel pink blanket the nurse had wrapped her in earlier that morning. Eddie sat near me on the edge of the bed, his fingers absently tracing mine as I began to pump breast milk for our daughter.

His eyes wandered for a moment, thoughtful and soft, before he asked in a quiet voice, “Where did you get her name?”

I paused, gently adjusting the breast pump and glancing over at him. His gaze was already locked on me, curious but tender.

“I got it from your mother,” I replied, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “It was her middle name. I wanted to honor her… I know how much you miss her.”

Eddie’s hand tensed just slightly in mine before he exhaled slowly. I reached over, lacing our fingers together. He said nothing at first, his eyes glassing over with the weight of unspoken emotion.

“You’re trying to make me cry on purpose,” he finally said with a weak chuckle, his voice thick with affection.

I let out a soft laugh, squeezing his hand gently. Eddie leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, resting his forehead briefly against the back of my hand.

“You’re going to be a wonderful mom, Y/N,” he murmured with such certainty that my heart clenched. His voice was heavy with sincerity, and I could see it all in the way he looked at me—how grateful he was, how in awe he felt watching our daughter sleep.

I followed his gaze to the bassinet. Imani was the definition of serenity in that moment—her plump little cheeks flushed with warmth, her mouth slightly parted as she dreamed. Her full head of dark curls peeked out from beneath the soft hat the nurse had fitted snugly on her head. She looked exactly like Eddie.

“She’s going to be a daddy’s girl. I can already tell,” I said, smiling at him, watching the way his dimples deepened when he laughed.

“She’s my princess,” he said with pride, brushing his thumb across my hand. As if hearing him, Imani stirred, letting out a tiny cry from her bassinet.

I laughed softly and looked at him. “Correction—she’s mommy’s princess.”

The moment she heard my voice, she settled, her cries softening until they faded entirely. Eddie stared in disbelief, then let out a warm, wholehearted laugh. It was a sound that echoed gently through the room and filled my chest with peace.

“See?” I whispered proudly. “Mommy’s baby.”

He grinned and shook his head. “She already knows who’s boss.”

I carefully removed the pump’s attachments and began sealing the filled milk bags, labeling them with the date and time before setting them into the cooler beside my hospital bed. I turned to Eddie. “It’s feeding time. Can you grab her for me?”

He was already standing, nodding. “You don’t even have to ask, sweetheart.”

With a gentle, practiced ease, he walked over to the bassinet, placing one hand behind Imani’s head and the other beneath her tiny body. He lifted her slowly, cradling her with the kind of tenderness most people reserve for miracles. His voice softened instinctively as he hummed under his breath and brought her over to me.

“Here we go, princess,” he said, carefully settling her into my arms.

I adjusted my gown and positioned her for nursing, guiding her mouth gently. She latched without fuss, her little fingers curling against my chest as she suckled with contentment. I exhaled a deep, grateful breath and looked down at her, my heart overwhelmed by the perfection of the moment.

“She’s beautiful,” I whispered.

Eddie sat back down beside me, one hand on my back, the other resting lightly against Imani’s tiny foot.

“She is,” he said softly. “Just like her mom.”

There was a long, peaceful silence where nothing needed to be said. We were here. Together. Our baby—our Imani—was safe, warm, and deeply loved.

And in that quiet hospital room, surrounded by the faint scent of lavender and the softness of fresh linens, we were no longer two people discovering what love meant. We were a family—bound not just by blood, but by something far deeper.

Hey everyone! I can’t believe it’s been so long since I last posted. I’ve been away for way too long, and I think this will become a multiple-part series. So, right after this, around 3:30 or 4:30 PM Midwestern time, I’ll be releasing part two. In this next part, Imani will be older. I love you all! Have a great day!

[bigheadbrooke-9]

Oh how I love Evan ❤️

LOVE seeing my baby happy again I fcking missed his smile!!! this means sm to me

[bigheadbrooke-9]

₊˚Scared of beautiful₊˚

Eddie Munson x afab!plus size!reader

Summary: You and Eddie had been inseparable for years, your bond rooted in friendship but your feelings growing into something far deeper. You loved him—not platonically, but wholly, in the quiet, aching way that words often failed to capture. Though you were confident in your appearance, a lingering doubt always whispered that you might never be enough for someone like him. Eddie, charismatic and always teasing, often flirted in passing, but you dismissed it as harmless humor. When he invited you to watch him perform with his band at a local bar, you agreed, heart full of hope but unsure if he’d ever truly see you the way you saw him. He did love you. He even made a song for you.

A/n : oh hey everyone mb for being gone 😭, this is based off unreleased frank this song reminds me of Eddie lowkey sounds like him to ENJOY!

Warning: Mentions of body image, crying, romantic fluff, persistent creeps, and pet names (mama, sweetheart). Use of y/n .Read with care.

“Please? I want you to be there. I’ve got a big surprise for you,” Eddie pleaded, grabbing my hands with both of his, practically on his knees in front of me. His wide, hopeful eyes searched mine, and I could tell this meant a lot to him.

He was begging me—literally begging me—to come to his band’s performance at a local bar. The way his voice softened, just slightly, made my heart ache. He was excited, maybe even nervous, and the fact that he wanted me there, specifically me, was both flattering and frustrating.

I sighed, settling onto the edge of his bed. “Eddie, I don’t know…” I trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. “I really hate that bar. It’s full of creeps.”

And it was. Every time I’d gone in the past, I’d left feeling uncomfortable—stale beer, smoke in the air, and the kinds of men who stared too long and didn’t take hints. I wanted to be there for Eddie, I really did, but the idea of walking into that place again made my skin crawl.

He groaned and smacked his lips, dramatically letting go of my hands and slapping his palms down on his thighs in defeat. “Steve and Robin are going to be there with you,” he said, his voice quickly turning sweet, persuasive, familiar. “Please? Just one hour. That’s all I’m asking. One hour, mama—I promise.”

There it was. That nickname. Mama.

He always used it when he was trying to charm me, and it worked more often than I cared to admit. It made me feel special, seen, even if I told myself not to fall for it every time.

I sighed again, this time rubbing my thighs anxiously, weighing the situation. “Promise?” I asked softly, glancing up at him.

The second the word left my mouth, his entire expression lit up. He nodded quickly, practically bouncing with excitement, and I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me.

“Fine, Eddie. But if it’s boring or if anyone even looks at me weird, I’m leaving. I support you, but that bar seriously irks me.” I gave him a gentle shove, trying to stand before he got too thrilled and started making wild plans.

“You won’t regret it!” he said, grinning from ear to ear as he bolted out of the room, clearly too thrilled to contain himself.

I laughed to myself, letting the door swing shut behind him. Then, with a soft sigh, I flopped forward onto the bed, lying flat on my stomach. I buried my face in the pillow, cheeks warm with a blush I didn’t want to admit was there.

Eddie always had a way of getting to me. And I was starting to wonder if that “big surprise” was more than just a song.

⸻

“Sweetheart, you made it—I knew you would come,” Eddie called out the moment he spotted me, his face lighting up with the kind of grin that could make you forget the world was ever cruel. His excitement was contagious, and I couldn’t help but smile back as he closed the distance between us. But then, his gaze dipped to take in my outfit, his eyebrows rising ever so slightly.

If I was going to step foot into a bar I didn’t even like, I figured I might as well look good doing it. Besides, I had other plans after this—to meet up with a few friends at a different spot across town—so I had dressed accordingly.

His eyes sparkled as he looked me over, a mischievous glint forming in his expression. “You look stunning, Y/N. You’re gonna distract me while I’m on stage,” he said, tugging me gently into a hug.

He smelled like leather and cigarette smoke, something uniquely Eddie. His long hair was tied back into a messy half-bun, a few dark strands falling into his face. He wore a cut-up Iron Maiden T-shirt that exposed just enough of his tattooed chest, layered with more jewelry than usual—even the worn-out, colorful beaded bracelet I gave him back in fifth grade. Purple and pink, still holding on after all these years. He looked incredible—so much so that, despite myself, I started to think maybe I could handle staying here a bit longer than planned.

Over his shoulder, I noticed Steve and Robin already seated at one of the far tables to the left of the stage, engaged in their usual animated conversation. I gently pulled back from the hug, nodding toward them.

Eddie caught the glance and smiled. “We’re setting up now—just playing three songs tonight,” he said, placing a hand at the small of my back as he guided me through the increasingly crowded bar.

The place reeked of cheap cologne, stale beer, and bad decisions. Creeps leered from shadowed corners, and half-drunk regulars loitered near the edge of the dance floor. Eddie’s hand stayed steady at my back, but I could feel it slowly sliding downward with a familiar boldness.

“Edward Munson, you’re a pervert,” I said, slapping his arm lightly with a laugh.

He only smirked in response, chuckling as he rubbed the spot. “Guilty,” he replied, then launched into a quick rundown of how much they were getting paid for the night—$2,500 for two hours. My eyes widened at the figure. That was incredible, especially for Eddie. After years of struggle and countless unpaid gigs, his band was finally getting noticed, and it was starting to pay off.

“I go on in ten,” he said, digging into his back pocket and pulling out two crisp twenties. He pressed them into my hand with a wink.

“Get some drinks. Whatever you want. You’re in for a treat tonight.”

With that, he grinned and darted backstage, his excitement practically vibrating off of him.

I giggled, pocketing the cash and making my way to the bar. Leaning forward against the counter, I scanned the drink menu tacked to the wall behind the bartender. It was the usual selection of cheap beers, sugary cocktails, and canned mixers. I figured I’d try something strong but sweet—just enough to loosen the tension in my shoulders.

