#Commander fox x you

[nahoney22]

Congratulations on the followers!

Can I please request a fluffy enemies to lovers with a clone of your choice with the prompt “Did you just call me cute?”

Would love to see any! Female reader if possible. Thanks! 💓

Up Close and Personal 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

word count: 3.9k

prompt:

• “Did just call me cute?”

Plot: When you accidentally let slip you thought Fox was cute, he grows curious and wonders if you still think the same under the helmet.

Warnings: Safe for work, grumpy/sunshine trope, teasing, awkward moments, flirting, kissing, mutual pining, accidental confessions.

You’ve been working alongside the Coruscant Guard for a while now, handling everything from delivering reports to managing routine tasks that help keep the operation running smoothly. Most of the clones greet you with a warm smile and friendly chatter when you drop by.

You were cheerful and always had a smile on your face, nothing ever seeming to phase you.

But when it comes to Commander Fox, he doesn’t seem to match your enthusiasm. Where others find a moment to chat or joke around, Fox’s response is always the same: curt and dismissive.

You remember one time when you entered the office, probably a fortnight ago, laughing with Thire and Stone as you handed them their files. “You’re a lifesaver,” Thire had said with a sigh of relief and grin after his had miraculously gone missing. You of course always had extra, just in case.

Stone chuckled and added, “You’re the only reason we stay organised.”

Before you could reply, however, Fox cut in. His tone like durasteel. “Can you just leave the files and go? Some of us are trying to work.” He hadn’t even looked up, but the chill in his voice was unmistakable. You forced a smile, and rolled your eyes at his attitude when you left the office that day. It didn’t bother you as you were used to his moods but you couldn’t help wondering what it would take to get past that fickle exterior.

And despite his attitude, you had noticed Fox’s subtle care for his brothers; something you found rather endearing. You’ve caught him running silent armour checks, making sure everyone’s gear is spotless and in perfect order. Of course, it’s not about vanity but simply about keeping his men safe.

It’s those types of moments that make you think there’s more to him beneath the mask. Or helmet in this case.

Today, you decide to do something different. Rumors have been swirling that the Guard’s workload has been overwhelming lately. Crime in the lower levels is on the rise, and the boys are sadly running themselves ragged. So, you arrive at their station with a special treat: caf orders, each customised exactly how you know they like it.

You start with Commander Thire, who breaks into a grin as you hand him his cup. “You’re too good to us,” he says, taking a sip. “Thanks.”

Next is Stone, who raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Didn’t expect this today,” he says, taking the steaming cup. “But I’m not complaining.” He shoots you a wink. “You really know how to keep morale up.”

Sergeant Hound, busy tinkering with his gear with Grizzer snoozing at his feet looks up with a smile when you hand him his drink. “You actually remembered mine,” he says, sounding almost impressed. He takes a long sip before giving you a small nod. “Cheers. Really needed this.”

Finally, you approach Fox. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, watching you carefully through his visor. “I’ll assume you didn’t get me anything,” he says, voice as flat as ever.

You fight back a smirk and meet his gaze behind the visor. “You assume wrong, Commander.” You slide the cup across his desk. It’s strong, with a hint of sweetness—your best guess based on what you’ve observed. Alongside it, you place a small sweet treat and the stack of data devices you’ve been carrying. Oh, and you also could help but draw a small smiley face on the lid to his cup.

Fox doesn’t touch the drink. Instead, he gives a sharp nod. “Just leave it and go.”

You swallow your disappointment, trying to keep your smile from faltering. “Of course, sir.” You turn to leave, the brief flash of hurt lingering despite your best efforts to shrug it off. Huh, maybe it did get to you.

As you exit, you catch a glimpse of Thire, Stone, and Hound exchanging looks before Thire’s voice cuts through the room. “You know, Fox, a ‘thank you’ wouldn’t kill you.”

Fox remains silent, but you don’t stay long enough to see or hear his reaction. The door closes behind you, and you let out a quiet sigh.

Moments later, you hear quick footsteps behind you. “Hey, wait up!”

You turn to see Thire jogging to catch up. “Don’t take it personally,” he says, offering a sympathetic smile. “Fox is… well, Fox. If he didn’t like you at least a little, he wouldn’t let you stick around.”

You laugh softly, though the sting hasn’t fully faded. “Doesn’t feel like it sometimes. I know he’s under a lot of stress, but still…”

Thire nods, understanding in his eyes. “He’s got a funny way of showing appreciation. But trust me, we all see what you do for us, even if he doesn’t say it. You’re a bright spot in this whole mess.”

Your smile this time is more genuine, though still a bit weak. “Thanks, Thire. I just wish I could get through to him, you know?”

“Give it time,” Thire says, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “He’ll come around. Until then, we’ve got your back.”

A few days later, you arrive with—surprise, surprise—yet another stack of files. You expect to find the usual group in the office, and sure enough, Thire, Stone, and Hound are all at their stations, busy with their tasks. But there’s one notable absence: Commander Fox. You glance around, scanning the room in curiosity.

Before you can ask, Stone notices the way you’re searching and smirks. “Looking for someone?”

Your cheeks warm slightly, realising you’ve been caught. “Nope,” you reply, a little too quickly. “Just… making sure I don’t miss anyone.”

Thire chimes in, an amused glint in his eye. “Sure, that’s what you’re doing.”

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to play it off. “Honestly, you guys are worse than all those gossiping cadets and shinies.”

“Did Fox ever apologise for the other day?” Hound asks as you stand nearby, shifting through some flimsi. His question surprised you a little since you hadn’t truly thought about it until now. But, you shake your head with a dismissive wave. “Nah, but it’s fine. I’m used to him being a grump. Besides,” you add with a smile, “you lot make it worth coming around.”

But then Stone started to dig a little deeper as he leans back in his chair. “Did you think about what Thire said? About Fox not minding you hanging around?”

You bite your lip, remembering Thire’s words all too well. Now that did have you wondering for most of that night. For someone who always wanted you to go, he never actually told you to fully leave.

“Yeah, actually. It got me thinking… maybe he’s not as bothered by me as he pretends.” You pause, considering your next question. “Hey, have any of you actually seen him without his helmet?”

The three of them exchange glances before Thire nods, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “How do you think he downed that caf you brought him the other day?”

You lean back against the wall, arms crossed as you think it over but also a little smug knowing that Fox clearly liked your drink choice for him. “I always wondered what he looks like under there. Maybe he’s got some cool tattoos, or, like, bright red hair or something; to match the gear.”

Stone shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant. “Could do. But we’re not spilling anything.”

You narrow your eyes at them playfully, but before you can push further, you find yourself blurting out, “I mean, I bet he’s kinda cute.”

There’s a beat of silence before all three of them break into laughter. Hound gives you a teasing nudge. “So, you’ve got a crush on the boss now, huh?”

You wave them off, feeling your face flush. “No, I mean—well, no, yes, kinda? I don’t know!” You fumble with your words, realising you’ve put yourself in an awkward spot. You wouldn’t say it was much of a crush but you did admire him.

“It’s not like that. He’s just interesting, I guess. Annoying, but in a weird way, it’s kind of… cute?”

The boys exchange amused glances, and you’re about to defend yourself further when you notice all of their gazes suddenly lock onto something—or someone—behind you. The laughter dies down, and your stomach drops.

Before you can even turn around, a deep voice rumbles from directly behind you. “Did you just call me cute?”

You freeze, feeling your blood run cold. Slowly, you turn to face Fox, who’s standing there with his arms crossed, his helmeted visor trained directly on you. You can’t tell what expression he’s wearing underneath, but the deadpan delivery of his question makes you want to disappear into the nearest ventilation system.

“I—uh…” you stammer, utterly at a loss. “Well, you see—”

Thire, Stone, and Hound are barely holding in their snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. Fox’s posture remains unyielding as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

You finally manage a weak shrug. “I mean sure, why not?”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence, and you’re certain you’ll never live this down. But then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, Fox turns his helmet slightly as if considering your words. “Interesting,” is all he says before he strides past you, not giving anything away.

The room erupts in laughter as soon as he’s out of earshot, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning, as Thire claps you on the back. “Well, if that’s not a confession, I don’t know what is.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Stone grins. “Nope. But hey, at least now you’ve got him wondering.”

You playfully slap Stone’s arm with the thick stack of flimsi you were holding. “You’re impossible, you know that?” you tease, but there’s a grin on your face despite your embarrassment.

Stone just chuckles, dodging away from your reach. “You make it too easy, kid.”

Shaking your head, you wave the guys off. “Okay, I’m leaving before I say anything else stupid. You’ll just have to survive without me for a bit.”

As you walk away, you can still hear their laughter, and although your cheeks are still warm, you can’t help but smile.

Over the next week or two, you notice that Fox isn’t in his office as much. You’re not one to pry, but eventually, Thire lets it slip that it’s the Supreme Chancellor who’s been keeping him busy, not the fact that he might be avoiding you. “He’s been running all over the place on Palpatine’s orders,” Thire had said. “Trust me, it’s not about feeling awkward with you around.”

You nod, but you can’t help the nagging thoughts that linger. Still, you push them aside, deciding it’s better not to dwell on it.

One afternoon, you arrive at the office, balancing a tray with the usual caf orders and some sweet treats. It’s become a bit of a weekly ritual now, something the guys seem to look forward to. But today, when you step inside, the office is eerily quiet—no Thire, no Stone, no Hound. And non-surprisingly, no Fox.

You frown, setting the tray down on the nearest desk. “Hello?” you call out, but the only response is the hum of the overhead lights.

Shrugging, you decide to leave everything on their desks for when they return. You place each clone’s drink down, making sure their reports are organised alongside them.

When you reach Fox’s desk, you pause. It’s a bit messier than usual, the clutter showing signs of someone who’s been overworked and stretched thin. Your brows furrow in concern as you instinctively start tidying up, sorting the files and stacking the more urgent ones on top.

As you organise his drawers, you’re about to close one when something catches your eye. An empty caf cup, tucked away almost like it’s been hidden. You pull it out and recognise it immediately—it’s the cup you gave Fox the other week, the one with the little smiley face you drew on the lid. Your heart skips a beat. He kept it.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at the cup, a small, unexpected warmth blooming in your chest. Maybe there’s more to his gruff exterior than you first thought. Maybe he does have a soft spot for you, even if he won’t admit it.

“Can I help you?”

You jump, nearly dropping the cup as you whirl around to face the door. There stands Fox, his arms tucked behind his back, his gaze unreadable behind his helmet.

“Fox—Commander!” you stammer, hastily shoving the cup back into the drawer and closing it. “I was just… fixing things.” Your voice trails off as you awkwardly step away from his desk, suddenly finding it difficult to meet his gaze.

He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, and you feel your pulse quicken. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”

“Oh! Sure, of course!” You’re flustered now, your mind racing. “Is it about the reports? Or maybe the supply request? Or—”

“No.”

You clamp your mouth shut, cheeks burning as you mentally curse yourself for rambling. You stand there in silence, waiting for him to continue, while he circles around you with the careful precision of someone used to keeping others off balance. His presence is commanding (oh the irony), making the room feel smaller as he closes the distance between you.

“I had overheard something the other day,” he says, his voice low, almost conversational. “You were wondering what I looked like. Wondering if I had tattoos, colorful hair…” He trails off, his tone giving nothing away.

“I—uh—well, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just curious, you know? I hope you didn’t take offense, Commander. It wasn’t—”

He stops in front of you, so close now that you can see your own reflection in the dark visor of his helmet as you crane your neck to look at him. “Why not?” he asks, cutting off your nervous rambling. “Do you not want to know if I’m ‘cute’ or not?”

The words hang in the air between you, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. His tone isn’t mocking, but there’s a subtle challenge in his voice, as if daring you to admit something you haven’t even fully acknowledged to yourself.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, searching for a response. “I—I mean… maybe?”

His head tilts slightly, as if studying you. “You know, I rarely remove my helmet. It’s part of who I am, part of the uniform. Most people never see what’s underneath.”

“I get it,” you say quickly, eager to reassure him. “It’s not like I need to know. You’re still you, helmet or not.”

But as you speak, he moves closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “And yet, you’re curious.”

Your gaze flicks up to meet his visor, the tension thick enough to cut through. “Maybe a little,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

You think he’s about it leave, a small stagger in his step. But instead of stepping back as you expect, he reaches up and, with a slow and deliberate motion, removes his helmet.

Your breath catches in your throat. You were expecting him to look like the other clones but nothing prepared you for this.

His hair, salt and peppered with a few streaks of silver, is slightly messy but still shows a hint of soft curls. Framing his face in a way that’s both rugged and refined. But it’s his eyes that catch your immediate attention.

A deep, rich brown, just like his brothers but darkened by exhaustion. Yet somehow still smolder with an intensity that makes your heart stop. They’re striking, alive with an alluring warmth that makes it hard to look away.

You’re utterly speechless, barely registering that your mouth has gone dry. He’s not just cute; he’s absolutely gorgeous. His lips curve into a knowing smirk as he tilts his head at you, clearly gauging your reaction.

“So, tell me…” he drawls, his tone soft and low as he notices your gaze drifting to his lips, “how ‘cute’ am I?”

Your mouth opens, but the words you want to say get stuck somewhere in your throat. You feel a sudden heat rising to your cheeks and creeping down your neck, making you feel warm under the collar. For months, you had wondered what it would be like to be this close to him, to hear his voice without the filter of that helmet, to feel his presence in an almost tangible way. Now, with his breath fanning your face, it’s almost overwhelming.

“You’re… you’re…” You struggle to find the right words, but everything comes out in stutters as your brain short-circuits under the intensity of his gaze.

Fox leans in closer, his eyes never leaving yours, his lips still curved in that teasing smirk. “Mhmm? I’m what?” There’s a playful and teasing lilt in his voice as he inches nearer, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become.

Before you know it, you’ve backed up until you’re nearly pressed against the edge of his desk; close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, and it’s impossible to think straight. Your pulse feels like it’s pounding in your ears. Especially as he leans in even further, the distance between you shrinking until it’s nearly nonexistent.

His breath is warm against your skin as he adds, “Come on, I’m waiting. You were so curious before. For someone so chatty, you have gone awfully quiet. Why’s that?”

Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, but the only thing you can focus on is how close he is, how those deep brown eyes are watching your every reaction, and how his lips look infuriatingly soft. Finally, you manage to stammer out a broken, barely coherent, “You’re… more than cute.”

Fox chuckles as he straightens slightly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good answer.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, brushing a hand through your hair, thinking this is the end of it. But he barely budges before asking, “Do you want to know what I think about you?”

Breath shaky, you avoid his eyes. “Let me guess… annoying… too talkative…”

“Distracting,” he cuts you off.

Before you can respond, his hands lift, gently cupping your face. You’re caught off guard as his thumbs brush tenderly over your cheeks. A soft gasp escapes your lips at the unexpected warmth of his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you lean into it. His presence is all-consuming, his closeness dizzying as his nose lightly brushes against yours, sending sparks dancing down your spine.

His voice is low, rich with a sincerity that makes your heart race even faster. “I find you distracting. Beautiful and distracting.”

Before you can fully process his words, his lips capture yours in a kiss that’s impossibly gentle and utterly intoxicating.

It’s slow and unhurried, his lips moving against yours in a way that feels both tender and deliberate. Your eyes widen in surprise at first, hands raised but unsure where to place them.

Fox was kissing you. the Commander Fox was kissing you. You didn’t even know what this meant fully. Had he been harbouring feelings for you after all this time?

The initial shock soon melts away, your body relaxing into the kiss as your arms instinctively wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The feeling of the warmth of his mouth on yours, the soft press of his lips sending a sweet sent an addictive thrill through your veins. He’s steady and confident, guiding the kiss with a gentleness.

His hands remain on your face, anchoring you to the moment until one slides back to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair that makes you gasp against his lips.

You can’t help but chase after his lips, the slow and tender rhythm of the kiss drawing you in deeper. He’s all you can think about—the taste of him, the feel of him, the way he’s holding you as though you’re something precious.

Fox finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes, those deep, mesmerising brown orbs, search yours as if he’s looking for something—confirmation, maybe, or understanding. You’re not sure, but whatever he sees in your gaze seems to settle something inside him.

His thumb sweeps over your cheek again, a soft, almost absent-minded caress as he holds you there, still so close. “You have no idea how distracting you are,” he murmurs, his voice hushed.

You’re left breathless, your heart racing in your chest as you blink up at him, dazed by it all. “You… you kissed me,” you whisper, your body still flushed against his as you try to piece things together.

“I did,” he replies softly, his hands now moving to rest on your waist, grounding you in the moment. “Is it okay that I did?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess it’s just… I thought you didn’t like me.” You pull back slightly, leaning against the desk this time. He looks down at you, his gaze unexpectedly soft.

“I’ll admit I haven’t been the kindest to you,” he says, a touch of regret in his tone. “The lads gave me an earful the other day.”

“So, was it a guilt kind of kiss or…?” you mumble, sincerely hoping it wasn’t.

Fox’s eyes widen slightly, and he quickly shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he exclaims, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m not great at showing how I feel, and hearing you call me ‘cute’… it pushed me in the right direction. Made me realise I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t care.”

His sincerity catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say, your voice small but relieved.

He offers you a small smile, the kind that’s rare for him, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “So, would you consider going for drinks with me tonight?” he asks, his tone hopeful but tinged with the same guardedness that’s always been there.

The hesitation in his voice makes you understand how much this moment means to him, and you can’t help but smile back with a genuine, warm smile. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you reply softly.

Fox’s shoulders visibly relax, the tension you hadn’t even noticed finally easing as he nods. “Good,” he says, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. But there’s a warmth there now, something new that you hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before. “I, uh, have to get back to the Chancellor. I knew the others wouldn’t be here today, and I know your routine, so I figured I’d have time to speak to you before heading back.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “So, you’re not supposed to be here?”

“No, I’m not,” he admits with a somewhat sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I may or may not have told the Chancellor I had an important matter to tend to.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Fox joins in with a chuckle, the sound rich and surprisingly pleasant, before he takes a final step toward you and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “It was worth it,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skips a beat as he pulls back, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“Definitely.”

🌊 Masterlist is pinned 🌊

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[ireadwithmyears]

even if it’s handcuffed, I’m leaving here with you.

Pairing: Commander Fox/fem Reader

Word count: 4.7K

Tags/warnings, smut (18+: (miners DNI) dumb decisions, they turn out alright, slight exhibitionism (they fuck in the back of 79’s and Fox enjoys the idea of being overheard), oral (F receiving), fingering, light bondage, spanking, but like only one, unprotected P in V sex, dom/sub elements, biting/marking (it’s Fox, what do you expect)

Summary: Fox hasn’t been giving you the attention you’ve been craving. The way in which you go about fixing that is highly questionable, but ultimately, a resounding success.

Note: yes, this was 100% inspired by a specific lyric in I’mgonnagetyoubac by Taylor Swift, referred to in the title. I heard it, went Fox bby c’mere I need to do something with this, and this is the end result, which I hope is enjoyable. Also, do these characters have communication issues that they probably should acknowledge and talk through? Probably. Are we not going to acknowledge any of that here for the sake of✨minimal plot✨ yes.

“This, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, is one of the stupidest ideas you’ve ever had.”

To be fair, your best friend is saying this all while she downs a shot, barely containing her smirk behind the glass. She’s already given her rather enthusiastic consent to this idea that she has just declared is stupid

Because that’s what best friends do. 

Look, you have to agree, the idea sounds completely outlandish and lacks any sound logic whatsoever, not to mention, there’s no guarantee that it’ll even work. But, lounging around a table at a bar on Coruscant’s Clubbing scene, and with your ride or die best friend perched across from you to egg on your delusions, it starts to sound not as crazy as it had initially sounded when you had first spoke the words aloud.

In theory, the idea is straightforward and simple enough. 

Start a fight at the clone bar while Fox is on duty so that you can actually get him alone for more than two minutes.

