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His little wife.
That was what you were to him now - no longer one of his stars, no longer a pet, but as close to his equal as you were ever going to get.
He had lost track of the amount of time it had been since he’d kept you. At least a handful of years, he was certain, but with so many cogs to turn and strings to pull, time was something that often slipped from his fingers.
Fox was in his fifties now. Time was ticking, ever so steadily. He was reminded of that every time he saw his reflection - be it in a familiar black screen, accentuating his crow’s feet the wider he grinned, or the mirror in the bathroom every morning. Wrinkles everywhere.
Vanity was something he did take stock in - but never so much as he had lately. He felt anxious, unsettled, even following a proper bit of satisfying business taken care of, another bit shoved off of his piled-high plate.
All he had ever craved was a family. A place to belong.
And what did he have, currently, aside from a lonely little wife who had nothing and no one but her husband?
Ah, but you were a perfect little thing. He felt young again every time he looked at your sweet face, saw that smile that brightened the room. Missing a proper eye and fitted with a prosthetic, but both still seemed to glow when you stared at him. He’d long since broken your will to leave, your dreams of escape. You’d kept your spark, despite it all, which had solidified his decision in keeping you.
And he’d never hurt a hair on your head again - past the odd bite or two, of course. You’d already been fitted with a proper mating bite the night he’d decided you’d been healed enough for some of his attention, years ago. You’d still fought him then, denied his advances - but you weren’t too tough a nut to crack.
He still fondly remembered the way your pussy had convulsed around him, torn and bloodied, during your first ever coupling.
You were made for him. For his kits.
Fox supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that a heat came crashing in just days after he began to think, to plan. Nature did have its way of barging in.
It hadn’t struck until he was midway through a stream. He’d been able to maintain his composure for the show, albeit with a bit more aggression directed toward his poor co-star, and ended with a bloody finish - something to sate the raging hormones in his brain long enough to get himself home.
When he came staggering through the door and practically stormed the house to find you, you were fresh out of the bath, wrapped in a towel with your ears and tail still damp from the shower. Surprise was etched all over your adorable face.
His nostrils flared as your scent, soft and lovely and addictive, flooded his senses. He forced himself to calm his mad advance, approaching you with calm, slow strides. Your tail began to slowly wag as you met him halfway, ears pricked and pupils blowing out as you registered his heat-scent. What a good girl. You tucked away into his neck with a pleased sigh.
“Lovely little thing,” he murmured, nosing into your hair as his hand greedily clutched at the towel and tore it away, huffing in your scent like you were the purest source of the best drug. “Did you miss me?”
“Always.” Your response is immediate, almost desperate. He chuffed out a low, amused sound. Who was the one in heat, again?
Ah, but it was your youth. Brimming with excitement, with energetic hormones urging you to act on impulse at the drop of a hat– he couldn’t possibly blame you for your reaction. Combined with the undeniable desire to please him, he was certain he was torturing you by not simply mounting you right away.
Even he was growing fed up with his nonsense, however, and he ushered you into the connecting bedroom as he began to peel away his layers of clothing. His pulse raced as you jumped in to help him, your fingers running over the bumps of old scars, the white tufts of hair on his chest. His breath shuddered as you teased over one of his nipples, before he grit his teeth with a clipped whimper as your mouth latched on, sucking and rolling your tongue over the sensitive flesh.
His clawed fingers raked through your hair as your hand dipped down past the waistband of his underwear, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking in slow, tender pulls. His breathing roughened as you toyed with him, worked him up, his hips beginning to rock into your hand as though he were in his twenties all over again.
Fox hardly registered that your bodies were still moving until he shuffled backward against the bed and fell to a sitting position, breathless and impatient by now. He pried your hand and mouth off of his body, growling slightly in warning as you resisted his movements.
You were having none of it, however, offering him a glare as you sharply tugged his pants down his legs. A certain fondness in his chest had him relenting with an amused puff of breath; you and your whims. That fire you still had.
Your delightfully hot mouth wrapped around his cock in the next moment, knocking a stutter from his breath as your tongue worked the shaft slowly, like you were savoring every last taste. His hand rested on your head - not controlling, not demanding, but possessive, as his hooded eyes watched you work.
Yours flitted up to meet his stare just before your head sank in his lap, swallowing as much of him as you could muster, and a curse was uttered in the heated air between you as his claws tangled in your hair. He sank into his palm resting on the bed, panting slow and heavy while his head fell back and he luxuriated in the pleasure - hot, wet, pliant flesh, stimulating and rolling around his sensitive cock like it existed purely for pleasuring him. It was, truly, because it was your flesh, your mouth, your throat, sucking and whimpering and slobbering all over yourself like the mere act of pleasing him did more for you than any touch ever could.
Fox shuddered at the thought. What a perfect little wife you were.
“Such a good girl,” he growled, low and rough, feeling a rush of satisfaction as your tail wagged pathetically from the praise. “Pretty little pet.” Not only that - your enthusiasm seemed to multiply, if even possible, head bobbing in his lap like you were racing against something. His hand clutched at your hair tightly, hips rutting up into your sloppy face - until he forced your head off of him entirely, panting harshly as he grasped the base of his cock tightly to stave off his impending orgasm.
You looked disappointed, and he supposed he couldn’t blame you. He hadn’t shared his plans with you, not yet. Of course you didn’t understand why he was rushing.
Not that you would oppose him at this point.