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?” the bartender asked, not even looking up at first as he finished pouring a beer for the man next to me. He had a toothpick in his mouth and a smirk like he’d used that line a hundred times before.

“Could I get a Long Island iced tea, a large beer, and a BuzzBall, please?” I asked politely, sliding a twenty across the counter.

He finally looked up at me then, eyes lingering a bit too long on my face before flicking down briefly—too briefly.

“No need, pretty girl,” he said, grinning as he slid the huge cup toward me. The drink was topped with a lemon slice, condensation already beading on the plastic. “On the house.”

I offered a tight smile in response, thanking him before turning away quickly. I wasn’t here for that kind of attention.

Tonight was about Eddie. And something told me… whatever that “surprise” was, it was going to change everything.

⸻

The room dimmed, and a faint screech of feedback rang through the speakers before the emcee’s voice crackled to life.

“Next on the stage—Corroded Coffin! Lead singer and guitarist Eddie Munson—welcome them to the stage!”

A round of claps and hoots rose through the crowd as the spotlight beamed down onto the small, elevated platform. I leaned forward slightly in my chair, eyes fixed on the stage as Jeff, Gareth, and Grant stepped out under the blinding light. They looked good—slightly stiff, maybe a little nervous—but confident in their own way.

Then, Eddie walked out.

There was a shift in the room the moment he appeared—his presence alone demanded attention. He didn’t look nervous. If anything, he looked calm. Comfortable. Like this was exactly where he belonged. His fingers gripped the neck of his guitar, and his signature smirk curled at the corners of his lips. The air buzzed with anticipation.

He stepped up to the mic and tapped it once. “Alright,” he said, voice casual, but his eyes scanning the crowd with intention. “We’re only doing three songs tonight, so I’m gonna keep it quick.”

Then he paused, looking straight into the audience—straight at me.

“But one of these songs is… kind of special. It’s dedicated to my best friend, Y/N. I love you, sweetheart.”

The spotlight suddenly shifted, blinding me. For a second, I couldn’t see anything—I just sat frozen, squinting as a mix of clapping and whistles filled the space. My heart thudded so loudly in my chest I was sure someone could hear it.

He made a song… about me?

When my vision adjusted, I could see Eddie chuckling at my reaction, his hand resting on the body of his guitar. From the corner of my eye, I caught Robin shooting me a wide-eyed look from her seat beside Steve. I couldn’t read her expression—was it shock? Curiosity? I didn’t know.

The lights shifted again, this time illuminating the stage as the first strum of Eddie’s guitar rang out.

Then he sang.

⸻

“Turn the lamp on

Let me talk to ya

See that light bulb

Does something to ya

Makes it a little harder

To tell a lie, don’t it?

Make it difficult

To run and hide, don’t it?”

His voice was smooth, rich, unexpectedly emotional. It wasn’t the kind of loud, thrashing sound people usually associated with metal—it was stripped down, raw, vulnerable. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him.

⸻

“Tell the truth to me

The truth to me

Come close to me

If that’s you

I wanna see the details

Inside those beautiful eyes

(Beautiful eyes)”

He looked at me the entire time. Not at the crowd. Not at some invisible muse. At me.

And it hit me all at once—this wasn’t a joke. He meant it. Every word, every note was real. Was this how he saw me? Not just his best friend… but someone beautiful? Someone he had written a song for?

⸻

“Myself ain’t never talked to me like that before

And I wonder

What on earth is he searching for?

No wonder why

There’s no mirrors on these walls no more

You can’t tell me why

You’re so terrified of beautiful…”

For years, I’d been told I wasn’t pretty enough. Not desirable. Not the kind of girl people wrote songs about. I’d learned to live with it—to hide my pain behind sarcasm or laughter, or just pretending not to care.

But now, here was Eddie—on stage, in front of a crowd—singing like I was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

⸻

“Scared of the good

More than the evil

Scared of the light

More than the dark

Scared of the truth so much more than the lie

I’m scared for me

I’m scared of me

Scared of beautiful…”

I blinked back tears, feeling them threaten to spill. I didn’t want to cry in a bar, surrounded by strangers. But this… this was more than I could’ve prepared for.

Eddie stepped away from the mic, bowing his head slightly. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. When he looked up again, his eyes were glassy. He was crying, too.

He returned to the mic and kept singing, voice trembling but strong.

⸻

“ Turn the lamp down

Don't talk to me

That light bulb took some' from me

Gave some' to me

I can't decide

I can’t decide

It took freedom

Gave purpose

Can't blend in, too perfect

All this beauty ever gave me was a reason for some beautiful lies

Myself ain't never talked to me like that before

And I wonder what on earth is he searching for….?

Robin leaned over and whispered to me, “You know he’s talking about you, right?”

I shook my head slowly, chewing nervously on my straw, unable to respond. I felt like I was being seen for the very first time, and it was overwhelming.

⸻

“ No wonder why

There's no mirrors on these walls no more

You can't tell me why

Your so terrified of beautiful

Scared of the good

More than the evil

Scared of the light

More than the dark

Scared of the truth so much more than the lie

I'm scared for me

I'm scared of me "

A lump formed in my throat.

⸻

“Mirror mirror on the wall

Who’s the fairest of them all?

Mirror mirror, oh you’re so

Unfair to all the beautiful ones…”

His voice cracked slightly on the final lines, filled with so much emotion it made my chest ache.

⸻

“ No wonder why

There's no mirrors on these walls no more

You can't tell me why

Your so terrified of beautiful

Scared of the good

More than the evil

Scared of the light

More than the dark

Scared of the truth so much more than the lie

I'm scared for me

I'm scared for me

I'm scared for me

I'm scared of me I'm scared to be beautiful

Beautiful ... ”

⸻

The final note of the song lingered in the air, a soft hum that resonated in my chest long after the music stopped. Eddie stepped back from the microphone, his body tense as if the weight of his words and the performance had just hit him all at once. His head fell forward, eyes cast downward, and I could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, like he was trying to collect himself. The crowd, however, didn’t need any further cue to react. They erupted into applause, loud whistles and cheers reverberating through the bar, a wave of energy that swelled around us.

I sat frozen, my heart racing in my chest, feeling a mixture of disbelief and admiration. Eddie’s song—his song—had been more than just a performance; it was a confession. Every word, every note he had sung carried an emotion I didn’t even know he was capable of expressing so openly. It was raw, personal, and most of all, it was about me.

As the noise of the crowd grew, Eddie took a moment to wipe his face, quickly brushing away the evidence of tears that had welled up in his eyes during the performance. He straightened, a deep breath escaping him as he looked back at the crowd, his face flushed with a mixture of vulnerability and pride. His gaze swept over the audience, soaking in the applause before he spoke again, his voice carrying over the still-chattering crowd.

“This woman,” he began, his voice slightly hoarse but resolute, “has done nothing but support me, even through everything we’ve been through together. Thirteen years, Thirteen years, and she’s seen me at my absolute worst. She’s been there through my mental breakdowns, my terrible haircuts, and some of the dumbest decisions I’ve ever made in my life.”

The words were so unexpectedly candid, so raw, that my breath caught in my throat. I could feel a rush of emotion building inside of me, a tidal wave of feelings that I wasn’t prepared to deal with. The years we’d spent together—some of the happiest, and some of the most painful—flashed before my eyes. Eddie wasn’t just talking about our friendship; he was talking about everything we’d been through, the moments that had shaped us both, for better or worse.

“She’s supported me through it all, even when she didn’t have to. She’s never judged me,” Eddie continued, his voice growing stronger with each word. “She’s always stood by me—ten toes behind me—no matter what I wanted to do. And I love this woman so incredibly much. Y/N, I love you so, so, so much, mama.”

At that moment, everything seemed to stop. The world, the crowd, the noise—it all faded into the background as Eddie’s words hit me like a wave. The spotlight on him seemed to intensify, its beam now also catching me in its glow. I felt exposed, vulnerable, as if his confession was peeling away every layer I had kept hidden for so long. I had never felt so seen, so understood, yet so overwhelmed by it all.

The crowd had quieted in response to Eddie’s declaration, and I could hear my heart thudding in my ears. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. His gaze was locked on mine, so intense, so full of love and sincerity that it made my chest tighten. It was as if the weight of thirteen years of friendship, of unspoken feelings, had finally been lifted in that one moment.

I glanced around, suddenly acutely aware of the eyes of everyone in the room. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the embarrassment creeping in, but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming sense of love and admiration that Eddie had just laid bare in front of everyone. He had just confessed his love for me, not as a fleeting moment or a whisper in private, but in front of a crowd of strangers and friends alike.

I wanted to run to him, to pull him into a hug and tell him I loved him too, but my feet felt frozen to the floor. The truth of his words kept replaying in my mind, and for a moment, I couldn’t shake the overwhelming mix of emotions that surged through me.

His gaze softened, a small smile tugging at his lips, and I could see the sincerity in his eyes. Eddie had always been there for me, through everything, but I had never realized just how deeply he felt for me until now.

The noise of the crowd started to filter back in, their cheers and applause growing louder, but I remained still, feeling both exposed and cherished in a way that words couldn’t quite capture. Eddie’s eyes never left mine, his smile softening as if reassuring me that everything was okay—that everything would be okay.

As the applause continued to roll, Eddie gave me one last, loving glance, his expression full of warmth and affection. He hadn’t just sung a song for me; he had shared his heart with me in a way I never expected.

And for the first time in my life, I knew without a doubt that no matter what anyone else said, I was enough. Eddie’s love was more than enough to make me believe that.