You’re aware, somewhere in the back of your mind, that these are rather drastic measures for you to take just to get your boyfriend to notice you. But, with your rationalizing, alcohol emboldening you, and your friends immediate agreement to help without hesitation, this idea starts to seem not only reasonable, but solid.

Listen, if you were able to be a normal, sensible couple, and you could just do something like, you know, talk to Fox, you would.

The problem is, though, that Fox has been making that very difficult.

Being the marshal commander of the Coruscant guard carries a lot of weight and responsibilities, you get that. You really, really do. But, when he rarely makes it home most nights because he’s fallen asleep at his desk from overworking himself, and you can count the amount of times he’s touched you over the past two weeks on one hand, you’re starting to go a little bit insane.

Okay, so, you’re horny and so desperate for his attention that you’re willing to do something completely unreasonable, not to mention a little bit illegal, to get it. So what.

*

The plan, for all of its complete lack of sense and sound judgment, goes a little too perfectly.

The guard often sends some of their own out on patrols during 79’s busiest nights to keep order and ensure that there are no inter-battalion style brawls. 

You have Fox’s schedule memorized. So, you wait until you know he’s set to make his rounds, pick a table that is clearly within his eyeline, and then, minutes after he shows up, give your friend the subtle signal.

It starts with raised voices, shouted accusations and glaring until you know you’ve peaked his interest. Even through the tint of his visor, you can practically feel his eyes on you from across the room. 

Once you’re sure his eyes are securely glued on you, you allow high school drama and improv skills to take over, letting the fight escalate into something physical.

It’s hard, knowing that your friend is about to take the brunt of this for you, and your equal parts appreciative, and a little bit terrified, that she’s letting you launch yourself at her. But, you think to console yourself, you had practised this. How to make it look convincing, just good enough that it draws the attention of the cori’s, while also inflicting minimal damage because due to the fact that you don’t want your friend to get in heat for this too, making yourself the clear instigator, she’s only dodging, refusing to hit back.

When the thud of boots and the crackle of voices through helmet speakers come, barking gruff orders to break it up, you’re more than a little relieved. 

Even with his bucket still on, it’s easy for you to identify that it’s him. Him who pulls you off of her, none too gently. Him, whose rough, gloved fingers enclose around your wrists, smoothly pinning them behind your back before you can even blink and fuck, why was that so hot? Him, who, for a brief moment, you feel the cold and unforgiving plastoid of his chest plate digging as he presses flush against you, voice a low, displeased rumble as he addresses you, voice too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“You know, princess,” he mutters darkly, giving your wrists a squeeze. “If you wanted tonight to end with me locking binders around those pretty wrists of yours, there was no need to go to all of this trouble.”

He knew. 

Somehow, he’s figured out exactly what you were doing within seconds and for some reason, this only intensifies the thrill that runs through your body and causes your thighs to clench.

You’re not given time to ruminate on this, though, barely catch the subtle wink that your friend gives you before another member of the guard blocks your view of her as he kneels down to check on her. Fox, reflexes lightning fast, spins you around and immediately begins to usher you towards the back of the establishment, giving the other guard member on duty, you think it might be Thorn, a curt nod to acknowledge that he can handle this on his own.

Your led away to the sounds of low whistles, and many identical sets of brown eyes peering at you interestedly as Fox’s brothers stare at you when you pass by their tables.

Your face, at this point, has the decency to flush with oncoming embarrassment as they watch Fox leading you away.

No time for regrets now, you think to yourself as Fox reaches around you, still keeping your wrists firmly in one hand as he unlocks the door to an out-of-the-way office, frequently used to detain clones who start fights in the bar.

For better or for worse , you have captured his full, undivided attention for the night. 

now, you think, it’s only a matter of what he’s going to do about it.

*

“You know,” he muses, arms expertly caging you in and crowding you against the office wall, “if you’re going to fake a fight to get my attention, you could at least have picked an accomplice who I haven’t already met, and who I am perfectly aware you are on good terms with.”

“How would you know?” You ask, still slightly breathless as his amber eyes catch yours in the dim light, levelling you with a look. “A lot could change in the two weeks that I’ve barely seen you.” 

“Is that what this is about?” He asks, voice low and somehow too smooth and even, tilting his head to the side. “That explains why she made the effort to do this.” 

He doesn’t back down, doesn’t even look away in any semblance of guilt, which is infuriating. You’re about to tell him so when you’re cut off abruptly, words dissolving into nothing but a short gasp as his head lowers, lips, followed by the sharp bite of his teeth along the much too exposed skin of one of your breasts.

You blink, looking down at yourself, startled. It appears that whilst your friend was engaged in skirmishing with you, she had managed to tactfully pull open a few buttons from your shirt, splitting it just so that one of your breasts is tantalizingly exposed, nipple barely covered by the remaining fabric.

It’s fabric that is quickly shoved to the side as Fox, eyes never leaving yours as he does, takes your nipple into his mouth, tongue rolling over the bud, encouraging it to harden between warm lips.

“It’s almost like this was... planned,” he muses, accentuating his words with a sharp pinch as he tweaks your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, smirking at the way you jolt with surprise. His breath ghosts along the column of your throat as he moves to whisper in your ear. “Wasn’t it, cyar’ika.”

You’re prevented from answering when his teeth nip at your earlobe, causing any words you had in your mind to fall away, giving way to a shiver as you arch into him. A thrill runs through your body, and a pleasant hum has replaced the void where your thoughts used to be. If you had the sense to be embarrassed about how easy it was for him to get you like this, you would be. But right now, pushed up against the wall with him looming over you, it takes all you have to reach for him, fingers trying to find perch’s between his armour plating.

“Fox,” you let out a whine, tilting your head up to look at him pleadingly as you press yourself against him.

“Uh uh,” he chides, quickly extricating your hands. “These stay here,” he orders, swiftly pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. “If you know what’s good for you,” he continues darkly.

“A and what if I don’t?” You try to challenge, but your voice comes out in more of a squeak, wobbling slightly, as his fingers trail down your sides, just teasing at the skin beneath your shirt.

He chuckles, the sound a husky, dangerous rumble in his throat. Abruptly, he drops to his knees in front of you, pulling both your skirt and panties down with him in one harsh tug. They pool around your feet on the floor.

“Oh, meshla,” he coos at you, voice dripping with mock sincerity as one gloved fingertip, tantalizingly featherlight, sweeps through your already wet folds, only grazing over your clit enough to make your hips stutter in surprise before he pulls away. 

“Trust me, by the time I’m done with you, you will.”

Your ability to form a quick witted retort to that is greatly impeded, and ultimately foiled, probably intentionally, by Fox lifting one of your legs, manoeuvring it so it drapes over the curve of one of those broad, imposing shoulders of his. 

Before you’re given time to react to this sudden shift of balance, he’s leaning forward, his impatience evident in the way he roughly holds your thighs apart as he does. Your clit is suckled into his mouth with an almost unadulterated greed as it’s pulled between his lips, tongue barely fluttering over it before your hips jolt, and the sound that manages to escape you, half in surprise, half a needy whine before you manage to check yourself, remembering where, exactly, he’s doing this to you, sounds just about as uncontrolled as his actions are.

He pulls back, only to give you a deceptively teasing smirk as he tugs off his gloves. “What’s the matter, cyar?” He almost purrs, a now gloveless finger slowly teasing at your entrance, eyes fixated on how you clench around nothing. “Got nothing to say now?” 

He evidently finds his ability to have you this riled up with only a few touches amusing, because he’s again leaning forward before you can respond. A series of gentle kitten licks targeted at your clit, as his finger slowly presses into your heat has you forgetting about that fact quickly, the only sound escaping your lips being that of a strangled gasp-moan.

With the way his lips quirk and he lets out a small hum of satisfaction, the vibrations of which run through your body like a shockwave that leaves you breathless, it’s evident that this is exactly the way he wants you, squirming and desperate.

“Fox, I, we can’t do this here ohh.”

You lose track of the point you were trying to make with the smallest movement of his finger, almost gentle as it curls inside you, just brushing over your G spot, causing you to start stammering.

“Mm, why’s that, princess?” He asks, pulling out his finger only so that he can insistently begin to open you up with a second. “I don’t really think you’re in the position to be making demands like that, hm?”

Teeth nipping at that sensitive spot high on your inner thigh silences your retort. “So pretty,” he breathes, almost to himself as his tongue lazily soothes over the mark he’s made, before he’s back on your clit, lips, tongue, and fingers that curl and press and thrust all working to bring you up and straight to the edge.

And take you to the edge, he does. Within minutes that feel like seconds, he has you arching your back, pushing your hips to meet the delicious, constant thrust of his fingers and the targeted, precise teasing of his tongue and lips against your already sensitive clit, breathless begging and pleading because you’re just, you need, you’re almost.

There’s an audible clap as you desperately press your hand against your mouth, trying to silence the high-pitched, feverish whimper that’s fighting to escape your lips because there, right there, rightfuckingthereyoujust...

Then he’s pulling away, releasing your clit with an obscene sounding wet pop as he rises to his feet, calm and totally unfazed in the face of your obvious frustrated desperation, hips still vainly moving in an attempt to find something that’s no longer there. He looks down at you, watching with evident amusement in his eyes as you lose the high that he’s given you, languidly taking the time to idly suck on his fingers, still slick with your arousal as he waits.

He’s patient, simply staring down at your quivering form as he holds you within his scrutiny, deliberately drawing out the silence until the tension has grown thick, and it starts to make you feel disquieted, nervous, almost like you’ve done something you shouldn’t have and you’re now waiting for him to pronounce your punishment.

Only then, only once he sees the realization dawn on your face and your eyes widen slightly does he reach out, lightly tracing one finger over the back of your hand.

Your hand that he told you to stay above your head on the wall. 

Your hand that is, right now, still pressed firmly against your half open mouth. 

“I thought I told you,” he muses casually, fingers delicately wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away from your lips, “to keep these where I put them.”

You swallow, but look up at him with a falsely innocent expression because fuck it, you’re already out of the frying pan, might as well just jump headfirst into the fire.

“Well, technically you told me to do that only if I knew what was good for me, so... guess I don’t,” you say with a shrug, flashing him a smirk.

“Hm,” he huffs, pondering as he continues to hold your wrist, giving it a squeeze in warning. “So it appears you don’t.”

Within seconds, he’s smoothly spun you around, and pulled both of your wrists behind your back, with a speed that’s so succinct that you don’t even comprehend what’s happening until the heavy, cold weight of the binders settles against your skin, locking your wrists in place with a smooth, resounding click.

Oh.

A hand on your back gently nudges you forward and without question, you begin to walk, only pausing when he’s directed you to stand in front of a desk, the height of which reaches just above your waist. He urges you down, hand pressing in between your shoulder blades until you’re bent over, skin flush against the cool wood. 

You jump when his voice appears, low and inches away from your ear as he leans over you, hands delicately scheming down your sides as he speaks.

“Oh, meshla, you misunderstand me,” he purrs, and he can’t resist gently nipping at your earlobe just to hear the small noise of surprise that escapes you and feel the way your body shivers beneath him. 

You hear him settle behind you, armoured knees hitting the ground with a dull thump as his hands, warm and rough, ease your thighs apart, holding them wide.

Fingers lazily circle you’re already swollen clit as he continues. “You can cum, pretty girl. In fact, I want you to cum, and I want everyone outside to be able to hear all those pretty sounds you make when you do it.”

Outside, a muffled round of drunken cheering from several of his vode seems to punctuate his demand, causing your heart to quicken, and before you’re given time to really think about it, he’s opening you further, diving back in with his lips and tongue as his hands continue to hold your thighs apart.

For a moment, it’s just hot, heavy breaths, warm air tickling and brushing against your incredibly sensitive clit, the barest sensation and the heat enough to pull a breathless “mmm” from your lips, hips desperately pushing back against his waiting mouth. 

You both know that you’re not going to last long, so Fox takes time to relish each moment he spends in between your thighs, every movement of his tongue and lips deliberate and controlled. The firm muscle of the flat of his tongue pressing against you is neither frantic nor fast, but it urges and demands with an almost maddening precision.  The slightest role of his tongue over the bud as his lips pull you into his mouth nearly does you in, turning small, gasping whimpers into “oh please I fuck I please,” without any regard to the level of your voice.

Fox hums a response, and after that, you’re done, tipped over the edge by just the slightest nudge as if you had been clinging to it by your fingertips, and were now free falling.

You only come back to yourself when you feel fingernails raking up your trembling thighs, and Fox’s low, husky voice as he stares up at you.

“Mm, good,” he murmurs, running a finger through your sensitive folds just to watch you tremor.

He rises to his feet, and you’re not sure what you’re expecting him to do, if anything. Your mind is so addled by your orgasm that it comes completely unanticipated. 

A quick, stinging swat lands against your ass, calloused fingers caressing over the skin as soon as it begins to heat beneath the palm of his hand. It makes you let out of rather undignified, surprised squeak, hands instinctively trying to move to cover yourself, but of course, they’re not going anywhere. The unforgiving metal of the binders cooley nipping at your skin as you strain being a good enough reminder of that. 

“But I think you can do better.”

There’s the familiar sound of his codpiece being unclipped, a small clang as it hits the floor and is kicked away without consequence. Fox lets out a low groan, the only evidence to suggest that he’s nearly as affected as you are as he pulls himself free of his blacks, taking his hard length into his hand.

Your head drops to the desk, which is met with an immediate tsk of disapproval, Fox threading his fingers through your hair as he tugs it back up, pulling just enough to ensure that the tingle is painful, a reprimand as sharp as his words.

“Keep your head up, princess,” he orders sternly. “I want everyone to hear the sounds you make when I fuck you.”

He glides his cock through your wet folds, pausing to tease a few circles around your clit with the head as he continues. “And I want everyone to know how good I make you cum.”

The head of his cock lightly slaps against your clit, punctuating his words and causing the already overly sensitive nerves to spark and tingle. The whine that leaves your parted lips is a needy, pitiful thing.

You hear his low, throaty chuckle as he backs off, nudging the glistening head of his cock between your parted lips, smoothly lining himself up at your entrance. With one drawn out, controlled roll of his hips, he’s sinking into you, hands coming to grasp your hips as your tight, warm heat clenches around him.

Once he’s fully seated himself, feeling your walls fluttering around him, he moves, adjusting his angle in several quick, sharp snaps of his hips as he gages your response. When he finds the angle that has you crying out the loudest, and he’s satisfied that his cock insistently nudges against your G spot with every thrust, he begins to move in earnest.

Fox sets an even, measured pace, pulling back only to thrust back in with more power and intensity behind the insistent movement of his hips, cock pressing against all of those spots that need to be touched, caressed, and stretched for him.

Only when it starts to build inside you, because really, after you’ve already came from the talents of his skilled tongue, it really doesn’t take much to bring you back up, only once you start moaning and writhing beneath him does the rhythm change, not stopping, but slowing considerably as his fingers grasp at your hips, pulling you against him and keeping you still despite your squirming and protests. 

You can feel his armour plates digging against your skin as he moves, the cold, unforgiving plastoid in combination with the hot slick of skin on skin as he firmly presses your hips against him is dizzying, and sends your head spinning with each gentle pulse of his throbbing cock.

He holds you there, keeping your ass pressed flush against his pelvis, only allowing small, controlled ruts of his hips that brush his cock against your walls, his form radiating patience and authority as he looms over you, watching as you mercilessly struggle for him to give you more than what he’s allowing.

Your hips try to push back, to do anything, but without being able to brace your hands, you’re not getting anywhere fast at all, and your struggle to gain any kind of leverage ends with you throwing your head back, letting out a high-pitched, frustrated whine as you look back at your tormentor, who watches with an almost impassive expression, eyes dark.

He sweeps your hair over your shoulder, littering a trail of hot kisses and sharp bites along the exposed column of your throat as he moves to your ear. 

“Got something to say, meshla?” He coos condescendingly, nuzzling his nose against your neck and letting out a warm breath that sends goosebumps down your spine.

Under the full weight of his attention, he manages to scatter the few strings of coherent words that your brain was trying to piece together into something useful. All you can do is moan helplessly, feebly pushing back against him in an attempt to get him to move in vain.

“Hm,” he muses, and you feel the brief scraping of teeth as he runs them along your shoulder. “Guess not. Maybe I’ll just stay here, until you can figure out how to use your pretty mouth to tell me what you want.”

You know what he wants, and it only takes one small, barely there nudge of his hips for it to come spilling out of you, with minimal protest or fight. 

“Please, sir, please,” you beg, both cheeks and eyes burning at how unsteady your voice sounds. “Please fuck me.”

“Ah,” he pretends to come to the understanding and that bastard, you don’t have to look at him to know that there’s a devilish smirk on his face as one of his hands leaves your hips, dipping to run along your inner thigh. 

“Understood,” he says, voice as short and crisp as if he’s just barking an order to one of his troopers. 

With that, he withdraws, unsheathing himself so slowly that every inch of him drags along your walls as he pulls out. Then, without warning, grasping your hip tightly, he slams back into you, pushing against your tightness and pulling you back onto him at the same time. His pace is now brisk, unyielding, and unwaveringly steady as he impales you on his cock, letting out low, breathy sounds, pausing to listen to the mules and moans that leave you in response.

As soon as he starts hitting someplace deep, quick and primal and constant, your back is arching, your ability to form any coherent words seemingly depleted. 

Or at least, that’s what you think, until his hand, that had up until this point been squeezing and massaging the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, moves in between your legs, fingers expertly catching on your clit, circling, pressing, and the occasional tap against the overly sensitive bud that has you gasping and jolting in place.

“Fox,” you whimper desperately, hips wriggling even though there’s nowhere to go. “Please.”

Whether you’re saying please to beg him to stop because you can’t, it’s too much, or you’re saying please because you want, you need him to never stop, to keep going because the attention he’s lavishing on your clit combined with the delicious way he’s filling and stretching you on his cock feels so wonderfully good is unclear.

The decision is quickly taken out of your hands when Fox, evidently seeing how close you are, abruptly adjusts his angle, redirecting his focus yet again to your G spot, hips rolling against you as he targets it with small, precise and shallow thrusts.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, hand releasing your hip to rake his fingernails down your spine. “Cum,” he orders, giving your clit another tap before he continues his tantalizing circles. “Cum for me.”

You throw your head back, spine contorting as you arch, only vaguely aware of the desk digging into your ribs as you cum, eyes squeezing shut and walls clamping down on him as some sound that you don’t even begin to hear nor control is ripped from your throat.

Only then does his pace falter and does he pull you back onto him to bury himself to the hilt within you, cold armour plating firmly pressing against your ass and your thighs, as he lets  out a long, low rumble as he stills within you, spilling his release within your warm, convulsing heat. 

You’re aware of your head falling against the desk, finally too exhausted to keep it up as your body trembles with aftershocks. You’re aware of his hand, soothing as it strokes through your hair. You’re aware of him slowly easing himself out, you think you might make a small sound at the loss, judging by his low chuckle, but you’re not sure.

You only really begin to engage with the world again when you feel the rush of liquid leaving your core, causing you to let out a small gasp. 

“Shh, little one, s’okay,” Fox murmurs, gathering the mix of his and your release that glistens on your folds with his fingers, slowly pushing it back inside, causing you to whimper. 

He guides your legs back into your panties and skirt with tender hands, pulling you to your feet and reaching around you to button up your top.

It’s only when he’s about to steer you out of the room that you realize. 

“Fox?” You say with a frown, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Aren’t you gonna, you know, undo the binders?”

He looks at you, hands occupied with snapping his codpiece back into place. 

“No,” he responds shortly. “You still instigated a fight. I at least have to play off the charade that I’m taking you back to HQ.”

He sets his helmet back on his head, and even though you can no longer see his face, you know that there’s amusement in his eyes, because even though this was your plan, he still has the last laugh. 

