[tw. recovery whump, self-retraumatization, bad coping method (muzzling), vague references to oral assault, angst, nonhuman/mutant whumpee, conditioned whumpee]
Sariah wakes just like they do every night since their 'rescue', curled up under the too-big bed provided to them as they choke on a shuddering inhale. Their claws spring up to grasp at their face, confused about the lack of leather scenting their air as their tail coils around themself. Where was-
Right, their muzzle, they didn't have it anymore. They needed their muzzle. They didn't- without the muzzle they didn't know what was and wasn't allowed. Were they meant to speak? To beg? To open wide and mind their teeth? They don't know, they don't know, they wanted the comfort of knowing. The lack of it just made the anxiety buzzing under their skin worse.
But they hate the muzzle. They hate it, but the muzzle was a rule, an in-built order to keep their mouth shut and be good. At least with their muzzle they knew what their handlers wanted from them. They knew what they were meant to do.
After all, what were they meant to do with this much freedom? They didn't know if their sounds were meant to be swallowed or allowed to ring out, if they were supposed to part their lips or beg pretty the way they were taught. they wanted to know. At least with their muzzle they knew what was expected from them.
Maybe… maybe it was lost. Or needed to be replaced. Yes, maybe it just needed to be replaced. They could replace their muzzle. They could be good. they could be good, they could be good, they could be good, they could be good- It isn't hard, to call the mist to their palms and build leather beneath their fingers, years upon years with the material around them burning its structure into their mind.
Brushing their claws against the back of their head and dragging them across their cheeks, thick leather slowly forms under their claws and over the bridge of their nose. The heavy weight of a padlock rests at the base of their skull, and with the leather digging into their skin they can finally breathe.
The ache is familiar, comforting in a way that leaves them sick but at least it's the kind of sick they know how to deal with. Finally, the suffocating weight of anxiety that had been sitting in their chest dulls down to something they actually know how to manage. they hope their new handlers will be happy, they've been good, right? Falling back asleep is easier this time, the feeling of their own cold breaths hitting their lips lulling them to sleep as they tuck their tail around themself. they were finally being good.
they were good, they were good, they were good, they were good- That was the mantra that they drifted off to in their own mind as they breathed in the stale scent of leather.