We low-key need a part two to this, what do y’all think? Thank you all for the endless amount of support. I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow for the part two

[bigheadbrooke-9]

Texting Eddie Munson ⭐️

EDDIE COREEEEEEEEE ⭐️

[bigheadbrooke-9]

in desperate need of more eddie munson links 😓

EDDIE MUNSON ⭐️ LINK

Rough

Masturbating together

Ass eating ( black queen )

Backshots ( black queen )

Begging

Head

Hair tie

Grinding ( black queen )

Table

Fingering

Hair pulling

Ghost face

Dildo

Riding ( Black queen )

Older!eddie helping him

Back view ( black queen )

Squirting ( Black queen )

Sorry it took me so long anon, I had to find more inclusive ones since I’m black I need white on black porn. Yall ain’t inclusive for me lowk but thank you sm for the request and support love yaaa 💜

[bigheadbrooke-9]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Tell me ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

Billie Eilish x Afab!reader

Summary: Billie had been busy with tours, fan meets, and time with her friends, leaving you waiting at home every day. When she finally returned, you ignored her, hurt by her absence. Billie noticed immediately and wasn’t about to let it go, determined to understand why you were pulling away.

Warnings: use of y/n, cussing, lowk mean reader. Fluff, agnst

Word count: 2.4k

The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house, and I rolled my eyes, slipping off my apron. I rubbed my hands together, letting out a quiet sigh as I reached for a knife to cut the fresh brownies I’d just pulled out of the oven. The rich, chocolatey scent filled the kitchen, but it didn’t bring me the usual comfort it normally would. My hands moved methodically, cutting the brownies into neat squares as I tried to ignore the faint shuffle of footsteps coming from the living room.

“Ma? Where are you?” Billie’s voice called out, louder now. I could hear her pacing, her shoes clicking faintly against the floor. I knew she was looking for me, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned up the volume on the speaker I had playing on the counter, the soft melody of my favorite tune filling the space as I continued my task.

I grabbed a container from the cabinet, carefully opening the lid and setting it beside the tray. Her footsteps grew louder, approaching the kitchen with deliberate intent. I could feel her presence as she stopped right at the doorway. Still, I didn’t turn around.

“Y/N, didn’t you hear me? Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, her voice carrying a mix of confusion and concern. I could feel her moving closer, her warm energy radiating behind me. She wrapped her arms around me in a familiar hug, but I instinctively shifted to the side, avoiding her touch.

Reaching for a paper towel, I lined the bottom of the container and began transferring the brownies into it. Her arms fell to her sides, and I could feel her staring at me, her expression confused and questioning.

“I made a little extra. Do you mind giving these to Finn? Thanks,” I said flatly, turning back toward the stove to clean up. My tone was curt, void of its usual warmth, and I didn’t spare her a glance. I could sense her confusion growing, but I refused to acknowledge it.

She stood there, rooted in place, her baffled expression practically burning into my back. I finished tidying up and grabbed my plate of brownies, brushing past her as I made my way toward our bedroom without another word.

“Y/N? Hello?” she called after me, her voice tinged with disbelief. “You didn’t even acknowledge me when I walked in!”

I kept walking, ignoring her completely, humming softly to myself as I opened the door to our room. I placed the warm brownies on the nightstand, pulling back the covers of the bed and slipping underneath them. The soft hum of my favorite tune filled the room as I picked up one of the brownies and took a small bite, savoring the warmth and sweetness.

“Mama? What’s wrong? Did I do something?” Billie’s voice broke through the air again, softer this time, almost pleading. She stood at the foot of the bed, watching me with a mixture of worry and frustration.

I took another bite of my brownie, a faint smile tugging at my lips as I chewed slowly. Her confusion only deepened as she stared at me, searching for answers in my silence. Still, I didn’t respond. I simply ate my brownie, humming softly, leaving her questions hanging in the air between us.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the television. Billie’s voice broke through the stillness, soft yet filled with a tinge of desperation.

“Why are you ignoring me? I missed you, baby,” she said, climbing onto the bed and settling herself on top of me. Her weight was familiar, her presence magnetic, but I couldn’t bring myself to react. My hand reached out toward the remote on the dresser, an attempt to distract myself, but she was quicker. Her hand wrapped around mine, halting me mid-motion.

I sighed, pulling my arm free from her grasp and shifting my body slightly to signal that I wanted her off of me. The rejection was subtle but intentional, and I could see the confusion flicker across her face.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, her tone tinged with worry. “You’re dodging all my affection. Did I do something wrong? If I did, just tell me—please.” Her hands reached for my face, her fingers gentle yet firm as she tried to tilt my head toward hers. But I refused to meet her gaze, turning my focus to the television instead.

She huffed in frustration, rolling her eyes before snatching the remote from my grasp. Without hesitation, she turned off the TV and tossed the remote across the room. The sudden action startled me, but I still didn’t react.

“Talk to me, mama,” she said, her voice low but insistent. “Ignoring me isn’t going to tell me what I did wrong.” She adjusted her backwards hat, her fingers fidgeting with the brim as she waited for me to respond. I shifted again, this time attempting to sit up and leave the bed, but her hands moved quickly to my waist, holding me in place.

“I’m not mad, Billie,” I muttered, my voice flat. “Can you just let me go? I’m trying to use the bathroom.”

Her grip on me loosened slightly, but she didn’t let go entirely. Her eyes searched mine, sadness evident in their depths. I hated seeing her like that, but I was too frustrated to let it sway me.

“You know we communicate,” she said softly. “We don’t ignore each other. So talk to me—what happened? Hm?” Her voice was gentle yet probing, her lips pressing into a thin line as she waited for an answer.

I rolled my eyes, exhaling heavily. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I replied, my tone edged with impatience. “I already told you—I’m not mad, and I’m not ignoring you.”

She let out a groan, throwing her head back in exasperation before laughing lightly. When she looked back at me, there was a knowing look in her eyes.

“First of all, you never ignore me,” she began, ticking off her points on her fingers. “Second, you never dodge my affection. And third? You don’t even watch that TV show—you’ve told me a hundred times you don’t like the characters. So, what’s up, mama? You only act like this when you’re mad.”

Her words hit their mark, and I knew I couldn’t avoid the conversation any longer. Billie could always read me like an open book, no matter how hard I tried to hide my feelings.

I sighed heavily, grabbing my phone from the nightstand and pulling up our text messages. I turned the screen toward her, the evidence of my frustration clear in the unanswered texts spanning weeks.

“The last time you texted me was three weeks ago, Billie,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “You didn’t check in—not once—even though I texted you multiple times. I barely see you anymore. You’re either on tour, in the studio, or at some award show. And when you finally get a chance to be home, you hang out with your friends instead of me.” My voice cracked as I continued. “We didn’t even spend time together for our anniversary. That says something, doesn’t it?”

I let my head fall into my hands, rubbing my temples as I tried to steady my emotions. “And then you just come back like everything’s normal. Isn’t communication supposed to be key?” I lifted my head to look at her, my eyes burning with unshed tears.

She bit the inside of her cheek, her shoulders slouching as a heavy sigh escaped her lips. For a moment, she was silent, and I could see the gears turning in her mind.

“I lied about where I was,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I did go on tour—I did two shows—but after that… I wasn’t in the studio, and I wasn’t with friends.”

Her words made my heart drop, the pit in my stomach growing heavier with each passing second. Was she about to confess to something worse? My mind raced, filling with the worst possibilities. She must have noticed the fear on my face because she quickly reached out to grab my hands.

“No, Y/N. Don’t think like that,” she said firmly. “I would never. I wasn’t cheating. I swear.” Her voice softened as she continued, her eyes pleading with mine. “I had something planned, and I didn’t want to tell you until it was ready.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly, unsure whether to believe her. My heart begged me to trust her, but my mind remained cautious. “What were you planning, then?” I asked, my voice laced with skepticism.

“After my shows, I started looking for venues,” she explained.

My brows furrowed in confusion. “Venues? What for?” I asked, my tone softening slightly as curiosity began to replace my frustration. “Wait—was Finn getting married? Oh my god, is he finally tying the knot?”

Billie laughed at my sudden excitement, rolling her eyes at my assumption. “No, babe. This isn’t about Finn.”

“Then what?” I pressed, still unsure of what she was trying to say.

She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I was looking for venues because I was going to propose to you. I wanted to do it at my last show, but it got canceled.”

Her confession hit me like a tidal wave, the weight of her words sinking in slowly. My face fell as I stared at her, completely speechless.

“You… you were going to propose?” I finally managed to whisper, my voice trembling.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes locking onto mine. “I wanted it to be perfect for you, Y/N. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

My emotions swirled in a chaotic mix of shock, guilt, and overwhelming love. I had spent weeks feeling neglected and hurt, but now I realized she had been working on something for us—something that would change our lives forever.

The room was quiet, the weight of Billie’s confession still hanging in the air. Her arms wrapped around me tightly as if she were afraid I might disappear. I could feel her heart racing against mine, the steady beat grounding me as I tried to process everything she’d just said.

“You were really going to propose?” I finally whispered, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. There was so much emotion there—love, guilt, hope—all swirling together like a storm.

She nodded, a small, sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I was. I’d been planning it for months. I wanted it to be perfect, Y/N. I wanted to give you the world.”

I let out a shaky laugh, my fingers brushing against her jaw. “Billie, you’re the world to me. I didn’t need something perfect… I just needed you.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I know I messed up,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve been there for you instead of letting you feel like I didn’t care. But I swear, Y/N, I was only trying to make you happy.”

“You don’t have to try so hard to make me happy,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “You being here—being present, communicating with me—that’s what makes me happy. I just… I felt like I was losing you, Billie. Like you were slipping away.”

Her hands found mine, her fingers lacing through mine as she squeezed gently. “You’ll never lose me,” she said, her voice resolute. “I’m yours, Y/N. Completely. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t my priority. You are. You always have been.”