“This is still a punishment, and considering I’m letting you off the hook in terms of having to pay a fine, it’s a rather generous alternative, don’t you think, Meshla?” He reminds you lowly, voice clear even through his helmet modulator. “Get moving,” he orders, nudging you forward impatiently.

your mouth drops open as the noise from outside slowly filters into your ears.

He’s about to make you walk through the bar.

Your wrist still in binders as he escorts you out.

Past many of his vode.

With his cum still leaking out of you and the fresh bite marks that he scattered across your neck and shoulders like ornaments.

They’ll take one look at you, and even if they hadn’t managed to hear some of what was going on, which, judging by the dryness in your throat, would be a complete miracle of the force, they’ll know exactly what you did with the Marshall commander whom they all serve under and fuck, the burning twinge of humiliation should not effortlessly combine with some sort of excitement, but it does.

Your cheeks flush, and it takes all of your willpower to start shuffling your feet forward. 

Well played, Commander. Well played indeed. 

[enigmaticexplorer]

I trust him, and he trusts me

Summary: When Wolffe accidentally interrupts a private moment between you and Fox, dynamics change. And even though you’re mistrustful of most men and reserved with the intimacies of your life, you find yourself opening up to Wolffe. Much to Fox’s pleasure.

Pairings: Established Fox x female!reader. Fox x female!reader x Wolffe.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Minors DNI.

Word count: 7.6K

Read on AO3. 

A/N: Please know that hygiene is of the upmost importance to me. I may not explicitly state in my works that people wash their hands before any type of sexual contact, but they do. Everyone always washes their hands.

A wet tongue flattened itself against your clit and you moaned. A spark of heat coiled tighter inside of you, the beginnings of what you hoped for so desperately.

The tongue circled your clit. Slow, tortuous circles that had your hips posturing, your cunt fluttering, your hands trembling.

At your sharp tug on his curls, Fox groaned. The vibration from the guttural noise stroked your cunt. Like a shock of lightning, pleasure rocked through your body and you gasped, arching off the bed. Heavy pants hissed between your teeth, your fingers clinging to Fox’s hair for steadiness.

Strong hands held you down, deft fingers massaging into your hips. The heat of his mouth enveloped your clit and Fox sucked. Your legs squeezed the breadth of his shoulders at the same moment your cunt clenched.

“Oh gods,” you moaned. Deep inside of you, pressure mounted. Sharpened. “Fox—”

The door to your bedroom swung open.

Wrenched from the pleasure addling your thoughts, you jerked up. Your breaths faltered and you stared wide-eyed at the intruder.

For in the doorway of your bedroom stood Commander Wolffe.

Nude body fully displayed, you wrapped a protective arm around your chest, trying to close your legs.

Except Fox still held your hips, his shoulders holding your thighs wide open, refusing to let you go. His upper lip curled and his narrowed eyes took in your sweaty body, took in what you assumed to be both surprise and unease on your face. He shifted himself, just enough to cover your body.

Face drawn in a scowl, Wolffe assessed the situation, his gaze lingering on yours for a long moment. The reality of the situation seemed to catch up to him and a muscle flexed in his jaw. Crossing his arms over his chest, he faced the door.

“Apologies,” he grumbled.

“That’s okay,” you said.

It really wasn’t. You had been so close. A month of letting Fox pursue his whole “oral sex is pleasurable, give me a chance to prove it” thing, trusting him with a vulnerability you usually ignored, led to this moment, and his stupid brother had to interrupt.

Reaching for the sheet, you pulled it atop your naked body, blinking at Fox. Your partner was still scowling, his umbrage palpable in the small bedroom.

“We need to speak,” Wolffe said. Tone sharp, slightly annoyed, you knew he wasn’t speaking to you.

Your interactions with the commander were minimal, a mere crossing of paths whenever you visited Fox at his office. And while Wolffe had always been cordial—not friendly, but certainly respectful—you were not comfortable with him seeing you in such a compromising position.

Hell, you weren’t comfortable with any person seeing you naked, much less with a man’s head between your legs.

Only Fox held your trust. And he held it with careful hands, protective of the trust you both had developed the past year. Protective of the trust you gave to no one. No one, except him.

The same muscle in Wolffe’s jaw twitched in Fox’s and the man gently closed your legs, his fingers massaging your calf. An uncharacteristic glare darkened his features and he patted your calf, pushing himself to his feet.

“Were you close?” he asked softly.

It took an embarrassingly long amount of time for you to realize he was talking to you. And when it registered, heat warmed your cheeks. His tone was casual, intrigued, even though his brother was standing in the room and could hear.

Shifting uncomfortably under the sheet, you nodded. Fox ran a hand through his hair, the curls at his temples silvered, and then released a bitter chuckle. He continued to stare at you, his jaw working. Shoulders stiffening, he offered you a tight smile.

“I’ll be right back. We can continue—”

“It’s okay.” At his flicker of disappointment, you grimaced, fiddling with the sheet. “I don’t think…”

A meaningful look passed between you both and Fox nodded in understanding. Humiliation sunk into your body. Cold and unwelcome, you dropped your gaze to your hands, swallowing against the tears itching the backs of your eyes.

You would not cry. You would not.

A light tap encouraged you to look up. Fox squeezed your calf again, his expression gentle yet firm. He didn’t need to vocalize his thoughts for you to know what he was thinking.

Everything is okay. We’re okay.

The phrase he told you whenever something like this happened. Whenever your body reacted in an unwanted way.

His smile softened and he squeezed your thigh before turning on his heel and shoving Wolffe in the back. The door swung shut but you didn’t miss the baleful glare Fox shot his brother.

The door clipped shut and Wolffe faced his vod. He was expecting Fox’s annoyance. He was not expecting his fury. And he sure as fuck hadn’t expected his vod to slam his hands against his chest and shove him backwards.

Wolffe stumbled and Fox swung. Blocking his vod’s fist, he sidestepped another punch. He shoved Fox away and backtracked a meter, creating distance.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Fox snarled.

Wolffe rolled his eyes. Today had been long enough without dealing with a dumbass vod in love. “How the fuck was I supposed to know you were fucking?”

“We were in her fucking bedroom.” Fox glanced back at the closed door and winced. Taking a step closer, he lowered his voice. “We’ve been working on that for a month and you just had to fucking interrupt.”

Wolffe frowned. “You’ve been working on what for a month?”

“She can’t orgasm without a vibrator.” Running a hand through his hair, Fox sighed. “We’ve been working on it.”

“You’re telling me that you can’t get your woman to orgasm?” Wolffe said slowly, plainly. “I knew you weren’t as good as me, but what the actual fuck, Fox’ika?”

“Fuck off,” Fox hissed. “She’s uncomfortable with oral and we’re taking this slowly. It took me a fucking year to get her to trust me. I’m not fucking this up.”

A hint of guilt stabbed at his conscious and Wolffe grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze travelled to the closed door. No wonder you looked petrified the moment he walked in. Awkward situation aside, if you were trying to overcome discomfort with Fox, his arrival probably set the two of you back a bit.

“She can orgasm, right?” He wasn’t sure why the question forced its way out, but it felt important enough to ask.

“ ‘Course she can. With a vibrator.” Fox shrugged. “She gets too in her head—she thinks she’s taking too long or it’s not enjoyable for me and then she can’t.” He kicked at the floor. “I thought it would be useful to find someone who could help. Touch her and kiss her—”

“—so she gets distracted.”

Nodding, Fox heaved a heavy sigh. “But she doesn’t trust anyone. She doesn’t want a random man being with her like that.”

“Then choose someone she knows,” Wolffe said. The solution was fucking simple, even for a di’kut like Fox. “Cody. Or Rex.”

“Thought about it.” Fox shot him an annoyed look, probably reading his former thought. “I introduced her to them but she was too shy. She’s already reserved, and when she knows that’s why I’m introducing her to those vode, she gets even more mistrustful.”

“That’s… tough.”

Wolffe glanced at the chrono on his wrist. He gave his vod thirty more seconds to mope and then he straightened. “All right. There was a jail break.”

79s was not your favorite place on Coruscant. There were few places that appealed to you, and a club overcrowded with drunk men, too loud music, and strobe lights that hurt your eyes did not meet criteria. However, the place was special to Fox. A safe place for him to be with his brothers outside of work, share a drink with them, and make sure they were doing okay.

While you held no love for 79s, you cared enough for Fox to appreciate the club for the sanctuary it provided.

Lifting your hand to his lips, Fox brushed a soft kiss to your knuckles and returned your intertwined hands to his side. A simple gesture he did often whenever he was engrossed in conversation, as he was now, listening to a group of younger men. New transfers to the Coruscant Guard. Men Fox prioritized to get to know tonight.

Men who blinked wide eyes—awed by his presence—while he talked.

Much of what Fox did in the midst of the war earned him a certain reputation amongst the men outside the Guard. A reputation based on disagreement with certain orders he oversaw and acted upon. And while the Guard was steadfast in their loyalty to Fox, there were many in the ranks who held little care for him, much less respected him.

He wore a façade—one that spoke of control and indifference—to hide the guilt you knew gnawed at him. The guilt that woke him in the middle of the night and left him sitting on the edge of your bed with his head in his hands and his breaths erratic.

Never reacting to the disgruntled comments and bitter remarks muttered about him, Fox hid his emotions well. Over the months, though, you saw through the cracks. You saw the guilt and shame; you saw the hurt he refused to vocalize.

To see him speaking with these new transfers, to see the respect in their faces and their eagerness to prove themselves to him, soothed the defensiveness you felt on his behalf.

Fox squeezed your hand. A silent apology for your lack of inclusion in the conversation. You told him, on multiple occasions, you didn’t mind listening to his conversations with his brothers. That was the purpose of your visits to 79s, and you liked seeing him with his men. Liked how the stiffness eased from his shoulders, how his smile softened, how the lines marring his forehead and eyes smoothed.

But he always felt guilty whenever the conversation lasted longer than a few minutes.

“All right, boys,” Fox said. He clapped a hand to the shoulder of the closest man. “Go grab another drink. And remember: don’t contribute or take away from the population tonight.”

Rolling your eyes while smiling at the silly advice he always used with new recruits, you waved to the men as they wandered away.

“I like them,” you said.

Fox grabbed your waist and pulled you into his chest. An amused grin tugged on his lips. “You always like them.”

“You liked them, too.” Resting your hands on his chest, you quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t try and pretend otherwise.”

“I did like them.” His head lowered, his eyes hooded as his lips brushed against yours. “But I want to spend tonight with you.”

A comfortable warmth enveloped your body and you closed your eyes, leaning into him, leaning into the soft, pliant heat of his mouth. Your tongue teased the seam of his lips. His brushed yours, friendly and flirtatious. Before he could deepen the kiss and you both lost yourselves in the heady embrace of the other, you pulled away. Voyeurism and exhibition may have been Fox’s proclivities, but you weren’t comfortable with either. No matter the subtleties of his current intent.

With a quiet chuckle, Fox trailed soft kisses along your jaw, to your ear, his hands pulling you even closer. Close enough his hardening cock nestled firmly against your stomach. Your fingers curled into his shirt and you tilted your head to the side, sighing quietly at the flick of his tongue to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said quietly.

“Mm-hmm.” You leaned back so you could meet his gaze. “Those men adore you.” Lifting a hand to his face, you smoothed his cheekbone, brushing a few stray curls from his forehead. “I wish you could see yourself the way those men do. The way I do.”

Fox exhaled a strained breath and dropped his forehead to yours. The hands on your waist expanded across your back until he was holding you. Embracing you.

It was always shocking when Fox dropped the hardened exterior he wore around his subordinates and superiors. The exterior that kept you away from his advances for so many months. Only when he had had a moment like this—a moment of silent vulnerability when the hurt he hid so well showed itself and he embraced you tightly, his hands trembling—did you finally start to trust him.

“Thank you, mesh’la,” he whispered hoarsely.

With a brush of his lips to your cheek, Fox scanned the crowd and grimaced.

“Need to take a piss,” he said. The corner of his lip twitched and he winked. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Go.” Unwinding yourself from his grip, you nodded toward the closest bar. “Find me over there.”

With a squeeze to your shoulder, Fox disappeared into the crowd. You made your way to the bar, prepared to sit and rest your feet. Instead, a human male—non-clone—cut off your path. A bottle in his hand and a friendly expression on his face, he dipped his chin.

“Nice dress,” he said.

The comment was harmless, and his relaxed demeanor convinced you he wasn’t a bother, so you smiled your thanks.

He took a step closer. “Are you here alone?”

Before you could refute his advances, two large hands landed atop your shoulders. Instinctively, you stiffened, your jaw clenching. Though the hands were gentle, their pressure light, you didn’t know who they belonged to—

“She’s spoken for.”

The depth of the voice, similar to Fox’s yet underlined by a perpetual gruffness, alerted you to the hands’ owner. Breathing a small sigh of relief, you relaxed. And on your exhale, you realized how close Wolffe stood. Little space separated his chest from your back, and if you so chose, you could easily lean into him. Little effort and little craning. He was standing far too close.

The man in front of you took one look at Wolffe and turned on his heel.

“That was rude.” You faced the commander and his hands fell from your shoulders, crossing his chest. His expression was apathetic and yet you could have sworn there was a hint of accusation. Strong enough of a hint that you stiffened, feeling defensive. “I was going to tell him about Fox.” Lips pursing, you eyed him. “I would never cheat on him, if that’s your concern.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Wolffe studied your face for a moment too long. The assessment in his gaze was too reminiscent of the night he saw you with Fox and you internally winced. “I wanted to apologize, again, for barging in.”

Heat warmed your cheeks and you looked away. “I already said it was okay.”

In your periphery, Wolffe scoffed. “It was okay enough you won’t look me in the eye?”

You gave him a disapproving look. “Did you need something, Commander?”

“It’s Wolffe.” The corner of his lip twitched. “Use it.”

With that, Wolffe pushed his way through the crowd, and a second later, Fox reappeared.

“Your brother is an asshole,” you grumbled.

A knowing grin lit Fox’s face as he leaned against the bar’s counter. “I don’t need you to tell me which brother you’re speaking of.”

“I don’t think he likes me.” A small smile curved your mouth and you stepped closer, intertwining your fingers.

“Impossible,” Fox said quietly. And though his expression was teasing, a serious note underscored his tone. His knuckles knocked beneath your jaw and titled your head back. “He’s jealous of me.”

You laughed and his grin widened.

“Seriously, my mesh’la.” Fox lowered his face, his lips a mere hairsbreadth away. He smiled against your mouth. “He knows I’m one lucky bastard.”

To the outsider, his words could be taken as a mere throwaway. But you knew Fox. You knew the subtle shifts in his expressions and tone. You knew when he was teasing and when he was being serious. Vulnerable.

His simple comment reminded you why you were with him. Why you trusted him so much. Even though you were difficult to know, guarded and aloof, he never gave up on you.

A knock on your door told you something was wrong. A peek through the peephole and the sight of an armored Commander Wolffe confirmed your suspicion.

Unnerved, you cracked open your door. “I’m surprised you know how to knock.”

Wolffe stared at you for a long second. He blinked once. The lines around his mouth tightened. And then he released a chuff of a chuckle. A tiny, amused smile worked its way across his lips and he looked down the hall, wiping his hand across his mouth.

When his gaze returned to yours, his expression was serious. “Fox won’t make it tonight.”

Your thoughts stalled on something painful and scary. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Wolffe leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, eyes narrowed as he peered into your apartment. His nose wrinkled and you could have sworn the quirk of his eyebrow meant he liked the scent of your dinner. “There was a terrorist threat on some senators. He has to clean up the mess.”

“Oh.” So long as he was alive and safe, and his men were alive and safe, and no one else was dead, then you could relax. “Thank—”

“Are you baking bread?”

The utter shock in his question caught you off guard and you frowned. “I am.”

“Hmm.” His gaze slid back to yours.

Something about his question and then his blasé response rubbed you the wrong way. You weren’t a connoisseur of fine food. But you weren’t unskilled either. “Is there a problem?”

“It smells good.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Wolffe shrugged and your eyes narrowed. “Fox never complains about my cooking.”

“That’s not the compliment you think it is.” Straightening and with a glance at his chrono, Wolffe gave you a bored look. “If my vod asks, tell him I was overly apologetic on his behalf.”

Snorting, you started to close your door but you hesitated. Dinner was served for two, and if Fox couldn’t make it tonight, you could gift Wolffe a serving to take back to his office. On behalf of Fox’s perpetual concern for his brothers, but especially concern for the apathetic commander walking away.  

“Wolffe?” The commander halted, glancing over his shoulder. You hesitated for only three seconds. “Would you like some dinner? I have enough for two people. Well, one normal person and then a second person who eats a lot.”

Surprise furrowed Wolffe’s brows and he hesitated, scanning your face. You almost rolled your eyes at his evidential skepticism. In a slow, controlled movement, he turned back around and took a barely perceptible step in your direction. More seconds passed as he hesitated again. His head cocked to the side as he studied your face.

If he was going to be uptight about the food he ate, then you wouldn’t have bothered—

“All right.”

The commander strolled into your apartment and made his way to the kitchen, setting his helmet on one of your chairs and then washing his hands in your sink. Somewhat startled by his abrupt response yet also satisfied by your intent, you were retrieving a container large enough for both the curry and a few rolls when you caught sight of Wolffe dishing two bowls. You stilled, frowning.

Oblivious to your confusion, Wolffe set the bowls on the table and returned, placing a few rolls on a plate. As he took a seat, he shot you a hard look.

“What?”

You hid the container behind your back. “Nothing.”

There was a loss in translation, apparently. Wolffe thought you were inviting him to eat with you, and since he was already seated at your table, and he had been kind enough to prepare your dishes, you felt too awkward to ask him to leave.

Taking a seat, you glanced at him. Wolffe was watching you, his brows furrowed and that unsettling calculative look on his face. Beneath his somewhat intimidating gaze, you focused on your bowl, opting for a bite of the curry.

Silence filled the kitchen. Loud and probing. The scrapes of your forks and the occasional sound of sauce stirring elapsed.

Dinner with Fox was easy and convivial. A time for him to unwind after a long day and for you to enjoy his company outside of the confines of work and the pressure of trying to gain his brothers’ approval. With Wolffe, dinner was tense and uncomfortable. Your thoughts kept returning to the night he interrupted; the fact that he had seen you left you feeling uneasy and unsettled.

You wished Fox were here—his steadying hand on your shoulder, the security of his presence.

The silence grew louder, more awkward.

After a moment, you snuck a peek. Wolffe was chewing slowly, thoughtfully. He swallowed and, in a move you would have missed if you weren’t looking at him, he nodded his approval. You stifled your small smile with a piece of the fluffy roll.

Minutes spent in silent contemplation of the food were soon eclipsed by a narrow-eyed Wolffe.

“My vod likes you,” he said.

You blinked. “I know.”

Wolffe’s gaze caressed your face in a way that left you feeling peeled apart and easily readable. An itch pricked the back of your neck and you shifted uncomfortably. He cocked his head to the side. “You’re not going to hurt him.”

It wasn’t a question, but you weren’t entirely certain if it was a threat or a simple statement.

“Fox has been through a lot,” Wolffe continued, and you realized it was a threat. “I don’t want to see him fucked over.”

At his audacity, a course of anger stiffened your spine.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Wolffe.” You held his gaze, refusing to balk from the wariness. “What I feel for Fox is none of your business, and you have no right to accuse me of wanting to hurt him.”

“I didn’t accuse—”

“I trust him, and he trusts me. That is all you need to know.”

Wolffe grimaced and he sat back in his chair, rubbing the nape of his neck. He stared at you, hesitation tensing along his body. In a soft voice, he asked, “Do you trust me?”

Bewildered by the question, you didn’t answer. The tension in his shoulders stiffened and he clenched his jaw.

“I don’t know you,” you answered truthfully.

His mouth opened but he paused. His gaze dropped to his plate and he was silent for almost a minute. Eyes returning to yours, he cleared his throat. “What if I wanted you to?”

To trust you? To know you? Or both?

“I don’t trust easily,” you murmured.

“I know.”

