Archive of Our Own ^beta

You save yourself the trouble of doing activities that require a lot of physical effort, instead trying to settle for spending time watching some drama series or reading some book of a random genre. It's not exactly how you imagine the perfect life to be, but it's definitely a lot better than what you've been through, or what you go through at the hands of your captor when he feels like he needs to destroy your peace to bring some good violence — that is, almost every day.

You still remember when he bit your shoulder fiercely, the intensity so powerful that it was able to take a good part of you. You still remember his hands on your body, sometimes trailing gently, but often leaving a trail of destruction on your skin. You still remember when he entered you, his non-human shaped cock ironically fitting perfectly inside you. But of course it would fit, after all, how could you not accept him after he molded you to accommodate all of him?

It's those kinds of things that just happen because you were made for it. If not you, who else would it be? You are perfect, moldable, obedient in a way Fox has never seen anyone be — at least most of the time. He may even get angry when you fail to remember your position and do as you are told, but it's an anger that evaporates when you're on the ground begging for forgiveness. And he can give you forgiveness if you do everything he tells you to do correctly.

It's a shitty routine that you've forced yourself to adapt to due to lack of options, having lost all your power as an independent person, reduced to a mere object. This is what he must think of you, so this is what you think of yourself.

You hear the door creak, but you don't move your head in the direction of the noise to see who it is, instead focusing your attention on the glow of the fireplace and the crackle of flames — it's warm, it's beautiful, and at least it helps you forget about your life situation for a bit.

You feel the movement in the air and the presence of someone sitting next to you, his calm breathing palpable in the silence that you dare not break. You're pissed, but of course you're pissed. If he wants to talk, he will have to take the initiative.

"How long do you intend to stay mad at me, huh?", Fox's calm, raspy voice echoes through your head, and although it's not very loud, it's enough to reach every corner of the house when there's no noise in the place.

You huff instead of responding verbally, retreating further into the blanket in a clear sign that you don't feel like talking. But Fox doesn't understand this, or rather, he prefers to ignore it and decides to push your buttons even more.

"I see someone is a little shy today", what a fucking bastard. "Come on, there's no need to hide from me when I've already seen everything"

Fox firmly grabs the blanket without warning and removes it from you, which you respond with a little resistance, but soon gives up when the fabric falls to your legs. He sees your scars beautifully adorning your body, each deep and shallow visible to the amber eyes of a predator.

He looks at you like you're some kind of Renaissance painting he painted himself, each wound holding a meaning that connects to the next — many on your legs, others on your abdomen, and of course, the one that definitely left its mark on the type of relationship you would have.

Your missing eye.

"Mmm, I was starting to miss this wonderful view", he speaks in a genuine tone, bringing his claws closer to touch you — fuck!

You hiss and automatically flinch at the small contact of the sharp edge on your wound, the act eliciting the burning that had previously died down.

As much as he compliments your appearance, you don't think you're beautiful because of what he did to you, but that's definitely the least of it. What makes you most angry is how everything hurts you. How the fuck are you going to live normally with that many scars?

You see Fox's ears lie flat against his head, his pupils so thin they seem to be sinking into the iris of his eye. You've spent enough time with the beastkin to know that those signs weren't good for you.

Although you expected a scolding from your captor, you are surprised to see him breathing deeply and his ears going up, his fingers touching you instead of his claws.

The scars still hurt even though it's just his skin against them, but at least it's more bearable. Plus, you don't want to try his patience when he seems to be in a good mood.

"They must hurt a lot, don't they?", he asks as he runs his fingertips over them, careful not to irritate and inflame them any more than they already are. "There's no doubt now why you're so mad at me"

Fox brings his lips close so he can kiss your skin, his tongue running over it and collecting the taste of blood still fresh in some areas. You squirm and feel your face burning, your legs wanting to get up and run, your heart rate rapidly increasing.

You hate yourself for how easily you can be affected, even the smallest act of affection causing butterflies in your stomach. You don't know the reason exactly — maybe because you haven't had intimate contact in a long time, maybe because he's the only person you've interacted with in the last few months, maybe because it's him.

And the last option is not very pleasant for you. It could be anything except the last one, because only a person so fucked up in the head would be able to feel something for their torturer.

Which is not your case... right?

Fox retracts his tongue after making sure to 'tend to your wounds', his touch somehow gentle on you — even though he was the one to blame for your pain. You're not much of a believer in someone who does wrong once, much less a man who does it multiple times without any remorse.

"Yeah, you're going to need a lot of rest to heal", he speaks as if he were the most professional doctor in the world, giving you the most basic advice that any healer can recommend.

You play along and just nod, finally getting the space you need when he gets up to walk to a corner of the room you don’t bother to look at. Just the fact that he's not near you already does you so much good.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a brief moment before opening them again, lowering your gaze to yourself again. You can't stop looking at yourself, you can't stop feeling. No matter how much you try to distract your mind, you will never be able to divert attention, always coming back to you, to what happened to you. Something you are unable to change and was out of your control.

You've said this verbally a few times, but you deeply resent Fox for what he did to you. Death was a mercy that was taken from you in the last moments because he changed his mind, not you. Even the most natural thing that every creature has a right to, he took from you.

That just went to show how powerless you've become. How dependent you have become on his every action with you, and you hate it.

You just wish you could go back to who you were before.

You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you were taken by surprise when you felt a warm surface passing over your cheek, your eyes catching sight of a mug of... coffee?

"Here. I thought you might like it", Fox said as he held another mug of coffee in his other hand, your eyes narrowing in suspicion at the sudden kindness on his part. "It's not poisoned, and the only drugs I could have put in it would have been those to ease your pain", he gives you a small, mischievous smile that you assume is meant to calm you down, but ultimately does nothing for you. You gently take the mug from his hand and start blowing on it, trying to bring the liquid to a cooler temperature.

He sits down next to you again, still with a smile on his face, taking a sip of his own coffee while looking at you. You decide to stop after taking a few more puffs, finally getting the sweet, savory taste into your mouth, your brain being bombarded by receiving such a sugary reward.

"So, how is it?", he asks you when you're done tasting it.

"It's... Good", you finally speak, taking another sip of your drink as the two of you share a moment of relative peace.