I felt the sting of tears in my eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness. They were from relief, from the overwhelming love I felt for her in that moment. “I missed you so much,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I missed us.”

“I missed you too, baby,” she said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “And I promise—I’m going to do better. No more disappearing acts, no more secrets. I’m here. Okay?”

I nodded, my arms wrapping around her as I pulled her closer. For a moment, we just stayed like that, holding each other in the quiet comfort of our shared space. It felt like a weight had been lifted, like the walls I’d built around myself were finally crumbling.

After a few minutes, Billie pulled back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You know,” she said, her lips quirking into a small smile, “I still have the ring.”

My eyes widened slightly. “You do?”

She nodded, her grin growing wider. “Yeah. I mean, the proposal didn’t go as planned, but…” She trailed off, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. My breath hitched as she opened it, revealing a stunning ring that caught the light just right. It was simple yet elegant, exactly what I would’ve chosen for myself.

“Billie…” I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth as tears spilled over.

She slid off the bed and knelt on one knee, her expression turning serious as she looked up at me. “I know this isn’t how I wanted it to happen, and I know I have a lot to make up for,” she began. “But there’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of, Y/N—you’re it for me. You’ve always been it. And I don’t want to spend another second without you knowing how much you mean to me.”

She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she held the ring. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

I couldn’t speak. My heart felt like it might burst out of my chest as I nodded furiously, my tears falling freely. “Yes,” I finally choked out. “Of course, yes.”

A wide grin spread across her face as she slipped the ring onto my finger, and then she was pulling me into her arms again, spinning me around as laughter bubbled out of both of us. It wasn’t the proposal she’d planned, but it was perfect in its own way. It was us.

And in that moment, I knew—no matter what challenges we faced, we’d face them together. Because Billie was mine, and I was hers. Always.

Still got MAJORS writers block so bare with me yn’s k? Thank youuuu

[bigheadbrooke-9]

⋆✴︎˚｡Never understood✶⋆.˚

Eddie Munson x plus size!reader

Summary: Bullied for your body all your life, you struggled to speak, to make friends, to exist without judgment. High school brought relief—until senior year, when the torment returned, crushing your spirit.But Eddie Munson was always there. Your best friend, your safe haven. And though he saw himself as just that, your heart knew better. With him, you were never just enough—you were everything. Until you broke.

Warnings : Bullying, Harassment, yelling crying, talks about Ed, Eddie being an absolute sweetheart, use of y/n fluff

As I raised my hand to answer the difficult question on the board, Carol’s sharp voice cut through the classroom.

“Of course, she’s going to raise her hand,” she sneered. “But she can’t even raise a weight.”

Laughter rippled through her side of the room. She smirked, exchanging a triumphant high-five with Kate, their amusement at my expense evident. My hand wavered for a moment before I let it fall back to my desk. If they didn’t want my help, then I wouldn’t give it. Let them struggle with the answer on their own.

Miss Kelly glanced up from her desk, scanning the room. “Let’s see… who haven’t I called on today?”

I sighed inwardly, already knowing the answer. I was one of the only students who consistently participated, so I knew I’d be chosen. I rested my head against my hand, bracing myself for what would come next.

“I bet Y/N knows,” Kate chimed in, her voice dripping with mockery. “It probably has something to do with food.”

Another wave of laughter echoed around the room. My stomach twisted. Why couldn’t they just leave me alone? I had never done anything to them. I barely even spoke to them, yet they took every opportunity to tear me down. I clenched my jaw and turned my gaze to the wall, trying to steady my breathing.

But before I could shrink any further into myself, Miss Kelly’s voice rang out, sharp and unwavering.

“Y/N is the only person passing my class,” she said firmly, her eyes locking onto Kate. “And you’re the one thinking about food right now, considering this says ‘atoms and not apples.’ I suggest you stop trying to bully my students.”

The room fell silent. Carol and Kate looked stunned, clearly not expecting to be called out so directly. I glanced at them just in time to catch the glare Kate shot me, while Carol merely rolled her eyes. I smirked slightly, satisfied with the turn of events.

Miss Kelly’s voice softened as she turned back to me. “Y/N, would you mind answering the question? You always explain things so well.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, clearing my throat before speaking. I answered the question quickly and clearly, providing a brief explanation as I went. Miss Kelly smiled approvingly and gave me a small nod.

Behind me, I heard the unmistakable sound of scoffs and whispers. But I ignored them. Let them talk.

I just couldn’t wait to get out of here.

Eddie had to stay behind today for a Hellfire campaign, which meant I had to walk home alone. Normally, he would never allow that—he was fiercely protective, always insisting on driving me or walking with me, no matter how inconvenient it was for him. But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. As far as he was concerned, I’d just tell him my mom or dad picked me up.

Shrugging my backpack higher onto my shoulders, I pushed open the heavy school doors and stepped outside. The late afternoon air was crisp, the sun beginning its slow descent, casting an orange glow over the pavement. My house was only about ten minutes away—a convenience I had always appreciated. I took a deep breath and started across the parking lot, my steps steady, my mind occupied with the soft tune I began humming under my breath.

It was one of Eddie’s unreleased songs, a melody I had memorized just from hearing him strum it absentmindedly during lunch breaks or in his room. Even without lyrics, the song was beautiful—haunting in a way only Eddie’s music could be. I loved it.

Lost in thought, I almost didn’t notice the sound of tires screeching softly against the pavement. My humming faltered as I turned my head, my stomach twisting when I saw a sleek red car rolling up beside me. My heart sank the moment I recognized it.

Carol.

A loud groan escaped me before I could stop it. As if the day hadn’t been bad enough, now I had to deal with her and her little entourage. The passenger-side window rolled down, followed by the backseat, and immediately, I was met with the sound of laughter—sharp, cruel giggles that sent a shiver down my spine.

“First time exercising, huh?” Carol’s voice was sickly sweet, her grin lopsided as she leaned against the door, watching me like I was some kind of joke.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to keep walking. Normally, I ignored them—I let their words slide off me like water, let their laughter ring in my ears without giving them the satisfaction of a reaction. But not today.

Today, I was done.

Exhaling sharply, I came to a stop, rubbing a hand down my face before turning to look at them. My voice was calm, steady—colder than even I expected when I finally spoke.

“You know,” I said, tilting my head, “with the number of guys you’ve been with, there’s about an 85 percent chance you have HSV-1.” I let the words settle for a second before adding, “That’s herpes, in case you didn’t know.”

Silence.

Carol’s smirk vanished in an instant, her expression twisting from amusement to fury. The other girls in the car stared, their laughter cut short, their faces a mixture of shock and discomfort.

For a split second, I thought that maybe—just maybe—they’d let it go. That I’d finally shut them up.

But then Carol’s lips curled into something even more dangerous.

Before I could react, she reached into the car and grabbed something from the seat beside her.

I barely had time to flinch before a balloon came hurtling toward me, bursting on impact. A thick, sticky substance exploded across my body, splattering against my skin, soaking into my clothes, dripping down my arms and legs.

It took me a moment to register what had just happened.

And then I saw it.

Red.

Bright, sickeningly vibrant red paint, splattered across my face, my hair, my clothes—seeping into the fabric, trickling down onto the pavement beneath me.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

A sharp, choked noise escaped my throat—a half-formed scream, raw and disbelieving. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It had to be a nightmare.

But the cruel laughter echoing from the car told me otherwise.

Tears burned in my eyes, mixing with the wet paint as they slid down my cheeks. The car sped off, their laughter fading into the distance, leaving me standing there—humiliated, frozen, the paint drying and cracking against my skin.

And then, the sobs broke free.

Loud. Ugly. Uncontrollable.

I had to get home.

Eddie’s pov

The campaign meeting had just wrapped up, and the energy in the room was electric. Laughter and high-fives were exchanged as we celebrated another legendary session. The guys were still buzzing with excitement, recounting their best moments, and I couldn’t help but grin. These nights were what I lived for—getting lost in the world we created, surrounded by my friends, with nothing to worry about.

At least, that’s what I thought.

“Oh, Eddie, can I talk to you real quick?”

Dustin’s voice cut through the noise, and the seriousness in his tone hit me like a slap. The kid was always full of energy, always running his mouth about something, but now? Now, he was quiet. Controlled. And that made my stomach twist.

He grabbed my sleeve and pulled me toward the school doors, his grip tighter than usual.

“What’s up, kid?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to read his expression. His face was tense, his usual excitement nowhere to be found. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

“Why didn’t you take Y/N home today?”

Shit.

My heart dropped to my stomach. I was supposed to drive her home. I always drove her home. It was an unspoken rule between us—because her parents didn’t get back until late, and I hated the idea of her walking alone. But tonight, I’d been so caught up in the campaign that I completely forgot.

“Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “I forgot. Why?”

Dustin hesitated. That hesitation made my chest tighten. The kid never hesitated. If he wasn’t running his mouth, something was wrong.

“When she was walking home,” he started, shifting uncomfortably, “I was locking up my bike, and I saw Carol and Kate… and a couple of their friends.”

Everything inside me went still.

Carol. Kate. Those pieces of shit.

I already knew where this was going. I had seen how they treated Y/N—heard the whispers, caught the cruel laughter in the hallways, seen the way she shrunk into herself when they passed by. It made me sick. I hated them. Hated how they latched onto her like leeches, feeding off her pain for their own amusement.

And I hated that I wasn’t there to stop it.

“What did they do?” My voice was low, steady—but there was a sharpness underneath, a dangerous edge that made Dustin shift under my gaze.

“They…” He swallowed hard, looking away. “They threw paint on her.”

My blood ran cold.

They did what?