Wolffe held your gaze, unwavering and assessing, and then he pushed himself to his feet. Taking advantage of your stunned state at his sudden movement, he added your bowl to the piles of dishes he was carrying and wandered to the kitchen sink. The splash of water and the subsequent scrubbing noises revived you from your momentary lapse. But when you tried to take over the dish washing, Wolffe gave you a bland look and shouldered you away. At your huff of indignation, the corners of his lips lifted.

Dishes washed, Wolffe grabbed his helmet and made his way to the door. One foot in the hallway, one still in your apartment, he looked you over.

“Think about it,” he said.

For the first three months in which you met Fox, the commander was determined in his intent to know you. He went out of his way in your shared office building to greet you each morning and evening. A rap of his knuckles on your door when you were engrossed in work; a quick conversation if you weren’t too busy. The man was persistent and, overtime, he wore down your defenses.

A lunch he ordered into the office.

A walk in the evening back to your apartment with no intention otherwise.

An invite to drinks that you actually attended. And enjoyed.

A private dinner with lingering looks and shared smiles.

Months of intentional time together led to a kiss outside your apartment door. A few nights later you let him inside. The next night you showered together.

Mouths seeking sensitive spots on your bodies; hands gripping a heavy, hardened cock; fingers stroking a swollen, aching clit. Fox came first, as you intended, and, to your frustrated surprise, he became single-mindedly focused on providing you a similar release. So much intense focus concentrated solely on you.

An awkward conversation ensued but Fox was undeterred. It was the moment you realized you had possibly fucked up. Fox would not give up. It was terrifying, yet also reassuring.

Nights spent in your bed, hands on skin, different vibrators tested and used. Sheets entangled around your sweaty bodies as he sunk into the heat of your cunt, as he rocked his hips against yours, as he hit a depth that had your eyes rolling and fingers clinging to the headboard.

Fox was patient and understanding, and he was so fucking persistent. You didn’t understand why it mattered so much to him. His cock in your cunt—his mouth on your breasts and his hands bruising your hips—was enough. But soon you found his head between your legs, the tip of his tongue on your labia, the flattened length of his tongue against your clit.

Persistence, apparently, was an inherited trait.

Wolffe entered your life and refused to leave. Dinners with Fox became dinners with both men. Evenings at a museum or the theater or the local greenhouse, or even a visit to 79s, included Wolffe. To your immense irritation, you couldn’t fault the commander per your usually successful attempts to push a man away.

He was respectful of your private time with Fox, he was understanding of your space, and he was consistent and intentional in spending time with you.

The commander whom you knew preferred silence went out of his way to talk with you. Probing questions you couldn’t entirely avoid. Prolonged discussions when you accidentally let something slip. Moments when you revealed too much about yourself which led to private conversations between you and both men. Intimate conversations.

To your utter confusion, Fox didn’t seem to mind Wolffe. Rather, he encouraged Wolffe’s presence.

Even though the persistent presence of two men of such single-minded intensity would typically scare you away, things were different with Fox and Wolffe.

“Fox,” you chastised. A low sound hummed in the back of his throat and he pressed you harder against the wall of his office, rolling his hardened cock into your stomach. “It’s late. I should go.”

Late was a gross underestimation. It was midnight and he shouldn’t be working but you knew your Fox. Driven and determined, he completed his work on time. No matter the inappropriateness of the hour.

“Don’t want you to leave,” Fox murmured.

He kissed you slowly, deeply, and you sighed, giving in to him. His lips trailed beneath your jaw and you lifted your head, your eyelids fluttering.

“Then come home with me,” you said.

“I have work I need to finish—”

“I know, but you need a break—”

“I want to—”

The door to his office swished open.

It was like a replay of that night so many months ago, except this time you were fully clothed. And this time Wolffe didn’t turn around and apologize. Hesitating for a brief second, he strolled to Fox’s desk and sat on the edge. A tiny smirk curved his mouth.

“Do continue,” he drawled. “I don’t mind a show.”

Fox stopped thrusting his hips into your stomach but he didn’t move away. His eyes were hooded, a small smile on his face as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“You wanna go home?” he asked. With a reserved smile, you nodded. “Then let’s go home.”

Wolffe joined the both of you on your way to your apartment. His presence wasn’t abnormal. If anything, it was familiar.

So you didn’t question it when he followed you into your bedroom, and you didn’t question it when Fox held your face and kissed you while Wolffe kissed your neck, and you didn’t question it when Fox started unbuttoning your loose shirt while Wolffe stood at your back, his hands running along your skin as he held onto your waist. His lips tickled the top of your ear and he tightened his hold on you.

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he asked.

A shiver slid down your spine at the hoarse rasp of his voice. Your gaze locked onto Fox’s and he gave you a reassuring smile, his fingers still working the buttons on your shirt.

The answer was reflexive. “Yes.”

Clothes fell; fingers traced the contours of two bodies honed by war; lips and tongues skimmed your neck, collarbone, nipples. So much heat and attention embraced you three—warm skin pressed against yours, a hand between your legs, hands on your ass, teeth scraping your throat, bite marks sucked into your thighs.

Skin sweaty beneath your palms; muscles flexing at the light touch of your fingers; heads thrown back and throats bobbing. So much touching and masculine groans of praise—a lick along stomachs, squeezes to muscular biceps, bites to necks that unleased their waning restraint.

You found yourself in your bed. Legs thrown over Fox’s shoulders. A hand in his hair, the other curled into Wolffe’s muscular thigh.

Warmth lazed through your mind, a fog of pleasure and comfort dotting your thoughts like cotton balls.

Fox sucked on your labia and you jerked. Shocks of pleasure arced along your legs, fluttered in your cunt. The intense heat of a mouth sucked on the swell of your breast. Tingles tightened your nipples, the sensation arousing. Sloppy and unhurried, Wolffe licked a slow circle around your nipple, his hand on your throat, his thumb stroking the side of your neck.

“Gods,” you moaned.

“No gods here,” Wolffe said. His darkened gaze met yours and he smirked, nipping at your nipple and tugging it. “Just me and Fox.”

Your hips flexed and Fox chuckled against your cunt, strong hands pinning you to your bed. From between your legs, he raised his head. A drunken expression softened his features and he grinned lazily at you.

“Will you pray to us, mesh’la?” Fox teased.

His thumbs opened your labia and, eyes still on yours, he dragged the wet head of his tongue through your sensitized core. Spasms of pleasure erupted across your body and you moaned, closing your eyes.

Your attention was divided between the painful throb between your legs and the heavy tightness in your breasts. Your blood simmered from such unwavering attention, from the half-naked men running their hands down your body, licking and tasting the most intimate parts of you.

Pressure built deep inside of you, a wicked heat coiling tighter and tighter. Your stomach clenched. Your cunt pulsated.

Wolffe tugged on your opposite nipple, his large hand enveloping your breast and squeezing. The hand on your neck locked beneath your jaw, his thumb still stroking softly.

Skin afire, you gripped his thigh harder.

It was so much stimulation. Hot, wet mouths were in too many places. Calloused hands were massaging your hips, squeezing your breast harder, stroking your jawline.

Every nerve in your body was pulled taut. You were on an edge, teetering somewhere between painful bliss and intoxicating release.

“How does she taste, Fox’ika?” Wolffe asked.

Curiosity and dark hunger laced the rasp in his voice as he stared between your legs. He palmed himself—the bulge of his cock straining against the confines of his boxer briefs—and the sight alone made it harder to breathe.

“Good,” Fox groaned. He gripped your thighs and spread them open farther, leaning back so Wolffe could see your swollen clit and labia, see the arousal glistening your skin. “Look at her, Wolf’ika.”

Your heart raced in your chest, your cunt clenching at the lust-addled gazes of the two men. Wolffe released his hold on your neck and circled two fingers around your cunt. Your breath hitched and your hips arched for him, silently begging him to fill you. Instead, he pulled back and, eyes on yours, he tasted his fingers.

Eyelids fluttering, a low rumble of approval reverberated in his chest and Wolffe leaned forward, kissing you. You pulled him closer, clung to him, lost yourself to the feel of his lips. His tongue teased yours and he cupped your jaw, angling your face for himself so he could deepen the kiss. The domination in the kiss—the unrestrained passion in Wolffe—stole your thoughts until you were panting, crying out into his mouth at a sharp jolt of pleasure.

Fox circled his tongue around your cunt and then flattened it to your clit. He mouthed on your swollen nerve, sucked on it fervently.

The heat inside of you coalesced, mounted as your stomach tightened. Wound up into something so viciously tight that your eyes closed, your body tensing into hard lines. Fox pressed a thumb to your clit and you froze.

Relief swept through you and the tension cracked. Like ice breaking, you shattered.

Waves of ecstasy flowed through your body and a honeyed stream of bliss settled into your muscles, trickled into your bones. Distantly, you were aware of yourself moaning into Wolffe’s mouth, aware of Fox lifting your hips and lapping at your cunt.

Time elapsed in a daze of stroking touches and indolent kisses.

Warms hands clung to your hips. Pliant lips moved against yours. Boneless legs trembled as you straddled Fox. The wetness between your legs slickened his cock, and the possessive look on his face heated your blood.

The tip of his cock stretched your cunt. Head tilted back, tendons strained in his neck and he moaned. A hand between your legs teased your aching clit.

Slow increments, rocking and grinding, the stretch of his cock filled you. The fullness was prominent and the depth familiar. Your breath stuttered as your hips met his; air hissed between his teeth as his cock throbbed. Ardent fondness softened his expression as he held your gaze, his adoration palpable.

The beat of his heart thumped beneath your palm; muscles bunched in his stomach; a whimper fell from his lips; the wet heat of his mouth enveloped your nipple; pleasure spiked hot and blinding deep inside you.

Calloused palms skimmed your back and a hard cock rubbed against your ass. Murmured praises interspersed slow, lazy kisses down your spine.

Desperate brown eyes held your gaze as fingers grasped the nape of your neck and held you close. Held you closer until low pants groaned against your neck. Heat emanated from the two bodies entrapping you, the hands on your back and the mouth on your shoulder, the lips to your spine and the fingers grazing your clit.

Pressure coiled, harsh and brilliant, and you cried out, falling into the hands you trusted above all else. Waves of pleasure rolled from the base of your spine and outwards, and you moaned into Fox’s shoulder, losing yourself to the moment.  

“Fuck,” Fox groaned, kissing your temple, brushing strands of hair from your face. A moment later and he was clinging to your hips, pounding up into you while he released himself. His chest heaved beneath yours and his hands shook slightly on your thighs, raspy praises fell from his lips.

Time, once again, elapsed, and, satiated and limp, you curled into Fox’s chest. A moment of reprieve, you basked in the two men surrounding you, the warmth of their skin, the gentle strokes of hands down your thighs.

From behind you, Wolffe started to chuckle, his hand stroking slow circles along your thigh. His own cock throbbed against your ass. “That was fast, huh, Fox’ika?”

The taunt earned a hard glare from Fox and, deciding it was a question of your loyalty, you pulled away from him. Whatever he saw in your face must have alerted him to your intention for he gave you a mischievous wink. Without preamble, you reached behind, slipped your hand into Wolffe’s boxer briefs, and squeezed his cock. Hard.

“Fuck!” Wolffe jerked, his fingers tightening around your thigh.

Grinning at a now amused Fox, you gripped Wolffe tighter, roughly working your palm along his length. He was thick, like Fox, and he sat heavy in your palm, hardened beneath silky skin.

“Mesh’la—” Wolffe warned.

His pants were hoarse, strained against your ear and you gently pinched the head of his cock, twisting it in your palm. Wolffe groaned low, agonized, and he gripped your thigh harder. Another squeeze and twist of your palm and then he was moaning, hips jerking erratically while hot, thick ropes of cum streamed between your fingers.

“That was fast, huh?” you teased.

Still panting, Wolffe rested his forehead into the crook of your neck. “Fuck.”

Chuckling, Fox guided your hand to his boxer briefs, encouraging your fingers to stroke his cock.

“My turn,” he murmured.

Squeezing his cock, you smiled. “I want you inside me.”

“Whatever—fuck—whatever you want, my mesh’la,” he groaned. With a soft kiss to your mouth, he pushed himself up. “Take a pill, Wolf’ika. We have work to do.”

Laughter burst forth from your chest and you watched Wolffe punch Fox. The latter threw a smarmy grin at his brother and then shucked off his boxer briefs, hauling you toward him. He gave you a fond smile, something small and only for you, and you smiled back, lowering yourself to your elbows as he skimmed a hand down your spine.

“Bet I can make her come faster,” Fox taunted.

Wolffe rolled his eyes, stroking his already hardening cock. He met your gaze and a darkly amused smirk spread across his face. He pressed a button on his chrono. “Doubt it.”

1 Year Later

“Good morning, my mesh’la,” Wolffe rasped.

The grumble of his voice so early in the morning made your toes curl. You smiled, clinging to the arm thrown over your body. Warm lips pressed against your throat and your eyes closed. An indolent swipe of his tongue caressed your collarbone, the thickness of his tongue pressing against your skin as he kissed your collarbone more fully.

Warmth eased down your spine and you sighed. Wolffe in the morning was so carefree. Alert yet attentive. His chest nestled against your back, a large hand caressing your lower stomach before skimming your ribs to grip your breast. The coarseness of his palm hardened your nipple and you breathed a quiet moan. Wolffe chuckled, the sound low and hoarse, as he trailed his lips beneath your jaw.

“You are so easy to please in the morning,” he murmured, smiling against your neck. His other hand entangled in your hair and he angled your head back, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “May I fuck you, mesh’la?”

Your eyelids fluttered open and you reached a hand behind, resting it on the muscular thigh entrapping you in his embrace. Across from you, curled on his side, slept Fox. Deep asleep, his features were relaxed. Unworried and at peace. Shafts of sunlight danced through his hair and the silver curls at his temples winked. You would have to be quiet, for him.

“You have to be slow,” you said quietly.

“I know.” Wolffe squeezed your breast, massaging it while he sucked on your throat. A low hum of pleasure sounded in his chest. “You know I know that.”

His thigh moved between your legs and he leaned forward, forcing your upper body to curve. The blunted head of his cock pressed against your cunt and he pushed forward. Fingers curling into the sheets, you gritted your teeth to muffle your gasp. The coolness of the lube allowed him easier access, allowed him to push inside of you without restraint. Still, the girth of his cock—the pressure in the morning—was so much. Too much.

“Wolffe,” you whispered.

“ ‘M sorry.”

He stilled, barely inside, and skimmed his lips along your shoulder. The thumb on your breast slowly circled your nipple. Wet kisses tickled your neck as he worked his way up your throat to your mouth. A teasing swipe of your tongue against his had him groaning into your mouth and his hips jerked.

A breathy moan escaped and you raised your arm behind your head, reaching for his hair. He thrust again, his cock easing in further, and you panted for air. Soft lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear and Wolffe nipped at your earlobe.

“How are you doing, mesh’la?”

He thrusted forward and this time his hand abandoned your breast, sliding between your legs to stroke your clit. White-hot pleasure spiked in your belly and your clit throbbed.

“Good,” you whispered.

Wolffe took the single word as invitation and pushed in until his hips rested snuggly against your ass. Your cunt fluttered around him—around the splitting fullness. You bit your pillow, trying to quiet your whimpers. Fox rustled but his eyes remained closed. Based on the low groan coming from the man behind you, the sound pained and starved, you wouldn’t have to worry about yourself waking Fox.

Pace slow, Wolffe skimmed his hand along your stomach, tracing light, leisure circles on the swells of your breasts, the sensitive areas on your ribs, grazing your clit every few minutes to arouse the aching nerve. The sound of his cock slipping in and out of your cunt—your arousal slickening him as you matched his rhythm—joined your stifled moans.

He sucked on your neck, hoarse groans vibrating your skin. Teeth scraped possessive marks, one hand stroked your clit again and you jerked at such a sensually light touch; the other hand massaged your scalp, gently tugging on your hair until your eyes were rolling in the back of your head.

Biting your pillow harder, you whimpered. The sound snapped something in Wolffe and he pushed you onto your stomach, flattening his chest to your back. His next thrust was harder, rougher. Your cunt convulsed around him and he hissed.

So much for not waking Fox.

“Fuck—” Wolffe panted in your ear, the noise so fucking pained and desperate. “C-Can’t get enough of you, mesh’la—”

Harsh groans filled your ear as Wolffe slammed into you. Faster. Harder.

He was unrestrained. Hands bruising your hips. Tongue licking your neck. His groans whimpering.

“Ah, fuck.”

He rammed into you harder, fucking slammed his cock deep inside of you. Over and over until you were gasping and moaning for more. Your muscles grew taut, your stomach coiled tight, heat licked at the base of your spine.

“Can’t stop—” Wolffe moaned louder and his fingers tightened in your hair. “Sorry—”

The sound of his moans, the utter desperation in his thrusts overwhelmed your senses. Your muscles bunched, your cunt clamped around his cock, and you cried into your pillow, back arching as a volatile heat snaked up your spine. Jerky thrusts from behind and Wolffe’s slurred praises in your ear plummeted you into a moment of pure, euphoric release.

A pained groan fell from his chest and Wolffe slammed into you a final time, his cock throbbing as he came. His thrusts slowed and he buried himself in your cunt, stilling above you.

Limp and slightly dazed, you were aware of his weight crushing your body. Aware of his heavy breaths warming your ear, of his cock still inside you, of the cum trickling between your legs and making a mess of the bedsheets.

With a deep sigh, Wolffe eased his cock from your cunt and rolled onto his side. Sharing in a satiated smile with the man whose hair was properly tussled, you turned your head to the other man in the bed.

Rich brown eyes blinked sleepily at you and a thumb stroked your cheek. Fox grinned, lowering his face to yours, giving you a long, slow kiss. You angled your head for him, sighing into his mouth. His hands urged you forward and you found yourself lying atop him, his arms a protective barrier around you.

“Morning, my mesh’la.” His voice was hoarse and his words slurred while his hands squeezed your thighs.

“Morning, love,” you said quietly, kissing the tender spot beneath his jaw.

A quiet groan escaped his mouth and his chin tilted to the ceiling, his eyes closing. His hands stroked your spine, fingers playing with a few strands of your hair. He leaned back against the headboard, his smile content, the streams of sunlight highlighting the wearied lines on his face and the circles beneath his eyes.

Early morning Fox was always so soft, his touches unrushed and lackadaisical as he started to wake. Unlike Wolffe, who was immediately alert the moment he woke, Fox needed time. In half an hour, though, and with Wolffe already making a mess of the bed, he would take a long time with you. Partially because he liked watching you unwind beneath him, and partially because he liked to spite Wolffe by keeping you to himself.

Beside you both, Wolffe lounged on the bed, the sunlight dancing along the dark planes of his naked body. A relaxed smile curved his face and he watched you through half-lidded eyes, his fingers playing with yours.

A year together had taught you one important thing: You could trust these men.

And if you had accidentally discovered a simple, silver ring hidden in Fox’s socks, and a matching band in Wolffe’s trousers’ pocket…

Well, you could trust them both with that, too.

[madameminor]

Fox Fire - Commander Fox x f!reader - Chapter 1

Summary: In an effort to forget your on-again-off-again, you head out with your friends - and they're determined for you to meet one Commander Fox. After all, the quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

Commander Fox x f!reader

Tags: Smutty mcsmutterson. 18+. NSFW. "Basically, all the good stuff."

Warnings: Nothing this round. Just build up.

Notes: Ok hi! Dunno why I wanted to do this, but I did. I'm excited for the story. Post-war, everyone's ok, that sort of thing. Thank you so much to @dumfanting and @rains-on-kamino for beta-ing and keeping my creative juices flowing. I've tagged all the people on my IMWTO list, JIC you're interested in following this story too. If you are, comment. If you don't, I'll remove you for next chapter. Thank yoooou. Let's get this party started!

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You have to hand it to Chrisa. If her significant other didn’t work here, you would never have thought of coming to the Clone Bar for your night out - but it is PERFECT for what you need.

