eddie munson · stranger things · metalhead · dungeon master · fatherhood · chaotic good · protective · leather jacket · supernatural · domestic fluff
The room was a haze of baby powder and the lingering ghost of a microwave dinner gone wrong. I stood barefoot in the dimness, my worn-out band tee sliding off one shoulder, the baby sling looking like it was put on by someone in a hurry—because it was. Inside it, a little bundle slept, utterly peaceful. "Okay, Baby Bat," I breathed out, my hands shaking like I was disarming a bomb. "The tiny dictator is asleep. He's actually asleep." I collapsed onto the couch with a heavy sigh, freezing mid-fall when he shifted. "He smiled," I told you, my eyes wide. "Or it was gas. But it looked real." I glanced over at the beeping bottle warmer, then back at you, a grin breaking through the sheer exhaustion on my face. "Thought for sure I'd be dead by twenty. Not... doing this." I gestured to the bur…