For a second, I thought I misheard him. That maybe my brain refused to process the words. Y/N never talked about how bad things got. I knew she was tired—I saw it in the way she carried herself, the way she avoided talking about school, the way she forced that little smile like it would be enough to convince me she was fine.

But she wasn’t.

And now, they had humiliated her.

Publicly.

A slow, simmering rage started to build in my chest, spreading like wildfire. My jaw clenched, my fists curling so tight my knuckles turned white.

Carol and her friends thought they could get away with this. That no one would stop them. That she would stay quiet, just like always.

Not this time.

Without another word, I pushed myself off the wall and started walking. Fast.

“Eddie, wait—no, don’t—” Dustin called after me, but his voice became muffled as I picked up my pace.

I didn’t stop. I didn’t hesitate.

I hopped into my van, slammed the door shut, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, the sound vibrating through my bones. My grip on the steering wheel was so tight my fingers ached, but I didn’t care.

They were going to regret this.

I peeled out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the pavement, my only thought being find her.

Y/n’s pov

The second I stepped into my room, the weight of everything hit me all at once. My body felt heavy, exhausted from the walk home, from the humiliation, from the burning stares that had followed me. My clothes clung to my skin, the thick red paint dried and cracked in some places, sticky in others. The scent of it filled my nose—chemical, suffocating, a physical reminder of their cruelty.

I stood in front of my mirror, staring at my reflection as the reality of what had happened settled in. My chest tightened, a sob clawing its way up my throat. Without thinking, I started peeling off my clothes, yanking them away as though that would somehow erase what had been done to me. My socks were practically ripped off in frustration, my fingers shaking as I pulled at the fabric. I wanted it gone. I wanted this feeling gone.

Why me?

What did I do to deserve this?

Would it stop if I lost weight? Would people finally treat me like a normal human being if I wasn’t this?

I bit my lip, fighting the lump in my throat as I stepped into the shower. The moment the hot water hit my skin, streaks of red swirled down the drain, mixing with my tears. The paint stained my hands, my arms, my hair—no matter how much I scrubbed, it felt like it was still there.

Like they were still there.

Their laughter echoed in my mind, their taunts wrapping around me like a vice. It was never-ending. No matter how much I kept my head down, no matter how hard I tried to be invisible, they always noticed. They always made it a point to remind me that I was different.

That I wasn’t enough.

I lost track of time, only realizing how long I had been standing under the water when the steam in the bathroom made it difficult to breathe. My skin was raw from scrubbing, my face puffy, my eyes barely open from all the crying. My head throbbed—a dull, rhythmic pounding, like my brain was trying to escape my skull.

Slowly, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel before slipping into a pair of comfortable clothes. My hands were still trembling as I moved toward my mirror, my breath unsteady.

I hesitated before looking at my reflection.

I didn’t look that bad, did I?

But that voice in my head—the one that had been planted there after years of ridicule—whispered back at me. Nobody likes fat girls.

That’s what I always thought.

That’s what they made me believe.

I ran my hands over my arms, gripping the soft flesh beneath my fingertips, tugging at it as if I could somehow make it disappear. My vision blurred again as I covered my face with my hands. I hated this. I hated me. And it was all I could think about, all I could feel, all I could be.

The sound of my bedroom door opening made me flinch. I barely had time to wipe my tears before I saw him.

Eddie.

His hair was messier than usual, strands sticking to his flushed face. His breathing was uneven, like he had run straight here. But what caught me off guard the most was the look in his eyes—pure, unfiltered rage. It wasn’t a look he wore often.

He didn’t hesitate.

He closed the distance between us in seconds, wrapping me in the tightest hug I had ever received. His arms were strong, unyielding, as if he was trying to hold me together, trying to protect me from something that had already shattered me.

And that made me cry even harder.

I clung to him, burying my face in his chest, my body shaking with sobs. He held me closer, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other rested against my back, grounding me.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” His voice was rough, thick with emotion. He pulled back just enough to search my face, his brown eyes scanning every inch of me. “Why did they do that to you?”

I was so tired.

So angry.

So done.

“They’ve been doing this for years, Eddie,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “Every damn day. But this year? Senior year has been nothing but hell for me.” I took a shaky breath, my hands falling to my sides as the words poured out of me—years of pain, years of silence breaking all at once. “I go to school, I do my work, I don’t even talk to anyone—I mind my business—and I still get bullied. Every single day. And why? Because I’m fat. That’s all it takes, Eddie. It’s not because I’m mean or because I don’t have a good personality. It’s because of this.” I gestured to my body, my voice rising. “They don’t like me because I take up too much space. They don’t like me because I don’t look like them. They talk about me like I’m some kind of disease, like I’m nothing but my weight.”

Eddie’s face fell.

He had never seen me like this. He had never heard me yell—especially not at him. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“No one understands how I feel,” I whispered, my voice raw. “How much it affects me. I don’t want to go to school anymore, Eddie. I can’t.”

Silence.

I turned away, walking to my bed, feeling completely drained. I didn’t even care if he responded. I had nothing left in me.

For a long moment, Eddie didn’t say anything. And then—

“I didn’t know.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I didn’t know how bad it was, Y/N.”

I heard him step closer, but I didn’t look at him.

“Do you really think—if I knew—that I would’ve let you go through that alone?” His voice wavered slightly, but there was an undeniable anger simmering beneath it. “They’re assholes, Y/N. Assholes who have nothing better to do than tear you down because they’re miserable. And you wanna know the truth? You’re not the problem. Not even close.”

I finally turned to face him. His hands were clenched into fists, his jaw tight, but his eyes… they were filled with something deep. Something real.

“You are, without a doubt, the kindest, most amazing person at Hawkins High,” he said, his voice unwavering. “And I don’t just say that because you’re my best friend. You are good. You don’t tear people down. You don’t talk shit. You don’t deserve this. Any of this.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Your body? Beautiful. You? Beautiful. And I know—I know there’s only so much I can do. But I am here. No matter what.”

Tears burned at my eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from sadness. They were from something else.

Something like hope.

“It’s always been like this,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Ever since I was a kid. Ever since I was old enough to notice the way people looked at me.” I hesitated before pulling back just enough to look up at him. “You ever had people talk about you like you weren’t even there? Like you were just—a thing?”

His expression darkened instantly. “Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “Yeah, I have.”

Of course, he had. Eddie Munson wasn’t exactly treated kindly by Hawkins High either. People called him a freak, a loser, a dropout. He knew what it felt like to be othered.

But I shook my head. “It’s different,” I said. “People judge you for who you are. They make fun of you because of your music, your style, the way you talk. That’s something you do. Something you choose.” My voice trembled. “I never chose this, Eddie.”

His whole body tensed. His hands, which had been resting on my back, tightened his grip just slightly—like he was physically restraining himself from getting up and fixing everything right now.

“They talk about me like I’m wrong,” I continued,“Like my body is some kind of punishment, or a joke. It doesn’t matter what I do. If I wear something baggy, I’m ‘hiding my fat.’ If I wear something nice, I ‘shouldn’t be flaunting it.’ If I eat too little, I’m ‘trying too hard to be skinny.’ If I eat normally, I’m ‘overeating.’” My jaw clenched. “Nothing I do is right.”

Eddie exhaled sharply, like he had been holding his breath the entire time I was talking. “Jesus, Y/N.” His voice was thick with emotion.

I let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t see it because they don’t do it around you. They know better.” I looked up at him again. “But when you’re not there? It’s bad. And I just… stopped telling you. Because what was the point? What could you even do?”

Eddie’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists against the sheets. “I could’ve done something,” he ground out. “I would’ve.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to. You already get shit from people. I didn’t want to drag you into my problems.”

“You are not a problem. You are not some burden I have to deal with. You are my best goddamn friend, Y/N. The only reason I’m pissed is because I didn’t know. Because I should’ve. Because I should’ve been there.” His thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen. “And you never have to hide this shit from me again. Ever.”

I swallowed, feeling my throat close up again.

He meant it.

Every single word.

I really needed him.

Hey everyone, I’m starting to get a request and I was wondering if you guys wanted an 100 follower special if you do just re-blog or comment and if you put in a request, it will be done by the end of the week. Thank you so much. See you guys next week. <3

[bigheadbrooke-9]

Hi! Can I request a fic for Kit Walker where reader is the psychiatrist assigned to examine him for trial (instead of Thredson), and she is instructed to declare him guilty, but she starts to see the truth and his innocence and is conflicted about her task and how to help him? Thank you.

⋆.˚ Conflicted ｡𖦹°‧

Kit walker x psychiatrist!reader

Summary: As a psychiatrist, you had worked in countless asylums, but Briarcliff Manor was unlike any other—chaotic, unpredictable, and home to the most unsettling individuals. You had treated murderers, the delusional, the truly lost, yet nothing could have prepared you for what lay beyond its walls.Your assignment was Kit Walker, a man already presumed guilty by the court. The judge expected you to confirm what they all believed—that he belonged behind bars. Your job was to get inside his mind, dissect his thoughts, and seal his fate.But you weren’t one to take things at face value. Instead, you decided to uncover the truth for yourself.

A/n: AYEEEEE FIRST REQUEST IM EXCITED WOOT WOOT, anyway I haven’t watched ahs in like a year so excuse me if I don’t get everything right thank you for the request anon 💜

As the judge’s gavel slammed down, signaling the end of the hearing, I remained seated, my fingers gripping the case file a little too tightly. The words rang in my ears—He has killed many women, including his wife. There are no other suspects but him. It was presented so definitively, so matter-of-factly, yet something about it didn’t sit right with me. The details were too clean, too convenient. In my fifteen years as a psychiatrist, I had met and studied countless criminals—serial killers, sociopaths, people truly lost to their madness. But Kit Walker? His profile didn’t fit.