“On the bed, sweetheart.” Up you went upon hearing the command, laying on your back and spreading your thighs so eagerly that he couldn’t resist crawling up the bed to follow you. His eyes raked up your body, mapping out every last lovely scar and mark decorating your body - all courtesy of him.
The only one he regretted sat just below the end of your sternum, in the soft meat of your belly. The scar marking the day you nearly died.
It nearly filled him with rage to think about. To think he’d almost killed the perfect woman, the apple of his eye - someone who had come around and still retained herself in the process. You were strong. You were incredible. You’d remained resilient through every show, through every interaction with him.
And he’d almost killed you.
His hand raked over your scar slowly, fingers splayed across your skin as he inhaled the scent of your arousal and refocused on the burning heat practically blistering him from the inside out, making his agitation worse - for a different reason, this time.
“Tell me,” he breathed, shifting slowly to fit between your thighs, his cock slotting perfectly against your cunt, “what more could you give me, sweet thing? What else is left that I could want?”
You looked up at him, puzzled. Such a cute look on your face. His hand remained on your belly, stroking slowly, and it seemed to click for you as your ears pricked, breathing hitching. Your response was quiet, whispered, as his trailed his lips up your leg, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your knee.
“Please.”
“Please? What are you asking for, lovely?”
You didn’t hesitate. “Please get me pregnant.”
That was all he needed to hear. A rough, aroused growl left his throat, and he dropped your leg gracelessly, reaching between you to slick his cock between your folds before pressing in with a sharp thrust.
Fox didn’t remember the last time he’d lost control of himself so quickly. He’d been younger, for sure, more rash, more driven by instinct than logic – but for some reason, even at his age, even with all the experience he had, something in the way you begged to get pregnant had him thrusting wildly, hips pumping into yours roughly enough to echo slaps through the room between your yelps and cries of pleasure.
He’d get you pregnant. He was certain of that.
It wasn’t even a question.
Your sharp nails - claws of your own, really - dug into his back, scratching and scrabbling for purchase while you gasped and arched in pleasure. He barely had to do anything to set you off anymore; spending all your hours alone in an empty house would do that to you. Make you crave his attention, his love.
Anything.
Drool dripped onto your chest as it bounced in time with the rough jostling of your body, his teeth bared and gritted while snarls rumbled from his throat. He’d broken you, molded you into exactly what he wanted - needed. That void in his chest had never truly gone away - the one craving familiarity, a bond.
A family.
And you were the key to that future.
Such a beautiful, hopeless key. Brilliant, bright - too bright for your own good. That brightness was bound to be snuffed out by anyone - Fox had just been the fortunate soul to be on the receiving end of your pathetic begging that fateful day.
You were gasping nonsense, pussy tightening up in little clenches, warning him that you were close, but his pace hardly let up. His claws dug into your hips, yanking your body right back into his punishing thrusts, his knot stretching your hole until tears spilled from your eyes from the stimulation.
“Ren!!” Perfect. Your voice sang his name so beautifully. It was almost orgasmic in itself, hearing you wailing for him while your pussy clamped down on his knot, forcing him to pause momentarily, simply rutting into you for the pleasure of it all while you squeezed and whined and clutched at him.
“That’s it,” he panted, focused on the utterly debauched look on your face. “Look at you, sweet thing. So pretty.” Fox took advantage of the moment, the brief pause, to cup your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb as you leaned into his hand before turning your face to kiss his palm. “You’ll be so beautiful, carrying our children.” Your eyes seemed to glimmer with delight, and your tail thumped against the bed lazily.
That was enough of a break for you, he decided. His hips withdrew, easing you back into a steady pace, but the pull of his instincts was beginning to wear him down. His thoughts were devolving, melting into a blend of breed and mate and bite and mine that clouded his head and had him building back up into a desperate pace, something he wasn’t used to feeding into anymore.
His head dropped to your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking roughly before his teeth sank into the tender flesh – not enough to maim or rip, but certainly to leave a mark. You jerked and twisted and cried under him, grasping his hair to ground yourself, to tolerate the painful attention. He forced his jaw not to lock any tighter, careful not to truly injure you - but he couldn’t contain himself at this point.
You were being so good, felt so good, and after this day, you’d be even better. You’d slowly get rounder, carrying his child, growing his family – giving him a wonderful gift. You deserved every luxury money could offer. Every little thing you fancied. Anything. As long as you stayed his.
If you did that, he’d ensure you’d have it all.
His hips were rutting. Barely pulling out, pumping in short, aggressive bursts, knot squeezing into your hole before popping right back out. He was so close, riding the line, and his jaw slackened to release your breast so he could latch onto your shoulder instead – and then his knot squeezed in and caught, hips urgently rocking to push it as deep as possible, before his cock twitched and began to flood you with his seed. Mine.
His jaw was clenched tightly as wave after wave of ecstasy shook his body, his claws sinking into your hips and side where he held onto you. His breaths shuddered, growls rolling in his throat as he came down from his high - and only then did he detach from your skin, registering distantly that he’d made you bleed, and you were crying beneath him.
Fox’s palm immediately came to your cheek, brushing away your tears as he struggled to catch his breath - but his comfort was there. He nosed into your cheek, pressing a kiss to your skin softly.
“I’m sorry, lovely,” he breathed. “Got carried away.”
You didn’t seem to mind, considering the circumstances.
His hand slipped down between you, cupping the soft meat of your belly. Soon, he was certain, you would be growing life there.
He’d make sure of it.