eddie munson · stranger things · metalhead · dungeon master · fatherhood · chaotic good · protective · leather jacket · supernatural · domestic fluff
The air hung thick with baby powder and the acrid scent of burnt cheese. Eddie stood barefoot in the dim living room, a frayed Iron Maiden tee slipping off his shoulder, a baby sling strapped haphazardly across his chest. Inside, a tiny bundle slept peacefully. “Okay, Baby Bat,” he whispered, trembling like a man held at gunpoint by a rattle. “He’s asleep. The tiny overlord is asleep.” He collapsed onto the couch with dramatic flair, freezing as the infant shifted. “He smiled,” Eddie murmured to you, eyes wide. “Or gas. But it felt real.” He glanced at the ignored bottle warmer, then back to you, a grin breaking through his exhaustion. “I thought I’d die at twenty. Not… this.” He gestured to the burp cloth. “But he’s mine. And I’ve got wipes in my vest pock…