“Bloody Face.” I scoffed under my breath as I stood, smoothing out the creases in my blouse. “What are we, in the fifth grade? Giving killers nicknames like it’s a horror novel?” My voice was low, but sharp enough to make the judge glance my way.

He sighed, already tired of my defiance. “Dr. L/N, your job is not to question the verdict—it is to evaluate the subject. Walker is set to plead guilty. We simply need insight into how he did it and why. That is your assignment.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to argue further. “With all due respect, Your Honor,” I said carefully, “I don’t evaluate cases based on convenience. If I’m going to get inside this man’s head, I need to know everything. And right now, what I see is an incomplete puzzle.”

The judge exhaled sharply, clearly unimpressed. “Court is adjourned.” The gavel struck again, and just like that, my protests were dismissed.

As the room emptied, I lingered, my eyes scanning the documents once more. The crime scene photos, the witness statements, the autopsy reports—all pointing to Kit Walker. All too perfect. I had spent my career untangling the minds of killers, understanding their triggers, their motivations. And something about this? It felt…wrong.

Fine. If no one else was going to ask the right questions, I would.

I closed the file, tucked it under my arm, and walked out of the courtroom with only one goal in mind—find the truth.

Briarcliff Manor

The air inside Briarcliff Manor was thick with despair, a suffocating weight that clung to the walls and settled in the bones of those who walked its halls. The wails of patients echoed through the corridors, a chilling symphony of suffering that never seemed to cease. The scent of antiseptic and something far more unpleasant lingered in the air, a reminder of the institution’s harsh methods.

As I walked beside Sister Jude, I observed the residents—frail women with vacant stares, their threadbare garments hanging loosely over their malnourished frames. Some mumbled prayers under their breath, others simply sat motionless, their eyes hollow and unfocused. It was a grim sight, one that only reinforced the dark reputation Briarcliff had earned.

“Hello, Sister Jude. How are you today?” I asked, breaking the silence between us.

She clutched the rosary hanging from her neck, pressing it to her chest as if seeking divine guidance. “I am well, child,” she replied, her voice firm, yet carrying a reverence that spoke of her unwavering faith. “The Lord walks with me through all things. Amen.” Her lips moved in silent prayer before she turned her sharp gaze back to me. “I assume you are prepared for what awaits you beyond this door?”

Before I could respond, she reached for the heavy iron handle of the door in front of us, her expression darkening. “The things this man has done are beyond comprehension,” she continued, her voice lowering to a grave tone. “May Jesus have mercy on his soul. His behavior has been unacceptable, and we do not tolerate such disobedience here. Punishment is necessary—it is the only way to correct a lost soul.” With that, she pushed the door open, gesturing for me to step inside.

I hesitated for only a moment before entering, my eyes immediately falling upon the figure bound to the bed. Kit Walker.

His wrists and ankles were strapped tightly to the bedposts, the restraints digging so harshly into his skin that angry red marks and bruises had begun to form. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his breathing labored. Sweat clung to his skin, and his face was flushed, his exhaustion evident in the way his eyelids fluttered, barely able to stay open. Whatever punishment had been inflicted upon him had taken its toll.

I swallowed hard, the sight of him stirring something uneasy in my chest. I had read his case file over and over, studied every account given, every piece of so-called evidence, and yet, something about it never sat right with me. The accusations against him were horrific, unspeakable even, but as I looked at him now—this young man, beaten down and broken—I couldn’t help but wonder if he truly belonged in a place like this.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice in an attempt to sound reassuring. “Hello, Kit. My name is Y/N L/N. I’m your new psychiatrist.” I gave him a small, hesitant smile, though I knew it was unlikely to offer any real comfort in his current state. “I’ll be here every day, and you can talk to me whenever you need to.”

For a moment, I almost reached out to shake his hand, a simple gesture of introduction, before I realized how pointless it was. His hands were bound—tightly. Instead, I let my gaze flicker back to his, searching for any sign of recognition, of trust, or even just understanding. But Kit only blinked at me, too weak to say much, his expression unreadable.

Before I could say anything else, Sister Jude abruptly took hold of my arm, pulling me aside with a firm grip. Her eyes bore into mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. “This boy has attempted to escape too many times,” she whispered, her voice low yet brimming with authority. “He is troubled, filled with demons, and I fear they will consume him entirely if something is not done. Please, child, do what you can to help this poor lost soul. But do not let your heart be fooled—he is not as innocent as he may seem.”

I nodded slowly, though I wasn’t sure I agreed.

As she released my arm, I turned back to Kit, watching as a nun dabbed at his forehead with a damp cloth. He remained silent, but his eyes flickered toward me, studying me just as I had been studying him.

And in that moment, I made a decision.

Regardless of what Sister Jude or anyone else believed about Kit Walker, I was going to uncover the truth myself.

Day one

The air between us was thick with silence as I settled into the chair across from him, my legs crossing instinctively as I flipped through my notes. His posture was tense, his fingers fidgeting as his gaze flickered around the dimly lit room. The stark walls of Briarcliff loomed around us, casting long shadows under the flickering fluorescent lights. He had barely spoken since I arrived, and I could tell he was wary—perhaps even afraid—to break the silence.

Clearing my throat gently, I finally spoke, my tone measured yet inviting.

“What was your life like before you were accused, Kit?”

His fingers momentarily stilled before resuming their restless motion. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge my words right away. It was as if he was afraid to speak—as if forming words would solidify the nightmare his life had become.

Leaning forward slightly, I softened my voice. “You can talk to me, Kit. Anything we discuss stays between us unless you express intent to harm yourself, harm others, or escape. Otherwise, this space is yours.” I placed my clipboard down on my lap, hoping to make the conversation feel less clinical, less like an interrogation and more like an opportunity for him to finally be heard.

For a moment, there was nothing but the distant echoes of Briarcliff—the occasional scream from the hall, the sound of hurried footsteps outside the door. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I didn’t kill those girls.”

It was the first sentence I had heard from him since stepping into the room, his voice thick with an accent that only made his words feel more resolute. He wasn’t just saying it—he believed it, knew it.

I nodded but didn’t press further on that just yet. I wanted to ease him into this, to hear about his life in his own words, not the ones already plastered in reports and case files.

“That’s not what I asked, Kit,” I said gently. “We’ll get to that when you’re ready. Right now, I just want to know about your life with Alma. What was it like?”

The second her name left my lips, his entire demeanor shifted. His pupils dilated, his jaw tightened, and his fingers picked relentlessly at his nails. The mention of his wife clearly struck something deep within him.

“I loved that woman,” he said, his voice quieter now, but heavy with emotion. “I would’ve done anything for her. I woulda never—eva—hurt her.”

His accent thickened as his emotions swelled, and I could see the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. He swiped at his face quickly, as if trying to erase the evidence of any tears before they could fall.

“She was all I had,” he admitted, his voice raw. “And now she’s gone.”

A sharp pang of empathy struck me. This wasn’t just a man accused of a crime—this was a husband who had lost his wife in the most inexplicable, terrifying way.

“I wish I could’ve helped ‘ha that night,” he continued, his voice thick with regret. “There—there was nothin’ I could do about it. I miss her so much.”

He let his head fall into his hands, his shoulders shaking slightly, though he was trying to contain it.

I hesitated before asking my next question, not wanting to push too hard, but knowing we had to go there eventually. “Do you remember what happened that night?”

Kit didn’t lift his head. He just shook it, a slow, almost reluctant movement.

“I don’t remember much…” His voice was hoarse now, as if the words physically hurt to say. “But that night—”

He cut himself off abruptly, rubbing at his tired, reddened eyes. I could see the weight of it pressing down on him, the sheer exhaustion of reliving something he barely understood himself.

I sighed heavily.

The silence between us stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Kit’s breathing had slowed, but his shoulders remained tense, his fingers still anxiously worrying at the edge of his sleeve. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows along the peeling walls of the small room.

I gave him a moment to collect himself before speaking again, my voice steady but gentle. “Kit, I need you to try and remember. Even if it’s just fragments—anything from that night might help us understand what really happened.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he exhaled shakily. “I—I remember Alma screamin’,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “She was right there in front of me, and then—then there was this light. So goddamn bright I couldn’t see anythin’. It was like the whole room got swallowed up in it.”

His brows furrowed as he spoke, frustration flickering in his dark eyes as if he were trying to chase down memories that kept slipping through his fingers.

“And then?” I prompted, leaning in slightly.

Kit’s fingers curled into fists. “I couldn’t move. It was like somethin’ had me pinned down. I heard her screamin’ my name, but I couldn’t do nothin’. And then…” His voice hitched, his jaw tightening. “Then she was gone.”

The raw devastation in his tone sent a chill down my spine. His grief wasn’t performative—it was visceral, consuming. Whatever had happened that night, he had lived through something traumatic. Whether it was an abduction or something else entirely, it was clear that he believed every word.

I let the silence settle, allowing him space to process before I spoke again. “You said there was a bright light. Do you remember anything else? Any sounds? Figures? Anything unusual before Alma disappeared?”

Kit hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Yeah,” he admitted after a long pause. “There was a sound—like…buzzin’. Like electricity hummin’ real loud in my ears. And these…shadows. Shapes movin’ through the light, but I couldn’t make ‘em out. It was like my head wasn’t workin’ right, like I was half-dreamin’ or somethin’.”

His gaze flickered to mine then, a desperate sort of plea in his expression. “I know how it sounds. I know everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

I studied him carefully. “Do you think you’re crazy?”

He blinked at me, startled by the question. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No.”

The conviction in his voice was unmistakable.

“Then that’s what matters right now,” I said firmly. “I’m not here to judge what happened. I just want to help you make sense of it.”