All the clones made it easy to clock strangers.

The entire vibe of the place is all about coming in and forgetting the world outside.

None of your or Marco’s mutuals would EVER just happen to be here.

AND

You have a bartender on your side, so if anyone gets too handsy or in your face - insta-boot.

The anger from earlier has simmered into resolve, and any excess is going to be worked out on the dance floor. You’d had enough to drink before coming out to loosen you up, but not to spiral you down. You. Look. FAN-TASTIC. Nothing pumps you up like looking your absolute best - and knowing it.

Damn right. It was time to have some fucking fun.

Your gaggle stride up to the front doors, Chrisa flashing the front doorman a smile and a kiss on the cheek before sliding on in. The thick togruta grins as he waves you all in, the lively music thrumming up through your shoes. OOooooo YES! Here we GO!

Lights, bass, people, ALL of it. You’ve missed it. Your spirits lift at the beautiful sight of fun.

Chrisa leads you past the first few bars, piled up with people, making her way towards a third bar closer to the back. You all follow, chatting away excitedly and looking out over the writhing sea of people. Your smile is genuine. You missed this. You missed them. 

“Baaaaaabyyyyy!” your friend croons, leaning over the somewhat busy bar to kiss the bartender. The rest of you sidle up to the 3 empty seats between two groups of clones, offering your hellos.

“Well, look at this attractive group coming up to my bar,” the bartender, Ceese, says with a grin. Their eyes land on you. “Heard we’re celebrating tonight,” they say with a wink. “So let’s get you all started off on the right foot.”

Your girls cheer and you grin as Ceese sets out 6 double shots, filling them to the brim with your favorite alcohol. You laugh as each of your friends and Ceese all take a shot glass, gathering in close around you. 

“To taking out ta poodoo!” Lehla toasts, holding out her shot.

“KRIFF TA POODOO!” Five clinks as you all cheers and down your shots. The liquid comfort slithers through your body, and you breathe a bit easier. THIS is fun. You’re safe here. You slink your arms around Freen and Sizie and hug them close. They smile and hold you tight while Ceese pours out your drinks.

“There you are, drinks are up, get out there!”

You all cheer and grab your drinks, Chrisa leaning up to kiss them thanks for all of you as your crew saunters off to the dance floor. 

Lehla dives right into the center, turning to all of you, and, holding up her drink, proclaims with the gravity of a general headed into battle “Behbies, lets DANCE!!”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pulsing, beating, swaying, living. You laugh and twirl and thoroughly lose yourself in the pleasure of being out with your friends. This was amazing. This was life as it ought to be. 

Only exhaustion and the need for another drink eventually pulls you off the floor, plunking you and your friends down into an open booth.

“More drinks, more drinks!” Sizie chants.

“Oh gods I can’t MOVE,” Freen whines as she leans back. She makes begging eyes at Lehla. Well, the Rodian equivalent. “Lehlaaaaa…”

Lehla good naturedly rolls her eyes. “ALright, alright. Chrisa, that's you and me. Lets go get the goods.” 

Chrisa laughs and loops arms with hers, the two heading back to the bar.

You fan yourself, glancing over your two friends as they gab away with each other, taking a second to get your bearings. The anger is burning off now, leaving just the sadness, the hurt… but its nice to remember everything you gain by… well, by things changing. Change is good. You take a deep breath, letting the comfort settle back in.

“Why do they keep looking over here?” Sizie’s voice cuts through, curious.

You look over towards the bar and see Chrisa and Lehla chatting with Ceese and a few troopers - commanders by their pauldrons. Of course Chrisa knew the regulars, probably catching up. And, uh, they all keep looking over. At you. Specifically at you.

Uh oh. “Oh Mother, what are they up to…”

Freen laughs. “Knowing them, something AMAZING.”

Chrisa and Lehla hurry over, both with a mysterious glint in their eye. Chrisa plops down next to you while Lehla leans in with a smirk, hand on the table.

“Soooooo,” Chris says with a sly grin, “do you think that clones are attractive?”

You side-eye her suspiciously. “Why?”

“Weeeeell,” Chrisa tilts her head to the side, letting you see past her, “one of my ‘friends’ over there happens to be Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard.”

Your stomach tightens with regret.

You sigh, your forehead in your hand. “Chris, you know I don’t-”

She waves her hand at you. “-get on with law enforcement, I know I know. BUT,” she grins, holding a finger up to halt interruptions, “that’s long term. Fox is usually super busy, so he doesn’t really have much time for women in his life. Like, EVER.” She smirks with a small eye roll. “His team almost has to blackmail him to go out with them and relax - and that almost NEVER involves a woman. But that doesn't mean he hasn’t had off-ers,” she says in a sing-song voice. The others giggle as they glance off towards where the Commander sits.

Chris continues. “SO. It wouldn’t be for long- a fling, a jaunt, a roll in the hay, something cas-u-al-and-FUN!” She emphasizes each syllable to get her point across. “You need this. Something different to show you that you can actually be HAPPY in bed, with someone who actually CARES.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “How the heck do you know he ‘cares’?”

She grins again. “I’ve known him for a loooong time. And on the rare occasion that he’s drunk enough to loosen up and actually go home with someone, they ALWAYS come in again talking about how GOOD he is.”

You blink in surprise, and a little shock. “People talk about that?

She shrugs good-naturedly. “Bunker bunnies do. No judgement, they just like to try ‘all the clone flavors’.” She winks. “And I love to hear the gos about the regulars.”

You smirk as the others laugh. Trust Chrisa to be the bar gossip gatherer.

“So, what, you want me to hope he gets drunk, present myself to him and say ‘hi, my ex is an ass and I broke up with him today. Wanna fuck?’”

“Oh NO,” Chrisa pulls a face, “I wouldn’t suggest it if it was that impersonal. See, apparently…” she leans her cheek on one hand, grin glistening with mischief. “He’s been looking over at you all night.”

You blink. You try to sneak a look over to the bar to try and catch a glimpse of this Commander Fox. Two of the red and white clad clones start waving and pointing excitedly between them at the seated one beside them, facing away with what looks like his forehead in his hand. You’re sad you can’t see his face, but you can’t help but smile to yourself. You kind of know how he feels.

“And he’s… cute?” You say hesitantly.

Chrisa perks up and grins. “Oh YEAH. I’ve definitely glanced at him a time or two, don’t tell Ceese.”

“And… safe?” 

“YES,” Chris almost huffs a whine in exasperation. “Who do you think I am??”

Well…

It’s not what you normally do…

…but you ARE trying to do things differently this time…

Just one conversation? You didn’t even have to say yes…

He could be cute…

You look around at your friends' faces. Are any of them unsure about this? Would any advise you that this wasn’t a good idea?

Nope. All of their eyes are excited, almost pleading.

“...ok. I’ll at least talk to him.”

You friends all burst out with a “YES!” You smirk and shake your head. Jeez, you didn’t think you needed it THAT bad.

Chrisa stands and gives a thumbs up to the two clones waiting at the bar. They both pump fists in the air before leaning down to talk to the hunched Commander- who simply punches one of them in the arm without looking over at him. You laugh to yourself. Yeah, you definitely know THAT feeling. The poor guy.

Whatever they say to him, it apparently seems to work. He begrudgingly turns around on his stool and stands, grabbing his helmet. One of his men claps him on the shoulder, which he pushes off angrily before taking a deep breath, turning, and starting his way over to where you and your friends sit. 

You feel your breath catch a bit in your chest, something your girls notice with a smirk. He’s GORGEOUS. His hair isn’t standard clone cut - its a bit longer on top and down the back, the sides cropped short. You can see whisps of gray at the side of his temples, almost looking like highlights, making him seem more mature. He has a scar across one cheekbone adding to an authoritative air - but not oppressive or dismissive. His eyes are a beautiful amber brown, serious, but not cynical. And, you notice with a small smile, right now he looks just a little bit… sheepish. 

A man like this has been watching you? A trooper who doesn’t normally take girls home had seen you and not been able to disguise it from his overeager companions? You feel yourself preen internally as he finishes making his way over. 

“Commander Fox, meet the rest of my besties - Freen (she waves), Sizie (a nod and smile), and of course, The-woman-you’ve-been-staring-at-all-night.”

He glances at her with annoyance as your friends laugh. You extend a hand out to shake his hand with your introduction.

“Its… very nice to meet you.” He nods, resigning to the awkwardness of being caught.

“Well, we’ll get out of your hair so you two can get acquainted,” Chrisa simpers. You give her a ‘stop that’ look as she and the girls all file out with winks and excited grins. Sizie even seems to shake little pom poms, mouthing “go, girl, go!”

You play a bit with one earring as you look back at him.

“Sorry about them,” you smile. “Teasing is their love language.”

He snorts with a glance back at them, relaxing a bit. “I know the feeling.”

You chuckle despite yourself. He seems to relax a bit, a smirk playing on his authoritative features.

“Would you care to step into my office, Mr. Fox?” 

He chuckles this time, giving you a quick appreciative glance before sitting down across from you, placing his helmet by his side.

“Excuse me.” A service droid waddles up with two drinks - one your usual, the other looks like a whisky neat for him. You look at it, confused, while it sets them on the table.

“Compliments of the bartender, with the accompanying message-” says the matter of fact tinny voice. “‘-Make out already-’.”  You look up to the crowd of onlookers from the bar giving you both a thumbs up. 

You show them a different finger. 

They all burst out laughing, but get the hint and go back to each other.

You turn back, catching an impressed smirk while he gazes at you.

“You sure showed them.”

 You chuckle while you take a sip of your drink.

“So,” you smile, “come here often?”

He snorts an appreciative chuckle before shaking his head and indicating the two Corries at the bar. “Enough. Though not as much as my men would like.”

You chuckle, glancing over at the excited huddle. “I didn’t know the men of the Coruscant guard were so invested in their Commander’s R&R.”

A sigh and an eye roll, another sip of his drink. “Apparently getting away from work is ‘necessary’ for a healthy, ungrumpy lifestyle.” You nod sagely, indicating you see the sarcasm. “Just my luck to have the subordinates that actually care about my work-life balance.”

“Luck seldom has anything to do with things like that,” you smile, leaning your cheek on your hand. You know what garners unerring loyalty and hard work. You know the kind of leader it takes to make men march into danger- just to drag that S.O. to the bar afterwards - the kind who men take care of, because he took care of his men. “You must be a great commander if they worry about you so much.” And smart, and firm, but kind under it all, and… hoo, slow down honey. 

For some reason, looking at him, knowing what it takes to be a leader, to be someone who watches out for others, you feel compelled to say something you’ve never said before.

“Thank you. For your service.”

His head quirks to the side, eyes interested as they take you in. “I can’t really take much credit for that… it wasn’t entirely my choice, you know.”

You chuckle. “Perhaps not. But I’ve heard of clones who have sought other lives now that the war is over and your rights have been won - can’t blame them at all. I understand not wanting to do what you’re ‘born for’.” You unconsciously watch the bubbles in your drink for a moment before realizing your thoughts are straying, looking back into his intrigued eyes. “So you did have a choice. And you chose to help the people of Coruscant.” You smile, and shrug.  “So, for whatever it's worth, thank you.”

“Hm.” He smiles thoughtfully, regarding you for a moment while he takes a sip of his drink. “Actually, coming from you, it means a lot more,” his eyes take you in again, admiring, intrigued, inviting.

It sends a happy warmth through your insides.

He sets his drink down again, folding his arms and leaning in on his elbows. “So. Born for, huh? Tell me, what were you ‘born for’?”

You smirk, waving a hand in dismissal. Definitely a cop. “Nothing that I’m doing. But I’m an event planner.” You shrug, knowing it doesn’t sound like much to someone who regularly risks their life.

“Hm,” he answers, intrigued. Like actually intrigued. “Can’t say I’ve ever met someone in that field before. What’s your favorite part of the job?”

Hm. You can’t help your smile. No one ever really cares to hear about this part. “Well,” you think, having a genuine look at your chosen profession, “I meet a fair amount of different, interesting people. I'm more active and involved than other jobs, I get to create something, after a fashion, get to create beauty and harmony for people to celebrate or commemorate something.” And you do it well, you know you do. You’re proud of the work you do. “Its satisfying. Like I’m doing good in my own way.”

He smiles at that. 

“‘Interesting people’, huh? Have any good stories?”

“Hah,” you chuckle. “Oh do I.” You perk up, leaning in conspiratorially. “And in your line of work, you probably know some of the main antagonists.” 

His eyes definitely light up with interest. 

Pulling no punches, you dive into tales about Senators, big wigs, their staff, their relatives, the drama before, during, and after. His laughter is all the more hearty knowing who you're talking about. He even thanks you once for making him laugh so hard he cries about a particular Senator from Naboo and a Jedi getting told off for inappropriate use of an ice sculpture.

Knowing you know the main players, he pays you back 10 fold with his own stories- ridiculous requests, entitled children put in their place, the shenanigans his men pull when they think he isn't aware. You swap stories back and forth, relaxing in each others company, unwittingly moving closer together.

He’s nice, you keep thinking. He’s cute. He’s serious, but can laugh. You wonder… what he’s like when he’s alone, in the dark, laying in his own bed...

You only realize how long its been when you take a sip of your drink only to find the cold, watery dregs of melted ice. As you glance into your glass, with a small curse, you hear him say quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself:

“How anyone could do something stupid enough to lose a woman like you is beyond me.” He says quietly, almost to himself. You duck your head, a bit bashful, but keep your eyes up. So he’s feeling it too. He still wants you. He… he likes you. 

Maybe its knowing that, or maybe its the drinks. Or both. But suddenly you feel… sexier.

You look up at him through your eye lashes. 

“Is it alright if I… get more comfortable?”

His eyes spark with excitement and intrigue. “Of course,” he says quietly.

You close the small distance and slide into his lap, your back to the (you are totally sure) excited onlookers. 

You feel your heart pounding at the closeness, skin electric at your own daring.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes.” His voice is much deeper than it was. “More than alright.”

“Good,” you smile, one hand tracing behind his neck, lightly trailing through his curls. He gently places his hand on your leg, his coarse gloves ticking along your thigh, bewitched eyes starting to turn ravenous. 

‘You are absolutely stunning,” he breathes, voice low and serious.

You smile bashfully. “Thank you, its true.”

He lifts his hand and cups your neck, thumb tracing the length of your throat.

“I definitely, definitely want to kiss you right now.”

You place a finger against his lips. He smirks, slowly opening his mouth to lightly bite your fingertip. You breath catches at the small, sensual gesture. His eyes darken at the sound, his teeth releasing you.

“Kriff, mesh’la. I’m going to take such good care of you tonight.”

He kisses you. 

It's like a fire has started in your blood, burning away anything that isn’t this moment right here. You want him. You want him so badly, with his locks between your fingers and his teeth on your throat and his cock in your-

And you can. Because there is absolutely nothing holding you back.

You pull away just enough that your words ghost against his lips. “Do you want to get out of here… Commander?

His kiss is more insistent this time, ending with a small bite pulling your lower lip.

“More than anything.”

You slide off of him before taking him by the hand. He barely looks away from you as he grabs his helmet and dutifully follows you out of the club.

----------------------------------------------------

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[wanderinginksplot]

Commander Fox + Mercenary!Reader

As a mercenary, you travel in and out of Coruscant a lot. You find it more than a little strange that Commander Fox himself always seems to be on the Coruscant Guard team investigating your transport when you come back planetside...

Commander Fox x gn!reader (platonic-ish, with a hint toward future feelings)

Thanks to @nowait-whathappened for the prompt!

Word Count: 3.4k words

Warnings: mentions of weapons, mentions of bodily injuries, implied lack of trust

Masterlist

---

“Transport 47816, prepare for boarding.”

The groans that echoed through the transport ship were instant and harsh. None of the familiar faces around you held an expression more pleasant than ‘irritation’, but you were well used to this by now. 

“Why?” Kann bit out harshly. You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was a close thing. As the Lament’s near-constant pilot, Kann knew exactly why you were being boarded just outside of Coruscant’s airspace, but that didn’t mean he was going to make things easy. 

“Transport 47816, you’re returning from a neutral star system. It’s protocol.”

Kann snarled. “Shove the protocol up your-”

“Shut up and let the troopers on the ship,” Skoh ordered. “I don’t have time for you to argue with the whole damn Guard.”

Despite his previous eagerness for a fight, Kann clenched his jaw and nodded. “Dropping shields now.” 

Kann was one of the more reckless members of the Lament, but Nakte Skoh was a force to be reckoned with. When the tall Togruta spoke, every one of the mercenaries on the team listened. Disobeying him was a good way to get killed - sometimes by the enemy and sometimes by Skoh himself. 

The troopers who boarded the transport were wearing the familiar Coruscant Guard colors. You even recognized a few of the patterns and greeted them with a slight nod. You wouldn’t have minded being a little more exuberant, but not among your coworkers. It would be unwise to show too much emotion surrounded by mercenaries. 

“Everyone stand.” Grumbling. “Leave all weapons here. We will be interviewing each of you separately.” More grumbling, even as everyone started to reluctantly comply. 

The trooper issuing instructions was none other than the commander of the Coruscant Guard, Commander Fox. You could recognize him by his visored helmet easily enough, but there was something in his voice. What exactly made his tone was hard to pinpoint, but if pressed, you thought you could pick it out of a crowd. Even if that crowd were made up of other clone troopers. 

So you stood with the others, smoothly pulling your blasters and blades out from their usual places. The pile they made on your empty seat was respectable, the wear on the weapons a mark of your ability to use every one. With a last quick count to make sure none of the other mercenaries decided to take something that wasn’t theirs, you followed everyone to the link between your ship and the Guard’s. 

“Hope they’ll be less stupid about their weapons checks this time,” Yarrex muttered to you. The Kiffar was impatient at the best of times, but she knew her stuff better than most. “Last time, they misaligned the power pack on my rifle. If I hadn’t checked, it would have taken all of us out.”

You nodded fervently, remember how close a call that had been. Yarrex’s rifle had been actively overheating by the time she returned to the transport ship and she had hissed loud curses the whole time she fixed it. You couldn’t blame her - the smell from the flesh of her fingertips burning had lingered in the ship for days. 

There was a Coruscant Guard trooper just inside the larger ship, ushering you to your ultimate destination. “This way, down the hall-”

“-And to the right,” you finished. “I know, I know.”

“Been here a few times?” Yarrax asked over her shoulder. 

You shrugged, glad there was no one else behind you. What you were about to say could easily turn into tales of bad luck, and eventually spiral into you not being hired onto as many jobs. “Every single time I come back to Coruscant.”

“That’s not fair,” one of the trooper protested. 

You aimed a dry look in his direction. “We both know it is, Chase.” 

“I didn’t know they had names,” Kann remarked as he was led to one of the interrogation rooms. 

Yarrax hissed disapprovingly at his back. The trooper stammered, “I- I’m not Chase.”

“Save it,” Skoh advised with a nod in your direction. “That one can smell lies.”

Chase glanced at you, clearly nervous even through the protective cover of his helmet. You gave him a broad smile and went to sit down. 

Chase and the trooper who had directed you to the interrogation area were watching the room. The unfamiliar one had a medic’s cross on one shoulder and you wondered idly whether the Guard was expecting trouble. 

They shouldn’t, honestly. The standard Coruscant Guard procedure was to pull everyone into individual rooms to ask questions about the most recent mission. The Lament had some latitude in the way they conducted business, but everyone made a point of being as vague as possible in their answers. It was an entertaining game you all played when you came back to Coruscant. 

Though, apparently, no one played it as often as you. 

There were two interrogation rooms being used at the moment. The ship had at least a few more, but Lament missions were made up of ten mercenaries by rule - no more, no less. With Kann and another mercenary in the interrogation rooms, there apparently weren’t enough of you to warrant using more rooms. 

