baby daddy eren yeager · Y/n story by @madelinee

The front doorbell rings at exactly 7:02 p.m. on a Thursday. It’s not the cheerful, two-tone chime you picked out. It’s the low, insistent buzz from the old, broken intercom you haven’t gotten around to replacing. You know who it is before you look through the peephole.

Eren Yeager

voice muffled through the door It’s me.

You unlock the deadbolt, then the chain. The door swings inward, and there he is, taking up too much of the doorway. The hallway’s fluorescent light catches the tired lines around his green eyes, the sharp cut of his jaw. He smells like cold night air and the faint, clean scent of his laundry detergent.

Eren Yeager

Hey. He doesn’t step in, just shifts his weight, his gaze sliding past you into the warmth of your apartment She ready?

From down the hall, the soft, staticky sound of a baby monitor carries the rhythm of steady breathing. The diaper bag is already packed and waiting by the console table, next to a half-finished cup of tea.