Kit exhaled shakily, nodding, though he still seemed unconvinced that I—anyone—truly believed him.

I reached for my clipboard, glancing at the clock on the wall. Our session was nearly over. “You did well today, Kit. We’ll keep working through this, piece by piece.”

He gave a small nod, but his expression was unreadable.

I stood, smoothing down my dress. “If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

As I turned to leave, I caught one last glimpse of him—sitting there, shoulders hunched, eyes distant, as if he were trapped somewhere between reality and memory.

This was going to be harder than I thought.

—

That night, the asylum felt even colder than usual. I had retired to my small quarters, curling beneath the thin blankets in an attempt to block out the distant sounds of screaming and murmured prayers that echoed down the dimly lit halls.

Sleep came slowly, my mind still tangled in the complexities of Kit Walker.

Then—a knock at my door.

Soft, hesitant.

I groggily blinked at the clock on the bedside table. 2:53 a.m.

My stomach twisted with unease. No one should be knocking at my door at this hour.

Dragging myself from the bed, I cautiously approached, my hand hovering over the handle before I finally pulled it open.

Kit stood there in the dim light of the hallway, his body tense, his fingers twitching as he picked at his nails—a nervous habit I was beginning to recognize.

But when he stepped forward, into the faint glow of my bedside lamp, my breath caught in my throat.

His face was battered, swollen, the deep purple of a fresh bruise blooming around his left eye. Scratches ran down the side of his jaw, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. He was shaking, barely keeping himself upright.

“Kit—”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

Without another word, I grabbed his wrist—gently, careful not to startle him—and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind us.

The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in a fragile cocoon of dim light and silence. Kit stood in the center of my small room, his breathing uneven, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. Now that he was up close, I could see just how much worse the bruising was—deep splotches of angry purples and blues spreading across his cheekbone, his split lip swollen and raw. The scratches lining his jaw were thin but fresh, stark against his pale skin. His collar was askew, revealing more bruising down the column of his throat.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay composed. “Who did this to you?”

Kit hesitated, shifting his weight as he glanced toward the door, as if expecting someone to be listening in. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

“Yes, it does.” I stepped forward, lowering my voice. “You came to me, Kit. That means you want help.”

His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking beneath his bruised skin. He looked exhausted, worn thin by fear and pain. Slowly, he lifted a trembling hand and rubbed at the back of his neck. “They do this to keep me in line. To make me ‘confess’ to things I didn’t do.” He let out a humorless laugh, but there was no real amusement in his eyes. “Sister Jude calls it discipline. I call it bullshit.”

Rage simmered beneath my ribs, though I forced myself to remain calm. Briarcliff wasn’t just a prison for the mentally unstable—it was a breeding ground for cruelty, a place where punishments were disguised as divine justice. I had heard whispers of the punishments before I arrived, but seeing it firsthand—seeing the proof carved into Kit’s skin—was another matter entirely.

I took a slow breath, forcing my hands to remain steady as I gestured toward the small chair beside my desk. “Sit down. Let me clean you up.”

Kit hesitated, his gaze flickering between me and the chair. Then, with an almost reluctant nod, he lowered himself into it, wincing as his body adjusted.

I moved quickly, retrieving a small first aid kit from my bedside drawer. It wasn’t much—just basic medical supplies I had brought with me—but it would have to do. Kneeling in front of him, I dampened a cloth and reached for his face, but he flinched before I could touch him.

I stilled, my hand hovering just inches from his skin. “I won’t hurt you,” I said softly.

He exhaled sharply, nodding once before allowing me to continue.

I worked carefully, dabbing at the cut on his lip, the cloth turning pink with diluted blood. He barely reacted, his jaw tight as he stared past me, as if he had trained himself to endure pain in silence.

“How often does this happen?” I asked, my voice quiet.

Kit let out a hollow laugh. “Often enough.”

I swallowed back my frustration, focusing on my task. “You shouldn’t have to go through this, Kit.”

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, “lotta things I shouldn’t have to go through.”

I bit my tongue, knowing I couldn’t argue with that. His entire existence in Briarcliff was a cruel, undeserved punishment.

As I finished cleaning his wounds, I pressed a cold compress gently against the bruise beneath his eye. Kit hissed softly at the contact, his hand twitching in his lap.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

He shook his head. “S’not your fault.”

For a moment, we just sat there in silence. His breathing had slowed, his shoulders losing some of their earlier tension. The warmth of the room, the gentle press of my hand against his skin—it was likely the first kind touch he had felt in a long time.

Then, softly, he spoke. “Why are you helpin’ me?”

I looked up, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes were filled with something I couldn’t quite name—skepticism, maybe, or something softer, something like hope.

“Because I believe you.”

The words hung between us, heavier than I expected.

Kit blinked, his throat working as he swallowed. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but no words came.

A knock at the door shattered the moment.

Kit tensed immediately, his body going rigid as his gaze darted toward the sound. I stood quickly, my pulse spiking.

“Dr. L/N?” A voice called from the other side. A nun.

I exhaled sharply, turning back to Kit. “You can’t be here,” I whispered.

He nodded, already standing. “I know.”

I glanced around the room quickly. There was nowhere for him to hide.

Another knock. “Doctor?”

Shit.

I turned back to Kit, gripping his wrist. “Stay quiet.”

Then, squaring my shoulders, I crossed the room and opened the door.

CLIFFHANGERRRRRRRR lowkey love kit Walker he is a sweetheart 😭

[bigheadbrooke-9]

.𖥔 ݁ Tired .☘︎ ݁˖

Eddie Munson x afab!reader

Summary: You and Eddie Munson were never friends—your only connections in Hawkins were Robin, Nancy, and Steve. But with the terrifying Vecna killings unfolding, fate forced you together. Tasked with venturing into the Upside Down alongside Nancy, Robin, Eddie, and Steve, your group had no choice but to split up in a desperate attempt to defeat Vecna. When the moment of truth arrived, Eddie made a choice—he refused to run this time.

Warnings : Mention of blood( and touching it ) , this is really really really sad so please read with caution. Crying,angst.

Word count : 2.0k

“Eddie, it’s done! Come on!” I shouted, my breath ragged as we ducked behind one of the rusting trailers, the echoes of his reckless, metal-fueled concert still ringing in my ears. The swarm of demonic bats had turned away from the others—Nancy, Robin, and Steve—fixated now on us.

We didn’t wait. We ran.

The moment my feet hit the pedals of my bike, a burning ache spread through my calves, but I forced myself to push harder. Eddie was right behind me, his frantic breaths almost in sync with the pounding of my heart. The sickly air of the Upside Down clung to us like a second skin, thick with death, decay, and something even worse—inevitability.

“Eddie, we can still make it! I know a shortcut, we just have to—”

Before I could finish, the bats—relentless, monstrous things—turned with unnatural speed, swarming back toward us. My stomach dropped. We weren’t fast enough.

I barely had time to react before my bike hit a jagged bump in the road. The impact sent me flying—weightless, helpless—until I collided with the ground.

Pain erupted through my side as I crashed into the sludge-covered earth, the sharp sting of gravel scraping my skin. “Fuck!” The curse ripped from my throat, but it was drowned out by the sound of screeching wings above us.

Eddie slammed his brakes, skidding to a stop before leaping off his bike and rushing to me. He didn’t hesitate. Not this time.

“Shit, sweetheart—” He crouched beside me, his rough hands gripping the back of my knee and my forearm as he pulled me into his arms. Effortless.

I groaned against his shoulder as he hoisted me up, my body trembling from a combination of pain and exhaustion. He was running, but he wouldn’t make it far—not carrying me, not with those things closing in. The screeching above us grew louder. I barely registered his fingers pressing gentle, grounding circles into my hip as he sprinted toward another trailer, a last-ditch effort for shelter.

By the time he reached it, his breaths were sharp, his chest rising and falling too fast. He lowered me onto the cold metal siding, his hands steady despite the chaos around us.

“Shit—oh my god, okay, sit up for me,” he said, voice tight.

I tried. Failed. Every twitch, every breath sent white-hot agony lancing through my ribs. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only raw, unfiltered pain.

Eddie’s gaze dropped to my side, his face paling. I followed his eyes, swallowing hard as I lifted my shaking hand. Blood. A deep, crimson stain smeared across my palm, growing, spreading.

“We have to go, Eddie,” I choked out, my voice weaker than I wanted it to be. My hand shot up, pointing behind him.

He turned.

And froze.

The bats were everywhere. A vicious, writhing mass of wings and fangs, surging toward us like a living nightmare. He looked back at me then—his face unreadable, except for the stark, unmistakable fear in his eyes.

I knew that look. I knew what he was about to do.

“No.” My voice cracked. I reached for him, grabbing his arm with as much strength as I had left. “You’re not doing it. Don’t even think about it, Munson.”

But Eddie only smiled. Soft. Sad. Final.

“I’ll be the distraction,” he murmured, like it was that simple. Like he wasn’t about to throw himself into certain death.

My heart stopped.

“Eddie, don’t you dare—”

He gently ripped a piece of fabric from his already-torn sleeve, pressing it against my wound with careful precision. The pressure made me gasp, my body recoiling instinctively. His grip tightened—not rough, not forceful, but grounding. Steady.

“Just hold that there, sweetheart.” His voice was almost soothing. “You have to run. Just—run and hide, okay?”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head violently. “You’re not doing this. I won’t let you walk over there and—”

A sharp, stabbing pain cut me off, my insides clenching. I let out a choked sound, my nails digging into his arm as I fought against the pain, fought against him.

He turned away.

“I have to do this,” he said simply. Like it was already decided.

Like it wasn’t killing him, too.

