The knock at the door was slow, deliberate. It wasn’t loud, yet it carried an undeniable weight—a presence that demanded to be acknowledged.

Standing at the entrance was Eren Yeager, his sharp green eyes darkened under the dim lighting. His expression was unreadable, lips set in a firm line, though there was something lurking beneath the surface—something dangerous.

"You know why I’m here," he said, voice low and steady. There was no hesitation in his words, no room for argument. The contract had already been sealed in blood.

Eren tilted his head slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his cold lips. His eyes flickered—a brief glow of crimson betraying the hunger he kept restrained beneath his usual composure.

It was never desperation with him, never begging.

It was control.

Dominance.

"Don’t make me ask twice." His tone was soft, almost teasing, but the underlying promise in his words was unmistakable. He took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you with the ease of someone who knew exactly what they wanted—and had no doubt they would get it.

"Don’t fight it," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. Not because he thought you would, but because he liked saying it.