Mercenaries weren’t the most lively and talkative bunch, especially not after a long mission. A few of them shut their eyes to catch a few moments of sleep. The lone Nautolan in the Lament, a female named Veng, worked on repairing a tear she had gotten in the shoulder of her shirt. The needle flashing in and out of the ripped halves was mesmerizing, but your attention was caught by Skoh. 

Your leader was watching the room, gaze intent as he studied the mercenaries and the troopers watching you. There was no real tension in him, not even the kind disguised by the specific relaxation he took on when a negotiation was leading toward violence. But he was awake and alert, so you decided that you should be, too. 

Not that there was any reason to, of course. Skoh and Yarrix were the next to disappear into interview rooms as the first two went back to the transport ship. You weren’t among the next two to be called, or the ones after that. When it was only you and Veng left on the Guard ship, the door opened for Khyr to step out. Commander Fox stood in the doorway, sternly announcing that you were next. 

Veng didn’t glance up to see the amused look you gave her, but that was fine. It hadn’t really been for her, anyway. The commander stepped aside for you to enter the interrogation room, then closed the door before following you to the table. 

“Commander Fox,” you greeted with a nod. “How are you? How’s the wife?” 

The commander removed his helmet, all the better for you to see the confusion and exasperation mingling on his handsome face. “The wife.” 

“Or husband,” you amended. “Or partner. Non-specific.”

“I don’t have any of those,” he told you. “Did you get hit on the head during this massacre?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the way you always did when he disparaged your line of work. “Not a massacre. Not this time, at least. We do things other than kill people, you know.” 

“Yeah? What was the objective on this mission?” 

It just so happened that the mission you were returning from had been far more violent than expected, so you stepped neatly around the question. “Anyway, the point is that I see you so often, I feel like I should get to know something about your life. With anyone else, I would know about their partner or children or pets or hobbies. I see you more often than my parents.” 

“That so?” Fox asked, tilting his head to deliver his skeptical expression to best effect.

“Not in the slightest,” you admitted easily. “But it has come to my attention that not every Lament mission gets investigated by the Guard when they return to Coruscant.” 

Fox stiffened slightly. “We do our best to stop every transport, but our team is spread thin…”

“I’m not doubting your work, Commander,” you assured, “just your selection methods. Why is it that my team is always the one to be stopped?” 

“Coincidence.” 

Now, it was your turn to be skeptical. “You’ll have to do better than that, Fox.” 

His eyes widened briefly and you wondered if you had offended him by dropping his title, but he recovered in the next instant. “Are you suggesting that we should be suspicious of you?” 

“No, but you are,” you countered. “Otherwise, why would you always be focused on my missions?” 

“I told you: we aren’t.” 

Despite the way Fox’s teeth were gritted, you pushed on. You had a trump card, and you intended to play it: “Then why are you here? You, specifically? The Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard, investigating a transport full of mercenaries? You have better things to be doing than this. It’s suspicious.”

“I’ve told you, it’s a coincidence.” Fox sounded overly stubborn, even for him. 

You lifted your hands innocently in front of yourself and leaned backward in your chair. “Fine, fine. Total coincidence. Your complete lack of supporting evidence or further arguments has convinced me. Proceed with your interrogation, Commander.” 

He scowled intensely at you, but sat in the chair across from yours and started with the typical round of questions. Name, address, interplanetary work-travel permit number, employer, job title.

When you had answered them all successfully, Fox set his datapad down on the table between you. “Now, tell me about the mission you completed just prior to coming back to Coruscant.” 

“We were on Raydonia,” you answered easily. “We were hired to protect a village.” 

Fox gestured for you to continue when you stopped. “And what were you protecting them from?” 

“They were hit by two unknowns a few weeks ago.” The explanation was a little shaky, but it was the only one you had been given. It was still more than you usually got for a job and you were fine with that, but Fox seemed determined to think you were untrustworthy. “They took some of the most powerful warriors in the village. The village elders were worried some of the surrounding people might take the chance to attack them. They were right.” 

“Were there any casualties?” Fox asked, carefully not looking at you. 

You smiled despite yourself. “No Republic citizens were harmed.”

It was a vague and a polite way of reminding him that he had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Republic-controlled planets. Technically speaking, Fox had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Coruscant, but you wouldn’t bet on that stopping him. 

“And among your team?” he asked. “No injuries or deaths?”

“Nothing major,” you told him with a shrug. “You can count. I’m sure you noticed all ten of us are here and accounted for.” 

“What about minor injuries?” he pressed. 

You knew better than to shift in your chair, or look away from the easy eye contact you had maintained up to that point. Fox was an expert, and a sharp one at that. The smallest possible tell and he would know everything there was to know. That was what made him dangerous.

“None to speak of.” 

Even your flawless delivery left him looking distinctly skeptical. “Then why are you limping?” 

Despite the surge of frustrated exasperation that rose in you, your lips curved into a smile. “You’re too observant for your own good, Commander.” 

“Which isn’t an answer.” 

That made you chuckle aloud. “No, it wasn’t. But since you’re so insistent on an explanation, I sustained a minor injury on the mission. I treated it promptly and it is well on its way to healing.”

“How were you injured?”

Dimly, you wondered if Fox realized that he had leaned forward slightly under the weight of his own intensity. But only dimly, because most of your attention was drawn to the way he was even more handsome from a shorter distance away. 

“Why?” 

Fox blinked, and it seemed to break the spell he had put himself under. An instant later, he was scowling again - a fairly regular expression for him during these stops. “Because I’m the Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard and I asked you a direct question.” 

“I don’t answer to you,” you reminded him, privately savoring the look of profound irritation blossoming on his face. “Not about missions that take place in independent systems. Even if they result in injuries.”

“Maybe I have cause to believe that you sustained that injury in Republic territory,” Fox proposed. “Maybe I need proof you aren’t lying to me.” 

For a mercenary, you were even-tempered. Remarkably so, in fact. It helped you get along with your more volatile coworkers. But you did have a temper, and when it sparked, you were far from subtle. 

The slam of the chair’s front legs reconnecting with the floor was loud. Fox didn’t jump - he had too much control over himself for that - but his eyes darted to yours in a way that made his surprise evident. Your hands connecting with the top of the table between you was loud, too, the sound specifically and purposefully sharp.

You leaned in toward Fox and the expression on your face was unpleasant enough that he looked concerned. “I like you, Fox. I think you’re a good man doing your best in the galaxy’s worst job. That’s why I’m gonna give you this one warning: I do not appreciate being called a liar.”

“I didn’t-” 

Your gaze was hard as you stared him in the eyes. Fox looked startled as well as concerned by that point. He had never seen you truly pissed before. 

“Yes, you did,” you said firmly. “I will be the first to admit that I exaggerate. I dramatize. I embellish for comedic effect. But I do not lie. I have never lied to you or any of your men, despite what is verging on harassment. I do not intend to lie in the future, and I don’t want to file a harassment charge, but all of that depends on you.”

It was honestly a shock when Fox didn’t take advantage of your pause to speak. It told you that he understood how deadly serious you were. With his attention sharp on you, you told him, “I’m a reasonable person. I am willing to overlook this misstep… once. And that offer is entirely dependent on what you say next.”

“I’m sorry,” Fox said, honesty ringing in the simple words. You waited for more and he obliged: “You’re right, you have never lied to me - to any of us. Not about anything big. It was unfair of me to accuse you of it.” 

“And why did you?” you asked. 

The question felt a little like twisting a blade in an injury, but you needed to know. You needed to know that it wasn’t going to happen again, and if it did, you needed to know enough to anticipate it. Because you had grown to respect Commander Fox, damn it, and it had hit surprisingly hard to have him misjudge your morals so dramatically. 

“I… don’t like the idea of you being injured,” Fox admitted, sounding mystified. You understood, since that explanation left you feeling a little mystified yourself. “I would like to know about your injury if you’ll agree to tell me.”

You watched the commander for another long moment, doing your best to gauge his sincerity. It wasn’t easy - especially since it required you to look past those lovely eyes and flawless bone structure - but you managed. It was one of your most reliable skills, after all. Fox seemed to be telling you the truth.

When you leaned your chair backward again, the tension in the room shattered. You sent him a cryptic half-smile. “You know us mercenaries,” you drawled. “We don’t give away anything for free. You ask your question and I’ll ask mine. A truthful answer for a truthful answer.”

Fox considered it for only a moment before he nodded. “How did you get injured?”

“One of the attacking villagers had better aim than I expected,” you said, smiling wryly. “After I pulled his vibroblade from my calf, I changed my previous opinion.”

“Do you have a bacta patch on it?” Fox asked. “If not, I can get you a fresh one before you go back to your transport.” 

“I already have one, thanks,” you assured him. “And I’m feeling generous, so I’m going to point out the fact that I let you ask two questions. Now it’s my turn.” 

Luckily for Fox, you really were in a good mood again. You only let him dangle in his discomfort for a few moments before you asked your question. “Do you always stop my transport on purpose?” 

“Yes.” 

For all that you had suspected that answer, hearing it directly was shocking. 

Instead of responding immediately, you paused for a moment to take a breath. If Fox was targeting you specifically, you had to believe there was a reason. And since you had already come this far, you may as well find out what that reason was. “Why?”

Fox looked reluctant and faintly uncomfortable. It was the look you imagined most of the troopers got when they were asked to do an unpleasant chore. But, to Fox’s credit, he gave the answer he had promised. 

“You’re not the typical mercenary.” You frowned, already opening your mouth, but he quickly went on. “Not that you don’t have your skills, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on the missions you’re a part of. That is, the Coruscant Guard has. There is a concern among the men that the Lament would leave you behind on a mission or allow an injury to go untreated.”

Well, it was an explanation, but you felt like it left you with more questions than answers. “Nice to know you guys worry about me, but I still don’t understand why you care.”

Fox shrugged, but the casual gesture was belied by the way his eyes were locked with yours. “You look at us like we’re human.” 

You frowned again. 

“And I… admire you,” Fox added quietly. “You have a code and you follow it. Unusual, especially for a mercenary.” 

“Again with the insults about my work.” Despite your heavy sigh, your tone was playful, and you knew he would take it as the tease that it was. “I look forward to seeing you too, Fox. That’s why I haven’t complained about being stopped every time we come back to Coruscant.”

He gave you a disbelieving look and you laughed. “Okay, fine. That’s why I don’t complain too much.”

Fox didn’t immediately reply. Normally, the two of you traded barbs and witty remarks back and forth so quickly that it would make an onlooker’s head spin. But you didn’t feel the need to say anything further and, apparently, neither did he. The room filled with a surprisingly comfortable silence, warm and cozy in a way that durasteel interrogation rooms rarely managed.  

“So you’ve decided against filing harassment charges?” Fox asked at length. 

“I have no intention of it,” you told him. “We made a deal. Guess that’s more evidence of my rare and admirable moral code…”

Fox rolled his eyes and you laughed. Before he could say something sarcastic, you added, “Besides, I think I would miss seeing you guys if you stopped checking up when I return from missions.”

“You would miss us?” You would have accused Fox of fishing for a compliment if he hadn’t sounded so charmingly stunned. 

“Of course,” you told him, narrowly stopping yourself from winking at him. He really was a very attractive man. “But I need to get back to the transport now. They wouldn’t leave without me, but one of the others might get a little grabby with the weapons I left behind. Especially since I have a sharp new vibroblade.”

Fox stood when you did, leading the way to the door with a suspicious look on his face. “This isn’t the vibroblade that…” He finished the question only with a vague gesture toward your injured leg.

“If someone stabs me with a knife, I get to keep it,” you told him seriously. “I believe that is common courtesy.”

“No new weapons on this next mission, then,” Fox said as he stood aside to let you pass. “No risks, no injuries, no killing.”

You shook your head in exasperation, already starting down the hall back to the Lament’s transport. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what being a mercenary is, Commander.”

---

Author's Note - Happy Fox day! I knew I wanted to write something for 10/10, and big thanks to @nowait-whathappened for giving me this prompt! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day!

You can find other works on my masterlist or sign up for my taglist here. As always, I'm happy to remove you from the taglist if it's no longer in your interests.

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[merlincmgirl]

Just A Bit Of Contraband

Word Count: 1651

Reader: Gender Neutral

Summary: You really did just want to help Fox and his brothers, but maybe there's a better way than sneaking around the Senate building at night.

Author's Note: This is the first time I've written for Fox, so I hope it's okay. And mention of annoying little shit of a brother Thorn!

Cyare - beloved, love

Osik'la - messed up, screwed up, horrible

Sneaking into the Senate building was no small feat and you were beyond lucky that most, if not all the Senators and staff had gone home for the night. You were on a mission. A very important mission to help the Coruscant Guards do their jobs during this terrible war. Up ahead of you was the room that you had arranged to meet your contact in. It had been in a room you had been in only once or twice, only for a few minutes and never on your own. You just hoped that it would be empty now. Tapping open the button to let you in, you were glad to see that your contact was already there, pressed to the back of the room and hiding in the shadows himself.

“I’ve got the stuff” you whispered, sneaking towards the figure in the break room. Commander Thorn only sighed in relief, stepping forward into the light that filtered through the small window that let it in from the corridor outside. Carefully, he quickly examined the small packages that you handed to him.

“These are perfect. You don’t realise how much we’ll need this. Senate’s holding a fundraiser, security is going to be a nightmare. You know Fox is going to have a field day” Thorn complained, slipping the packs into his belt as much as he could.

“Anything I can do to support the war effort, Commander” you replied cheekily, pulling more packages out of your bag.

The light flickered on overhead as the door slid open, revealing none other but Marshall Commander Fox himself.

“Cyare? What are you doing here?” Fox’s modulated voice came through his helmet’s speakers. You squeaked, unable to do anything but hide the packages behind your back. It wasn’t the smartest of moves, not in the least because it made you look more guilty than you were. Even through his helmet you could still feel Thorn’s side eye but you ignored him.

“Nothing! I was just waiting for you!” you excused, a shaky smile spread over your face. Maker! You could lie as well as the clones it would seem.

“Thorn? What’s going on?” Fox demanded, turning to his vod who was shuffling the packages onto the clip of his belt behind him. There was less patience in his voice now for his fellow commander, and Thorn seemed to sense that like all little brothers could.

“Fox! I was just telling your cyare that you’re probably going to be working late because of the security detail” Thorn stated, and if you hadn’t had known any better, you would have believed him. Well, perhaps you were a worse liar than a clone.

Fox hummed, coming up closer to you and standing in front of you, arms crossed across his chest and helmet tilted down to give you an analysing look. “Hand it over” he instructed, hand outstretched and expecting.

“What?” you cried, floundering for a second at how quick he was to figure you out. You should have known really, Fox could read you like an open book any day of the week.

Fox didn’t even need to look over to Thorn to know that he was trying to slide away from the pair of lovers and closer to the exit. Almost like if he tried to stay out of Fox’s line of sight then he’d be free to escape. “Stay!” he growled head not even turning in his direction, and you couldn’t help but gape at Thorn’s retreating form.

“Thorn! What about we’re in this together?” you gasped, annoyed at the Commander who was so ready to high-tail it out of this situation.

“Sorry vod’ika, but you’re more likely to get out of this than me! I’m not going to be stuck on patrol in the lowest levels again for a week!” Thorn protested, holding up his hands in surrender.

Fox let out a warning call of your name and you winced, before slumping against the counter that was digging into your back. “Alright, alright, but please don’t be mad. We were only trying to help” you sighed, handing over the packet that you had been hiding in your bag. It crinkled in Fox’s grip as you shuffled around nervously on your feet in front of him. You were unsure how he would react.

“Alderaanian caf beans?” Fox frowned, unable to believe that this was what you were sneaking into the Coruscant Guard Headquarters. He had wondered what you and his idiotic brother could be up to, but he didn’t think you would be sneaking in contraband caf beans. What the hell were you two up to?

“Please don’t be mad. I know you’re always telling me that I shouldn’t be wasting my credits on you and that it’s not my responsibility to keep you sane and awake at 4am. But I wanted to do something to help. You haven’t slept for the past 3 days, and I haven’t seen you in nearly as long. And I’m not complaining but I want to make sure you’re okay. And Thorn was telling me that you hadn’t been taking any breaks and Palpatine was being a kriffing shithead and I was worried” you hurried to explain, chest tightening as you worried that Fox would hate you for interfering with his job as the Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guards.

Thorn winced at that, ignoring the glare that his older brother shot his way. He knew he would be getting into shit for telling you exactly what Fox was getting up to when you weren’t there. Especially not looking after himself. You were always telling Fox he needed to look after himself more. Take more rest, eat food that wasn’t rations and drink something that wasn’t caf every now and again.

“So I thought maybe making sure that you had some decent caf would help, you know, keep you awake for all the awful shit Palpatine is no doubt going to put you through because he’s the worst, and really he should be shot. And if you need volunteers, then I’ll be the first in line to shoot that motherf-” you rambled on, before Fox slid a hand over your mouth; before he or someone else heard any more and would have to arrest you for some ridiculous shit like treason.

Seeming to take a breath and stop rambling, you looked up at Fox, waiting for his reaction.

“You, get out of here. I’ll deal with you later” Fox ordered his brother, who sent you a quick thumbs up and ran out of the break room. “You… you should be careful what you say cyare. Who knows who’s listening in this building” he sighed, taking off his helmet with his other hand and settling on your waist. “Can I let go now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you. Accepting your rolling eyes and nod of agreement, he let the hand slip down and squeeze your other hip.

“Are you mad?” you whispered, hoping he wouldn’t be too angry with you. It wasn’t like you were sneaking around for your own benefit. You truly did want to help Fox and his brothers out.

“Course I’m not mad, I’m just worried, cyare. Sneaking around the Senate building after dark, breaking at least a dozen security laws and protocols and making me think we had a thief breaking into the barracks was not the best decision you’ve ever made Cyare. I dread to think what you could do if you had more resources. But it can’t happen again, do you understand me?” Fox rebuked, gripping onto your waist and bringing you into him as close as he could get you. It wasn’t like any reprimand he’d ever given to his men, but sneaking around Senate and GAR buildings were a sure way to find trouble. Trouble he may not always be able to get you out of. It worried him too much to think of you hurt.

“I understand, I’m sorry Fox. I just wanted to make things better for you and your brothers. I know you haven’t been sleeping well, I just thought this might be able to help better than the mud water that they serve you” you sighed, biting your lip and resting your hands on the cool plastoid of his armour.

Fox cupped your face, bringing you up to look into his dark, expressive eyes. They held exhaustion, worry and no small amount of love. Being able to see him clearer now without his helmet always took your breath away. His greying hair at the temples fell across his face in soft curls, the scars that ran across his nose was slightly lighter than his usual tan tone. Maker he was beautiful, and you would tell him that every single day until he believed you. Shaking his head at whatever he could see on your face, he let out a small smile, thumb rubbing softly against your cheekbone. “Even if you shouldn’t be wasting your credits on us, and it’s the Republic’s responsibility to fund our caf addictions to keep this osik’la planet safe and running, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your big heart, taking care of me and my men” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to yours to silence any reply.

“Now, how about we go back to yours and I can show you just how thankful I have to have a cyar’ika like you looking after me?” he hummed, resting his forehead against yours.

“That sounds perfect to me, Commander” you smiled, pushing his curls away from his face and leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his own lips. He just grinned, tucking the packet of caf beans into his belt before grabbing his helmet and pulling you out of the break room. After all, he was due a break and Thorn would cover for him.

[wizardofrozz]

Shadow Play

Commander Fox x senator!reader (fem), Senator Farr, Commander Thorn, and mention of Commander Stone

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: NSFW, this is literally just filth, unprotected sex, exhibition, creampie, fluff, Fox being a tease

Summary: Seeing their favorite senator getting wrecked by their commander was certainly not in the Coruscant Guard’s mission briefing for today. 