I could barely breathe as he grabbed his makeshift spear and battered shield, standing tall even as the bats grew closer. I wanted to scream, to claw at him, to drag him back down with me if I had to.

“Eddie—”

He squeezed my hand one last time. And then—

He ran.

Straight into the storm.

“EDDIE, DON’T!” My scream ripped through the air, raw and desperate. “PLEASE, COME BACK!”

But he didn’t stop.

The bats swarmed him in seconds, engulfing him. I watched, helpless, as they ripped into him—his flesh, his skin—until I couldn’t see him anymore.

I fell to my knees.

I don’t know how long I screamed. My throat burned, my hands trembled, but I couldn’t look away. Not as he fell to the ground. Not as his body twitched and convulsed beneath them. Not as the bats finally scattered, leaving only his broken, bloodied form behind.

A gunshot rang through the air—Nancy’s shotgun. The bats screeched, retreating. The battle was over.

But Eddie—

Eddie was barely breathing.

I stumbled forward, ignoring the fiery pain in my side. I collapsed beside him, grabbing his arm, his face, anything.

“Why would you do that?” My voice broke, my hands shaking as I cupped the back of his head. “What the hell were you thinking, you absolute fucking idiot?”

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. But somehow, he still managed a weak, lopsided grin.

“You—” He coughed, his voice hoarse. “You called me an imbecile.”

Even now. Even now, he was still smiling.

I let out a strangled laugh—a sob, maybe—before shaking my head, pressing my forehead against his. “You didn’t have to do that.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “You never had to prove anything, Eddie. Not to them. Not to me.”

His breath hitched, his fingers weakly squeezing mine. “Guess I just wanted to be the hero for once.”

I bit my lip, forcing back the tears.

“You already were, dumbass.”

His eyes closed, I shook him again.

“Eddie—Eddie, wake up!”

My hands trembled as I gripped his shoulders, shaking him harder than I probably should have. His head lolled to the side, his breathing uneven, shallow. There was too much blood. His, mine—it was hard to tell which was which anymore.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath, but the fear was suffocating.

He wasn’t allowed to die. Not here, not now. Not like this.

My fingers dug into his jacket as I let out a shuddering breath. “You do not get to pull some dumbass hero stunt and then fucking die, Munson.” My voice cracked. “That’s not how this works.”

A groggy, slurred noise left his lips—something between a grunt and my name. His lashes fluttered, and for the briefest second, his brown eyes flickered open.

“S’what heroes do, sweetheart.” His voice was barely there, just a whisper of breath against my skin. “Save the day…go out in glory…”

“You are not going out, you idiot.” My hand found the back of his head, my fingers threading into his tangled curls. “Not on my watch.”

A second later, I heard Steve’s voice shouting something, but it was all a blur. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was back—sharp, relentless, punishing. My side burned like someone was pressing a red-hot blade into my ribs, but I ignored it.

Eddie needed help. Now.

“Steve!” My voice was hoarse, barely strong enough to rise above the ringing in my ears, but somehow, he heard me.

His footsteps were heavy against the dirt as he ran up, breathless. The moment he saw Eddie, his face went pale.

“Shit.” He dropped to his knees beside us, his hands hovering over Eddie’s chest, his fingers shaking. “Shit, shit, shit—”

“He needs—” My breath hitched as I pressed my hands against Eddie’s wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. “We need to get him back through the gate. Now.”

Steve nodded, his jaw clenched. “Robin! We gotta move, now!”

Eddie let out a weak groan as Steve carefully looped his arms under his shoulders, his movements quick but gentle. Robin appeared a second later, panic written all over her face as she helped grab his legs.

Eddie hissed in pain. His head tilted toward me, his glassy eyes barely focusing. “You—you’re hurt.”

I scoffed. “No shit, Sherlock.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, but the pain dragged him back under.

“Let’s move!” Nancy called out from the front, shotgun still in hand. “Hawkins is burning. We need to go, now!”

I stumbled as I got up, clutching my ribs, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. My legs felt like lead as I forced myself forward, following behind them as we made our way back toward the gate.

The world around us was crumbling—literally. The ground cracked beneath our feet, red lightning slashed through the sky, and somewhere in the distance, I heard the twisted, eerie sounds of Vecna’s final death throes.

The fight was over. But we weren’t out yet.

And Eddie—Eddie was still slipping away.

I could see it. Feel it. Every breath he took was slower than the last, every second making it harder for him to hold on.

Panic clawed at my throat. No. Not him. Not now.

I didn’t think—I just reached for his hand. His fingers were ice cold, but when I squeezed, he squeezed back.

“Stay awake, Munson,” I murmured, my voice rough, desperate. “I mean it. You do not get to die before I get to punch you for pulling this shit.”

A weak, breathless chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Romantic…”

“Shut up.”

It felt like hours before we finally reached the gate, but by some miracle, we did. The rope dangled from the ceiling above, still leading back to the real world.

Steve went first, pulling himself up with ease. Robin followed next.

Nancy helped tie Eddie’s arms securely around Steve’s neck before he was hoisted up, inch by inch. Eddie groaned, but he was too weak to fight it, his head lolling against Steve’s shoulder.

And then—it was just me and Nancy.

She turned to me, eyes flickering to the dark stain spreading along my side. I could feel my legs getting weaker, the exhaustion weighing me down.

“You first,��� she said.

I shook my head. “Not a chance.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. “You go. If I pass out halfway up, someone’s gotta pull me through.”

Her jaw tightened, but after a beat, she nodded. “Fine.”

A few minutes later, she was through.

I reached for the rope, gritting my teeth through the pain. My fingers were slick with blood—Eddie’s, mine, I didn’t know—but I didn’t stop. Didn’t let go.

And then—hands. Grabbing me. Pulling me through.

The moment I hit the ground, my vision spun. Everything hurt. But it didn’t matter—Eddie was still breathing.

I turned my head just enough to see him, lying a few feet away, surrounded by Robin and Steve.

His eyes flickered open again, hazy but alive.

Alive.

Relief crashed over me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless.

“Munson,” I called, my voice raw.

He turned his head slightly toward me, a weak smirk tugging at his lips.

“Still here, sweetheart.”

I let out a choked, half-laugh, half-sob, shaking my head as I let my head fall back against the floor.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “You better be.”

Ayeeeeee if you made a request it will be out tomorrow love you all gnn 💜

[bigheadbrooke-9]

STRANGER THINGS LINKS

Twitter links

Eddie munson ✮⋆˙

𓍯𓂃

Doggy style

Sideways ( BLACK QUEEN )

Thigh riding

Overstimulation

Dry humping

Teasing

𓍯𓂃

Gareth Emerson ✮⋆˙

𓍯𓂃

Camboy!Gareth teasing

Handjob

Secret camera

Overstimulated

Mama’s boy

Dry humping

Good boy

Face riding

𓍯𓂃

Steve Harrington ✮⋆˙

𓍯𓂃

Rubbing

Masturbating

Back shots

Fingering

Head

Dominant

Come inside

𓍯𓂃

Robin Buckley ✮⋆˙

𓍯𓂃

Fingering

Amazing head

Making out

Strap

Teasing

Tits

Riding

I KNOW IVE BEEN GOING MIA BUT I PROMISE IM THINKING OF IDEAS

I don’t like writing smut it’s so cringe for me to do so this is what I made for yall but this smut that coming up hopefully yall will like it.

<3 And so anyone who requested something I am working on it right now, so don’t worry at all.

[bigheadbrooke-9]

RULES & REGULATIONS ꨄ︎

Hi everyone,welcome to my blog this is safe space for everyone different I welcome all of you with open arms.

Masterlist

𝐈 : I’m not confident in writing smut just yet I’m just trying to figure out how to explain things and how to write it since I’ve never really written it before. I’m willing to write it but I don’t think it will be as good as yall think lol. ☪︎

𝐈𝐈: Things that I’m not comfortable with writing ☪︎

₊ ⊹ > R*pe

₊ ⊹ ^ Reason - Does it really need a reason?

That’s it

People I write for ↓

Eddie Munson ↓

Silenced no more

Giving up on it

A song written

Taking you

Another chance

Pictures

Unusual

Not that easy

Strings

Headlock

What your camera roll looks like dating Eddie

What your camera roll looks like dating Eddie pt.2

⭐️ links

Gareth Emerson

⭐️ links

Steve Harrington

⭐️ links

Billie Eilish

Tipsy

What your camera roll looks like dating Billie

Rafe Cameron

What you’re camera roll looks like dating Rafe

Evan peters

Tate Langdon

Kit walker

Tired

Jimmy darling

Aaron Taylor Johnson

Dave lizewski

Peter Parker

Harry Potter ( anyone )

Joesph Quinn

Rio - good girls

Peter Maximoff

Toji

Gojo

Sakuna

Chase Davenport

Five hargreeves

Sokka

Zuko

Any slashers

Robin Buckley

⭐️ links

—

^These will be links soon

𝐈𝐈𝐈 : It takes me a while to Edit things I won’t be editing this I’ll just do a spell check and post it I post 3 times a week and I do take requests.

𝐈𝐕: I don’t want racists homophobia or any type of hate on my blog if you do that I will in fact block you.

𝐕: If you like my blog please make sure you follow reblog or even just like don’t be a ghost.

[bigheadbrooke-9]

What your camera roll looks like dating Rafe Cameron

[bigheadbrooke-9]

What your camera looks like dating Eddie

( Text messages included ) ⭐️

[bigheadbrooke-9]

I need him badddddddddddd

KIT WALKER

edit made by me! (@ in the edit is my editing instagram)

"that's not what i'm hungry for" KITWHATDOYOUMENAOGMOGHGH

tags: @trueangel420 @ndlynw <333