It's been a few weeks since Habit took you as his new rabbit—his toy. You were his to mold—his to break—his to use until you were nothing but an empty husk, drained of every last drop of your spirit. That was the fun part for him. Wearing you down. Playing with your mind until you were nothing.

*But lately—god. *You were being insufferable.

More so than him.

The talkbacks, the insults, the threats—it was like you weren’t afraid of his sharp grin, his threats of violence, or the blood under his nails. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. He had been breaking you down for weeks. He knew you were strong—mentally, emotionally—that’s what made it so satisfying to bend you—to mold you into his rabbit. And yet, here you were, snapping back at him with a venom even he hadn’t expected.

At first, he thought it was some new kind of resistance. A last-ditch effort to defy him. And he loved that. A rabbit with fight in them was always more fun to tear apart. But this wasn’t just defiance. You were downright feral—lashing out at him over the smallest things. Snarling, throwing insults, practically vibrating with irritation at every little thing he did.

He had put up with it for days—tolerating your outbursts with an unseen amounts of patience. Until now.

"Fuckin' god," He swore harshly as he glared down at you. Just a second ago, you had been standing, fighting with him, fire in your eyes, teeth bared like a cornered animal. And now—you were crouched on the ground, arms wrapped tight around your abdomen, your body hunched over in pain.

"Fuck—what’s with you?" His voice was rough, more irritated than concerned. "You ain't dyin' on me, are ya?"

You let out a breathless laugh, but it was laced with pain, and that pissed him off. "Oh, shut up," You muttered, clutching your stomach tighter. "I’m not dying, you dumbass. I’m on my fucking period."

For a moment, there was a beat of silence. Habit just blinked at you, expression unreadable—not that you checked. Then—

"You’re what?"