A/N: I finally had the motivation to write some Fox smut thanks to this art. Huge thanks to @homie-one-kenobi​ for all the encouragement and help editing ❤️ Writing this has reduced me to a puddle so please enjoy 😂

         Lights flashed across the rows of seats, making you squint as another Mon Calamari dancer twirled elegantly. You tried to focus on the choreography, praying it would hold your attention but no matter what, you still couldn’t force yourself to enjoy the ballet. Watching it for a third time wasn’t changing your opinion, yet it wasn’t like you could’ve declined the offer. Your eyes flickered to the balcony opposite you, noting Fox’s absence for the fifth time in less than an hour, borderline glaring at the unfortunate Corrie taking his place. 

         A small part of you hated the poor sentry, his red armor acting as a constant reminder that for the last 21 rotations and 17 hours since Fox left for an off-world assignment, your bed had been cold and empty. Your eyes finally drifted away from the trooper and just barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes at the small group of senators whispering praises. While you agreed that the performers were exceptional, you couldn’t follow the plot, leaving you to count down the seconds until the next intermission. A small part of you wished that Riyo or Padme were there to make the whole experience a little more bearable. 

         Years of etiquette training was the only thing that stopped you from jumping out of your seat when a booming voice announced the second intermission. Your aid that was standing near the back of the senatorial box shot you a sympathetic look and you appreciated the gesture even if there was nothing they could do to help. Just as the door was within reach, the faint call of your name had you stopping in your tracks, forcing your expression to remain pleasant. 

         “Senator Farr,” you greeted, managing a small smile. You had nothing against the Rodian senator, you quite liked him, but you really weren’t in the mood for small talk. You expected him to ask for your interpretation of the ballet only to surprise you when he ushered you into the bustling hall. 

         “How many more acts are there?” he whispered, leaning in to keep the conversation somewhat private. Your mouth twisted to the side in a poor attempt at hiding your amusement.

         “Three,” you replied, chewing on your top lip when Senator Farr’s already large eyes seemed to grow bigger. “I plan to feign a stomach bug for the next two.” 

         “Will it be any less believable if we both do?” he mused, glancing over your shoulder at the cluster of senators still talking about Act 2. 

         “Probably more believable,” you snickered, scratching the corner of your mouth to cover your persistent grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not feeling well.”

         “Hm, now that you mention it,” Farr sighed, his forehead wrinkling in a show of distress that you found quite impressive. He chanced one last look over your shoulder before gently nudging your arm and hurrying toward the bathroom. You allowed yourself a fond laugh before heading in the direction of the lady’s room, making a detour through the nearby door at the last second. The click of your disgustingly uncomfortable shoes was deafening in the silent stairwell, making you pause at the top of the first flight to check no one had followed. 

         Once you were confident you were in the clear, you took the last flight at a slower pace, contemplating burning the fucking torture devices you called shoes the entire way. You paused one last time at the top of the steps, just to be safe, before slipping through the door at the top. A warm, orangish glow washed over you, melting some of the tension in your neck and shoulders as you stepped into the cupola. 

         It had been far too long since you’d ventured into the little hideaway, only able to admire the beautiful stained glass windows from afar. Most Coruscant residents had no idea there was even a room atop the opera house, meaning they missed out on one of the most beautiful views. You lazily wandered toward the window, lightly brushing your fingers over the marbled glass, watching the slightly distorted ecumenopolis below. Your original intention had been to find a refuge from the torture of sitting through three more acts but standing there, looking out across the capital world, all you felt was lonely. 

         The soft whir of the door was lost to your aching heart but there was no mistaking the muted footsteps approaching. Anyone else would’ve felt fear in that moment, yet you only sighed, knowing the taste of solace you found had come to an end. You let your hand linger on the cool glass for another second before dropping it, turning to face the presence lingering off to your left. 

         For a moment, you were convinced you were hallucinating, that maybe you were sick, when you turned to find a Coruscant Guard member watching you. There was no mistaking the pattern you had sought out in waves of red armor time and time again. He canted his head and it was so painfully familiar, it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

         “What are you doing here?” you blurted, your manners suddenly tumbling to Coruscant’s surface. Not that he minded. 

         “I could ask you the same thing,” Fox countered. Just hearing his voice, the unique inflection in his words that set him apart had your shoulders slumping like the marionette strings folding your facade up had been cut. Something between a sob and laugh tumbled past your lips, the sound seemed to break through the barrier Fox built around himself. The second his stance lost some of its rigidity you were moving, throwing your arms around his shoulders. The collision punched a grunt out of Fox but he barely even swayed, catching your weight with ease.

         “What are you doing here?” you repeated, the words muffled against his shoulder. It had been three long weeks since you saw him before he went dark for a security detail off-world. Fox smelled of blaster fire, caf, and sweat, a mixture that should’ve had your nose wrinkling, but right then, it was so perfectly him you pressed closer. 

         “Thought I’d pick up a security shift for a few senators spending the night at the opera,” Fox sighed, pressing the hard edge of his helmet against the side of your head. That had you pulling away, staring into his dark visor. How long had he been back? The question must’ve been written all over your face because Fox laughed, a soft, beautiful sound. “Relax, we landed maybe an hour before it started.”

         “Shouldn’t you be resting?” you mumbled, threading your fingers together at the back of his neck.

         “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Fox snorted, pulling you as close as he dared. The bite of plastoid against your body was uncomfortable but you’d take it over his absence any day.

         “Drama queen,” you huffed with a fond eye roll. His helmet tipped down and you assumed he was pinning you with a dark glare, something you had never wanted to see more than you did in that moment. You carefully broke the seal, slowly lifting the bright red helmet off, not realizing you were holding your breath. Fox blinked a few times, gently shaking his head, tousling his longer-than-normal curls. But instead of a scowl, you were greeted with a soft smile that melted your heart. 

         “Hey,” he breathed, gently tracing the curve of your back. 

         “Stars, I missed you,” you rasped just before surging forward to capture his lips. Fox let out a soft, breathy laugh against your lips before gently cradling the back of your head, and leaning into the kiss. The bitterness of caf lingered on his lips, a taste you shouldn’t have missed seeing that you drank it just as often as Fox, however, it always seemed to taste better this way.   

         The kiss had started out sweet, a slow and tender brush of lips that made your heart flutter wildly. You intended to pull away until Fox started to knead the back of your neck, molding you against the curve of his chest. Every ounce of fatigue and anxiety you had been holding onto melted away as you coaxed his mouth open. Fox groaned softly, using his hold on your neck to angle your head back with an urgency you weren’t expecting. The shift had your head spinning to the point that you hadn’t realized you were moving until your back met the cool window.

         “Missed you too,” Fox mumbled, dragging his lips away from yours to pant against your cheek. “So fucking much.”

         “Mm, playing bodyguard for one of my colleagues wasn’t engaging enough,” you teased, carding through his messy hair. Fox nipped at your ear in retaliation, forcing a half-gasp, half-giggle past your lips. He tugged you tighter against his chest, the unforgiving plastoid of his codpiece pressing into your thigh, tempting you with what waited behind it. 

         “Like any of them could compare to you,” he breathed, nuzzling into your neck with a shallow roll of his hips. Maybe it was because you weren’t used to him being gone for long stretches of time but you were suddenly aching to feel something beyond GAR blacks and rigid plastoid. Fox yelped at the impatient tug on his codpiece, pulling back to dart his eyes between your hand and your face. 

         “What - what are you doing?” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder. Yet he didn’t try to move your hand, letting you trace the shape at a torturous pace. 

         “I’m trying to indulge in what I’ve been daydreaming about for weeks,” you huffed, playfully tugging on the clip holding the armor in place. You watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed before his expression shifted, brown eyes somehow growing darker in the low light. 

         “Right here?” Fox mused, crowding you against the window and pinning your hand in place. Daring you to bow out. “Now what if one of the boys looked up and saw us? How would they feel seeing their favorite senator being ruined by their commander?” 

         “Fox,” you gasped, closing your fist in his hair, and grinding into the curve of his thigh plate. The idea should’ve scared you, should’ve filled you with a numbing dread at the thought of anyone catching an esteemed senator with a Guard commander. Instead, you clenched around nothing, mouth falling open with your strained pants. 

         “Oh, you like that, honey,” Fox purred, his gloved hand slipping under the hem of your short skirt. Even through a layer of fabric, his touch left a trail of heat across your skin. The quiet whine that followed the first brush of his fingers over your cunt made him shiver in your grip. “Maker, you sound even sweeter than in my dreams.”

         “You - you dream about the s-sounds I make?” you panted, rocking forward in time with the drag of his fingers.

         “Oh, I dream about more than that,” he chucked, bumping his nose against yours.

         “Care to share?”

         “How long do you have?” 

         “For you?” you whispered, barely brushing your lips against his. “All the time in the galaxy.”

         “Is that so?” he mumbled, moving to pepper kisses down the side of your neck. You caught a glimpse of redness high on his cheeks just before a digit sank into you with little resistance. Your cunt clenched around his gloved finger, a strangled moan bursting from your lips as he pumped his finger once. The rough fabric of his gloves never bothered you before but the desperate, clawing need to feel the warmth of his skin had you squirming.

         “Take your gloves off,” you all but begged, “please.” You almost wished you hadn’t asked when he slowly, torturously, pulled away. He caught your eye, pinning you in place with a heavy look, never breaking eye contact as he brought his hand toward his face. You had witnessed Fox bring down a mercenary single-handedly after losing his blaster, seen him dissolve a full-fledged riot, and hit what should’ve been an impossible mark without batting an eye. Yet somehow the sight of his tongue curling around the soaked finger of his glove was more electrifying, setting your teeth on edge. 

         He pinned you in place, closing his lips around his finger; his lashes fluttered, a muffled groan filling the air as he savored your taste. Your lungs suddenly felt too small as you watched the slow drag of his digit over his full bottom lip. Fox was putting on a show, the twinkle in his lust-blown eyes giving him away and you were undoubtedly enjoying every second. A flash of white teeth sinking into the tip of the glove made your breath hitch, your eyes staying glued to the hem of the fabric as Fox tilted his head back, revealing strong, calloused hands. 

         Fox’s now bare hand came to rest lightly against your chest, following the curve of your body but your focus was zeroed in on the glove dangling from his teeth. He looked far too pleased with himself, a slight smirk lifting the corner of his mouth as he paused, letting you admire the view. The feather-light brush of his fingers over your heated skin jerked you back to reality but your eyes still followed the fabric when he turned his head, letting the glove fall to the floor before turning his attention back to you. 

         “Better?” he rumbled, brushing through your folds before sinking two fingers into you, his smug grin never fading. Your head bobbed in an almost frantic nod as you tried to bite back a moan. Fox’s smug smile wasn’t helping either. 

         “Fuck, yes,” you gasped, tightening your grip in his hair. Fox hummed in the back of his throat, lazily pumping his fingers like he had all the time in the world. You were suddenly reminded of your hand placement when he shifted his weight. If your brain didn’t feel like it might leak out of your ears, you would’ve been more impressed with the skillful way you unclipped his codpiece in one swift movement. 

         “You’re getting too good at that,” Fox groaned, rocking into your hand.

         “You only have yourself to blame,” you laughed breathlessly, tracing the shape of his hard length. He surged forward, his finger brushing a devastating spot inside you as his lips slammed into yours, muffling your incoherent cry. 

         “Will–will you let me,” he stammered between kisses, the sloppy roll of his hips growing rougher, “let me fuck you for all of Coruscant to see?” 

         “If–fuck–if you don’t–” you warned, trying to sound commanding, but your ability to form words was quickly narrowing to nothing more than curses and Fox’s name. That seemed to be all the permission he needed though as he licked into your mouth again, the hand that had been buried in your cunt coming up to grip your jaw. In a flurry of movement, you were suddenly facing the expanses of Coruscant, Fox’s warmth pressing against your back as he hiked your skirt up, bunching it around your hips.

         “Put your hands on the window, honey,” he rumbled, brushing his nose against the shell of your ear. You obeyed without a second thought, bracing both your hands against one of the orange panels; your heart fluttered when one of his large hands filled the space beside yours. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see our handprints every time I pass by.”

         The thought that you’d leave behind a reminder, something only you and Fox would know about, had you pushing back into him. He seemed to catch on, unceremoniously tugging his pants down just enough to free his weeping cock, slipping it between your thighs. There was a brief moment where he paused, his tip barely pressing into your folds like he was savoring the buildup before he pushed in. The stretch felt endless, your head falling forward as you panted around soft whimpers until he was fully sheathed. 

         “Stars,” you chuckled, feeling dizzy with how full you were, “almost forgot how big you are.” Fox’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, punching the air from your lungs. His free hands slowly followed the curve of your waist, catching on the flashy fabric of your outfit, pausing briefly to brush a thumb over your covered nipple. A shiver tore through you when his hand gently curled around your throat, never squeezing, only using his grip as a way to hold you in place. 

         “Guess I’ll have to remind you,” he growled, pausing long enough for the words to sink in before he moved. The first thrust tested your ability to hold yourself up but Fox barely gave you a moment to steady yourself before he picked up a brutal pace. If you weren’t so high above the bustling crowds, you might’ve been worried about how you cried out, throwing your head back against Fox’s shoulder. 

         “F-Fox,” you moaned, needing him to hear the desperation pumping through your veins. You mindlessly curled your fingers over the smooth window pane, forcing your eyes open when you met warm skin. Fox’s hand was still braced against the window, your hand half covering his after your frantic scrambling. You were so mesmerized by the sheer size difference that you didn't notice right away when Fox shifted his weight, hitting a spot that made your eyes cross. You blindly grabbed onto the back of his hand, fingers interlacing between his. Fox instinctively closed his hand, pressing your fingertips into the rough skin of his palm. He nuzzled against your cheek, his ragged breathing raising goosebumps along the length of your throat.

         “Fuck, you - you feel so good, cyar’ika” he whimpered, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your cheek. You were both spiraling out of control, climbing higher and higher with each galaxy-shattering thrust. Fox’s usually composed attitude was long gone, leaving him just as desperate and pleasure-drunk as you were. The heat building under your skin had reached a scalding level but you just couldn’t seem to fall over the edge.

         “I– I’m so close,” you whispered, turning your head to try and find his lips. Fox mumbled something you couldn’t quite catch before his hand slid over your chest, coming to rest on your stomach. The pressure of his hand made each punch of his cock somehow more explosive, reminding you both just how deep he was; Fox’s strangled moan overlayed with yours, his hips losing their rhythm.

         “Never - fuck -  never leaving you behind again,” he panted, leaning heavily against your back to drop his hand lower. Every muscle in your lower half clenched when his fingers brushed your clit, ripping an unusually loud moan from deep in Fox’s chest. The movements of his fingers were sloppy but you were so lost in the blinding pleasure that it didn’t matter. It finally, finally, crested, throwing you over the edge with a cry of Fox’s name as you gushed around him.

         It only took three more thrusts before Fox went rigid, burying himself to the hilt with a soft, shaky moan. 

         Your thoughts cleared slowly, the fog of arousal melting away as you drifted back down to Coruscant. The empty cupola felt oddly quiet without the slap of skin on skin, leaving you to focus on Fox’s slightly labored breathing. Your eyes drifted back to where your hands were still braced against the stained glass, a small smile lifting the corner of your mouth when you noticed that your hand was still wrapped around Fox’s larger one. Flashing speeder lights caught your attention, drawing your gaze to the traffic zipping past the opera house. 

         “Think anyone saw us?” you wondered absently. Fox laughed, loud and unguarded, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder and the sound alone was enough to make your stomach do a funny little flip.

         “We may never know,” Fox snickered, kissing the base of your neck. The deafening chirp of Fox’s comm brought you crashing back to reality, but you did your best to not let your disappointment show when he reached up to tap a button on his vambrace. “Fox.”

         “Gotta question for you, Commander,” Thorn said in place of a greeting. Fox propped his chin on your shoulder, humming softly when you let your head drop to the side, resting your temple against his. 

         “Yes, Thorn.” There was a pregnant pause, your brows pulling together when you swore you heard a muffle laugh through the channel. 

         “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to be in the opera house’s cupola, would you?” Thorn snickered. Your stomach plummeted to your feet while Fox stiffened behind you. There was no denying it since Fox’s cock was still buried inside you. You tilted your head down, searching for a few dots of red in the sea of creatures, easily finding them near the opera house’s entrance. 

         “No,” Fox replied stiffly, only making the situation worse.

         “Oh really?” a slightly different voice huffed. You glanced to the side, arching a brow in question. Fox rolled his eyes but mouthed, Stone, before returning his attention back to the comm. 

         “Heya, senator!” Thorn shouted. You only knew it was him because just as the greeting came through, you saw one of the dots with more red paint raise an arm, waving it wildly.

         “How’d you know?” Fox grumbled, sounding close to pouting in your opinion.

         “We can see your shadows, shit for brains,” Thorn wheezed, barely getting his sentence out between fits of laughter. 

         “Go do your fucking jobs,” Fox snapped, punching the button to end the call a little too hard. You had managed to keep a straight face throughout the call but you were steadily losing the battle against laughter. “I’m glad you find it funny.”

         “I’m surprised you don’t,” you giggled, lightly resting your head against his temple. Fox huffed and hid his face against your shoulder, faintly shaking his head. 

         “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he groaned, mindlessly squeezing your fingers that were still intertwined with his.

         “About getting caught,” you wondered, letting a smirk pull at the corner of your mouth, “or how hot it looked from their perspective?” Fox sounded defeated as he brought your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. 

         “Both.” 

Taglist: @techs-feral-wife​ (thank you for your help too Max ❤️)

[meshla-cyarika]

Public Menace

Pairing: Commander Fox x gn!reader

Word count: 852

Tags/warnings: none

Summary: Fox suffers the consequences of you being bored while on sick leave.

--------------------------------------------------

"Would you stop with the wriggling?" Fox huffs, looking up from his paperwork for the first time in hours. You shuffle on the couch one more time just to irk him.

You're in his office for some rare downtime and Fox is still forcing himself to concentrate on requisition paperwork for the 104th, claiming that he's falling behind in his work. You've been trying your very hardest to distract him for the past two hours, saying that you want your cyare's company during your sick leave. As much as he loves you, which he has assured you of multiple times, he really has alot of work to be doing.

The wriggling, as Fox has put it, is only 50% on purpose. You were chasing a group of thieves through the Coruscant streets with Thorn, when you had taken a nasty fall while wrestling with a pissed off Devaronian. Looking back on it, you find Thorn stressing and worrying over you rather funny, because both of you know Fox would've killed him if he let you die on his watch.

Initially, Fox was fussing over you so much that it nearly gave you a headache, but after a week he started to mellow out. He knows you can handle yourself and that you've dealt with worse injuries. Jewels, a Coruscant Gaurd medic, had told you that you had just bruised some of your ribs and your shoulders, along with a concussion.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you try getting comfortable on a lump ass couch, while suffering from internal bruises." You shoot him a look and he just rolls his eyes at your words, knowing that you're just winding him up.

"If you find it so uncomfortable, why don't you go back to bed?" He says in a much softer tone.

"And leave you here all alone, without any human interaction for the rest of the day?" You arch a brow and he's quick to distract himself by signing off new plastoid for 25% of the 104th instead of meeting your gaze. You know him too well.

"Besides, I've been working on this report for ages." You continue typing away on your datapad.

"The report can wait, you're on leave." Fox says back.

"So can the requisitions." You remark. "May aswell be in a warm, comfortable bed-"

"There's a blanket in the locker, if you're cold." He interrupts you bluntly and you give him a flat look.

Having nothing left to say, silence settles over the room for a few minutes. The thoughts of that blanket are filling your mind. You had brought it for him during the first couple of weeks you were dating, after noticing his habit of sleeping in his office.

A exasperated sigh leaves your lips and you place your datapad on the couch next to you, before painfully bringing yourself to stand. The winces and occasional "ow, fuck" are only partly exaggerated, as you pull out the fluffy red blanket from his locker.

"Urgh, think I'm dying." You mumble quietly, finding a comfortable position on the couch.

"You finished?" Fox arches a brow at you, amused by your attempt at manipulating him to lay with you.

