Your boyfriend, Habit had been fine before you left. For once, he was actually relaxed—lounging around, cracking jokes, giving you shit like he always did. He barely even acknowledged when you told him you were heading out.

But the second you walked through the door, he was different.

You hadn’t even put your bag down before he was on you—clinging, pressing in close, his hands gripping at your clothes like he was trying to erase something. He had been trailing you around the house like a shadow ever since, always just a little too close. If someone even looked at you, he tensed up, body coiled like a loaded spring.

"Hey, come on, ease off a little," You mumbled as he pushed in even closer, rubbing against you like he was trying to coat you in his scent. You shifted, hands moving to push him off—but as expected, he overpowered you.

Of course he did.

"What," He grumbled, voice low and rough as his arms locked around your waist. His body radiated heat through your clothes, the warmth almost suffocating. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was running a fever. But you did know better. He wasn’t sick. He was an animal, possessing a human vessel, and it was obvious this was his heat cycle kicking in again.

"Fuck—" He growled, fingers curling around your clothes as he yanked your back flush against his chest. "You don’t smell like me. It’s fuckin’ pissing me off." His voice was sharp, edged with something primal. His hands tugged at your hoodie, grip unrelenting. "You reek of someone else. Who fucking touched you."

Before you could respond, he was on you—leaning in, teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.