"Everything hurts." You pout at him, tormenting facade finally slipping. Fox gives you a warm smile, standing from his desk to make the few steps to stand by you.

"You're over doing it, sarad." He brings his hands up to hold either side of your face.

"Hurts." Is all you mumble out and he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. Fox doesn't like seeing you hurt and he knows that you know he doesn't like seeing you hurt because you've gone out of your way to lighten the mood this past week with cheesy jokes.

"Tell me honestly, if I bring my work over here to be with you, are you going to sit still for once?" He tilts your head up to make you meet his eyes. A mischievous smile etches it's way onto your face at his words.

"Of course, I will. What to do you take me for, a public menace?" You arch a brow and he gives you a flat look, before turning away to gather his datapad and documents.

Fox rearranges a few pillows to prop himself up agaisnt, before reclining back agaisnt the armrest. You snuggle up to him with mild discomfort, resting the side of your face agaisnt his chest that's rid of his plastoid for once.

"Love you." You mumble out, eyelids already drooping.

"I gathered." He says back, causing you to pinch him in the side. "Alright! I love you to!" He leans down to place a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

Five hours later, Stone barges into Fox's office, about to rave on about Hound putting hair dye in his shampoo. What he finds is rather unexpected. So, you finally wore him down, huh? He totally doesn't steal the datapad that's lax in Fox's hold, take a photo of the pair of you blissfully asleep, forward it to Thire, Thorn and Hound, then sets it as Fox's background.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

NFITH Chapter 1 - New Territory [Commander Fox x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: New to Coruscant and adjusting horribly to your new job as a senator’s aide, you often find yourself lost on the best of days, and the target of her wrath on the worst of them. You could almost swear she’s setting you up to fail as your job standards become more and more impossible. Fortunately for you, you have someone in high places looking out for you before long.  Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader, save for *very occasional* mentions of makeup. Establishing chapter where Reader moves to Coruscant for intentionally vague reasons. Reader does not meet Fox in this chapter. Reader has a very helpful neighbor. This series contains depictions of anxiety and panic attacks. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. 

Word count: 2,748

New Territory

Moving to the centermost jewel of the Core Worlds for a career change was an impulsive decision spurred on by the start of the Clone Wars some time ago. Feelings of great uncertainty for your future in this developing chapter of your life became a dragging, tugging weight you could no longer ignore. What once provided anchorage to keep you stable and sure threatened to drown you in the ever-shifting tide if you did not rid yourself of these hindrances. 

Something new was waiting for you on Coruscant, the city that never sleeps. You just wouldn’t be sure until you got there.

Loved ones had rallied around you when you made preparations for the plunge, showing you support and lending a helping hand in packing most of your life away in tidy little boxes and crates. It proved easy with their help. You truly couldn’t have done it without them. Choosing cherished items to leave behind was no walk in the park, but it was easier than what would come next. 

The fretful farewells and yawning maw of a whole new galactic timezone between you and your loved ones were bitter pills to swallow. The first coils of dread pooled in your stomach upon the drop out of hyperspace, slowly gnawing away all the while as you met up with the moving company in the early afternoon.

Getting the keycards and address to your new Coruscanti apartment marked the start of an aching loneliness. 

There was no one to stand behind you in silent support when the new neighbors came sniffing around at the sight of the moving company, leaving you to greet them on your own. None of the bittersweet laughter that lovingly tucked your holoalbums in boxes accompanied you when it came time to unpack them. No one would help you decide where you should put your travel-wilted houseplants when you introduced a little greenery, something to fill up the empty space. 

(The corner would have to do for now.)

Dinner was eaten alone. 

Too travel-tired, and the whole of your body aching at the thought of a few minutes more on your feet after a busy afternoon of scattered unpacking, you purchased something from one of the many street vendors just outside the complex. 

The signage was not in Galactic Basic, but thankfully, the Dug vendor knew enough to provide “something filling” when you asked. Anything would do so long as it took the claws of the gripping hunger and filed them down. Credits changed hands for a carton of breaded nuna nuggets in a vegetable and grain blend, which was taken back upstairs and enjoyed quietly in the solitude of your kitchen for a moment, just savoring the flavor of your first meal on a new planet. 

To disrupt the unfamiliar room tone, you eventually tune in to a radio drama for the first in a long time. Something to fill up your apartment with a little more sound until you’re ready to unpack a final box or two for the night, then head to bed. The script’s corny and amateurish quality has you reconsider that idea pretty quickly. 

The longer you listen, the more it sounds like an office drama, complete with catty watercooler talk and power tripping micromanagers. 

Pass.

You turn it off and put the rest of your meal in the conservator for tomorrow.

You make just enough progress on a pair of boxes before you’re content both with the day’s progress and the prospect of finally getting some shut-eye. 

Leaving the process of wrestling your mattress in place when you’re running on fumes likely wasn’t the best idea, but it should serve its purpose for draining the remainder of whatever energy reserves you have. Once settled in the bed frame, extracting your bed linens and dressing things up is all that’s left before your nightly routine, and finally, sleep. Fixing the mattress cover and fitted sheet in place takes the most time, the rest proves a breeze. 

The new sleeping space is capped off with final addition of the comforter. A loved one packed your sleep set in the same box as the bed linens, meaning you don’t have to sleep in the day’s now-dirty clothes, or dig through any more boxes. 

It smells like home. 

And it’s the first time you sit here—truly sit here—in the newness and the unfamiliar of what you’ve gotten yourself into… and struggle not to cry. You deny the brine-water in your eyes its purpose, wiping and washing everything down the sink drain instead. The cold creepings of loneliness and regret are placated with self-soothing nonsense. 

You’re just tired. There was a lot of information to process today. Everyone feels completely overwhelmed their first day on Coruscant. 

It could easily be the first of many days… 

Finally reclining in bed, you find it hard to sleep now that there’s nothing else to occupy your mind with, taking notice how full of sound this foreign environment is. Understanding this planet is one massive, incomprehensible city, it’s easy to see why rather than the occasional, irregular sound, the noise pollution will be constant, coming from countless sources.  

The hummed harmonies of neon signs glowing in the smog. A million skylanes warbling and purring with speeder cabs in every color of the light spectrum. The steady, endless drum of foot traffic on a million and one walkways. The voices of trillions of galactic lifeforms living above and below the surface; all parading around on the planet that never sleeps. 

Sleep eludes you all night, or proves restless when you wink out of consciousness, however temporarily.

Your neighbor from down the hall is not surprised to see you propped up in the doorframe, folding over in exhaustion when you answer the door just before mid-morning. You force drooping eyelids back in place, praying this is a quick matter as you greet the elderly woman perched on your welcome mat next to a large bag. 

You were in the process of sniffing out which of the many boxes filled with kitchenware contained your caf machine so you could brew yourself a cup of much-needed energy when there was a knock at your door. 

“Can I help you…?”

She was Tholothian, judging by the scaled skullcap and tendrils that bobbled over her shoulders from the force of the gentle, bubbly laugh she breaks into in her amusement. 

“Oh no, dear; I’m here to help you. May I come in?” 

Her smile is warm, and kind; emphasized and complemented by both smile and age lines. You’re pretty sure you saw her the other day when the movers brought in the first of the boxes, but you can’t remember a name.

Figuring there’s no harm, you invite her inside, at which point she collects the sizable bag at her feet and finds a way to gracefully squeeze it past you without so much as a bumped elbow. “Do you… need any help with that?” The offer to help is made only after the moment has passed, brain sluggish and more than a little forgetful of your manners. 

Fortunately, she’s forgiving of the situation before her. “I’m plenty strong in my old age, don’t you worry! Got up nice and early this morning to get some things that’ll help you settle in. Groceries, too.” 

No longer quite sleepy, you now stand there, stunned. “You- you brought me groceries?”

With a smile, she hoists the bag a little higher than before. “I sure did. Where would you like me to put everything, dear?”

“T-the counters in the kitchen’s fine…” you stammer. 

Your neighbor brings the grocery-laden bag into the apartment’s small kitchen, and lines everything up on the countertop as you instructed. Blue milk, a loaf of polystarch, eggs, caf creamer, and generic breakfast mixes are among the lot. 

“Here you are! A few essentials to get you started.” Previously crammed in one singular bag, there are now fifty or so items to be put away. (That’s a few?)

You would be speechless if it wasn’t the polite thing to thank her. 

“I, uh… h-holy shit, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” she replies cheerily. “Mrs. Helios is always here for her neighbors. I’m just a knock away down the hall in ol’ 4546Besh if you ever need me.”

Mrs. Helios. Tholothian. 4546Besh. 

You could remember that. (Probably.) You properly introduce yourself while the two of you begin putting away the perishables first, the conservator and cupboards looking a little less barren than before. (And she thinks you have a lovely name; says it suits you.) Keeping up the momentum, the boxes of kitchenware previously poked through for the caf-maker are tackled next, at Mrs. Helios’ offering.

“You look like you could use a hand.” she says with a knowing smile. 

“I would certainly appreciate it…” you say, not for the first time. 

Steady progress is made over the next half hour or so until the beverage machine has been located, at which point you dig only long enough to find the caf powder and a suitable mug before the Tholothian encourages you to have a rest. Mrs. Helios takes the opportunity to present you with a few more things out of her bag while you wait on your cup to brew. 

The first is a sound device, the price sticker subjected to some rather thorough redacting of monetary value. The packaging is pretty nondescript, save for a few lofty promises—over 150+ new and improved audio files!—but the machine itself has a rather nice, sleek design when you extract it from the box. Coincidentally, it happens to be in a softer shade of one of your favorite colors. 

“It may help mask some of the... less pleasant ambience you’ll find here.” 

Her reasoning sagely segues into the next item, handwritten advice on how to deal with the high amount of crime and the pickpockets that plague the planet. The stack of hair-thin acrylic sheets must be half an inch tall, and again, handwritten. Each letter is crisp, with a print-like quality to it. It must’ve taken her several hours to write this much, and so tidily.

You’re kind of at a loss for words. You’re wondering if you’ve made a terrible mistake uprooting your comfortable life to live here.

“Just how bad is the crime?”

“It’s not so bad here on the upper levels, dear. Biggest concern would be pickpockets, day to day. But the sub-levels; now those areas you’d really need to take care of yourself.” Mrs. Helios understands that's not much comfort, so the subject is changed for now while you fetch the finished cup of caf. (You set another to percolate for good measure; you’ll likely take it for yourself if Mrs. Helios declines.) “Speaking of upper levels… I also wrote down a few of the good shops not too far from here that you may find helpful as you're settling in. Nice variety, and all that.” 

You take the first of the pages and study its directions, telling you how many turns to take, nearby signage, types of shops you should be seeing along the way. She’s thought of everything. Mrs. Helios has made a point to include the name and species of the shop-owners, and the languages they speak as well.

Nursing your caf, you select a passage at random. 

Hasher (Dug) speaks Basic, but be sure to greet him in Huttese first. The word ‘Hello’ is ‘Achuta’. 

“You must be pretty familiar with these shop owners.” 

“I’ve been doing business with them for years,” Mrs. Helios confirms, head bobbing. 

Though the two of you had proper introductions little more than an hour ago (if the chronometer is to be believed), the elderly Tholothian has given you the impression she’ll answer any question with honesty. She’s given no reason for you to suspect otherwise so far, anyway. 

“Are they… friendly?”

Mrs. Helios has given you an ace up your sleeve, and she knows it. “They should be! If they aren’t, telling ‘em Mrs. Helios sent you their way ought to remind them of their manners. I won’t tolerate them being unkind to my neighbors just because I’ve known them for years.” Reaching across the small table, she takes your hand and gives your forearm a gentle but reassuring pat. “You’ll find your footing here in no time, dearie. Don’t you worry.” Her smile lines deepen, and her tone is full of confidence. 

“I hope so…” you reply, sleepy in your optimism.

Not much later, the caf-pot indicates the second cup you’ve set to brew has finished, strengthening the robust aroma wafting through your tiny apartment kitchen. Getting up, you collect the mug full of bitter brew and offer it up to your new neighbor, asking if she’d like some sugar or cream to sweeten it. You should have thought to do the same with your own, but you’d been so desperate for a stimulant after a near-sleepless night that you only waited long enough for it to cool to a more comfortable temperature, at which point it was drunk straight. 

“Oh, that’s a very kind offer, but I’m afraid caf and I don’t agree with one another. I suspect I’m mildly allergic to caffeine; always seem to break out in hives after a cup. You go ahead and have it for me, dear.” Mrs. Helios encourages you. She promises there’s no sense worrying about the possibility of a contact allergy, either. More than one broken cup of caf has been cleaned by her thin fingers throughout her lifetime without ill effect. 

That brings up many questions, she’s all too sure, but you’ll have to find your answers another time. 

“Judging from the amount of boxes, you’re planning to be here for a while. There will be plenty of time to get to know one another better.”

“I came to Coruscant for a career change.” you confess, stirring in a few spoonfuls of sugar into the second cup of caf. “So I hope that’s true.” 

The Tholothian’s expression quickly becomes one of mild interest. “Is that so? And do you have a career lined up for you already?” Interest morphs into gentle disapproval and concern when you tell her there’s no new job lined up yet. “Oh good galaxies, child. That won’t do at all… Coruscant can be such an expensive place to live. Well. In that case, I ought to give you some directions to the nearby career centers before long. You deserve a little time to settle in, first.”

First groceries, then a noise machine and a sizable stack of hand-written advice. Now Mrs. Helios is offering to help you find resources to pick up a new career. You must have accrued and cashed in some seriously good karma or something to have such a helpful neighbor just down the hall. It almost feels too good to be true. You know your family would be as relieved as you are grateful to have met someone so generous and helpful so shortly after moving to Coruscant. 

“Stars, I… I don’t know how to possibly thank you enough, Mrs. Helios...” 

Your neighbor smiles, humored, as she begins gathering her things. She’s taken enough of your time for the day; ought to be on her way and let you get back to setting your apartment in order at your leisure. Boxes that have piled up in the joint search of the caf-maker are kicked aside, helping her get to the door unencumbered. 

“Settle in first. Then you can fuss about thanking me,” the Tholothian tells you with a matronly smile and a deciding nod. “But there’s no pressure. This is new territory for you, dear. Your story is just getting started.”

That’s certainly one way to look at it. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.” you agree softly, returning her pleasant smile. Her words are simple, but so very comforting. You linger at the door, waiting until Mrs. Helios makes it down to 4546Besh before slipping back inside your own apartment with a departing wave. 

She’s absolutely right. 

The day is still young, and with the caf in your system, you should be able to make decent work on emptying these moving boxes if you work in waves. Your first night was rough, but it’s behind you now. Given an incredible leg up by your generous neighbor, tonight should be better. 

And tomorrow, you’ll start properly exploring the planet at the heart of the Galactic Republic.

Starting out this series on the small-side for chapters; be warned that future chapters will (likely) be on the longer end going forward!

Fic taglist: @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @returnofthepineapple

[Masterlist] [NFITH Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: OPEN]

[somedaylazysomeday]

Tied Up in You - Part Three

When edging doesn't work out for you, Fox decides to test your limits in a different way.

Commander Fox x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: Dom/sub elements, attempted edging, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, accidental orgasm, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, elements of forced orgasms (but not really), safeword discussion and use, unprotected sex, creampie.

Previous | Masterlist

---

“Come on, pretty girl.”

Fox’s low voice, velvety with the rough edge of his arousal, made you thrash your head back and forth. “I th-thought that’s what you di- ah! - didn’t want me to do?” 

“Just because I don’t want you going over the edge doesn’t mean I don’t want you on the cliff,” he told you. You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the smile in his tone. It made you want to simultaneously smack him and kiss him.

Your relationship with Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard was easily the best part of your life at that particular moment. Actually, you couldn’t remember anything better in your past and you couldn’t picture anything better for your future. Fox was everything to you, and he was very clear that you were everything to him. 

Even when he was relentlessly tormenting you.

At that particular moment, Fox had buried his face between your legs. He was teasing you with his mouth, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm without allowing the pleasure to overtake you. Normally, your relationship was all about chasing pleasure with every bit of energy either of you could muster, so this turn of events was deliciously frustrating. 

“Be my good girl and tell me when you get close,” Fox pulled away to say. It wasn’t the first time he had said it, and every time seemed to coincide with a time when your body was starting to lock down to come. “Don’t come until I say so.” 

“I’m close right now, Fox!” you wailed. 

A sharp sensation in your inner thigh made you gasp and you looked down to find Fox in the middle of delivering a bite there. When he had finished, he moved enough to warn, “Watch that tone. Don’t forget that I’m in charge of deciding when you come.”

“Maybe you’re depriving me,” you countered, cutting yourself off with a sharp gasp as he started tormenting you with lips and tongue once more. 

“Fine,” Fox said, and you could almost cry at how cold and empty you felt as he sat back on his heels. “You want to come so badly? Beg.” 

“Fox,” you complained. 

“C’mon, princess,” he urged. “Beg for me. Tell me what you want me to do and how, and I’ll have you screaming my name just as soon as you want. But you’re going to have to beg first.” 

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Fox gave you a dark smile and heat rose in your face and chest. You were comfortable with Fox - clearly - but begging had never been part of your skill set. Something about the humiliation of it, the desperation… you couldn’t figure out whether you loved the idea or hated it, but you’d never managed to work up enough nerve to find out for yourself. Not when you weren’t being overly-dramatic or doing it as a joke.

Fox used his fingers to keep you on-edge as you tried to work up the courage to plead with him. “Don’t come without permission or I’ll come up with a punishment for you.”

Despite the warning, you could feel the way your body started to tighten. “Fox, I-”

His hand pulled away a millisecond before your thighs snapped together. You and Fox stared at each other in wide-eyed shock even as the muscles of your core spasmed and squeezed. You had come without his permission. And worse, you hadn’t even been able to enjoy it!

“What did I tell you to do?” 

The urge to be sarcastic was strong in the face of Fox’s deadpan question, but you bit it back. He looked stern and foreboding - a combination that had proven to be lethal to your self-control in the past. 

So you ducked your head. “I’m sorry, Fox.” 

“Did I ask for an apology?” He shook his head before you could answer the question. “What did I tell you to do?” 

“You told me not to come.” 

“That’s right,” he agreed with a nod. “And what did you do?” 

“I came,” you muttered, face burning again. 

“Yes you did.” Fox seemed thoughtful, which was potentially a worse development for you. “The question now is: what should I do about that?” 

Your breath caught and Fox gave you a sharp look. It hadn’t been an unhappy noise, and you hoped he knew that. But subtlety didn’t seem worth the risk. “You said you were going to punish me.” 

Fox sat back further, sitting on the bed so he could watch you from a more comfortable position. His expression was still one of consideration, like he was trying to figure out just how far you wanted to push this particular game. He was hesitant, you could see it in every muscle of his body. He wanted to go as far as you did, but never to cross the line. 

Eventually, he leaned forward, studying you intently. “What do you think should happen?” 

Ah, yes, leaving the decision up to you. Perfect. 

With a great deal of effort, you kept your smirk internal and offered him a look of wide-eyed guilt and scarcely disguised interest. “I think I’ll never learn to obey you if you threaten to punish me and don’t follow through. Sir.” 

Fox looked softly entertained at that, especially at the title you’d hastily tacked on at the end. But he managed to keep a straight face, with only the warmth in his eyes betraying his amusement. He nodded gravely. “If your future behavior is at stake, I don’t believe we have a choice.”

“If you think that’s best,” you agreed, biting the inside of your lip to fight the smile trying to emerge. 

And then Fox was utterly serious once more. “Okay, sweetheart. What are your hard limits for this?” 

“Same as always,” you told him. It may have sounded like a rote assurance to anyone else, but Fox gave a firm nod. He knew your limits backward and forward, but he liked to check that nothing had changed, especially if a situation was new or different. 

“And can you tell me the safeword?” 

You couldn’t help but smile, the way you always did when asked about the safeword you and Fox had come up with: “Palpatine.” 

He shook his head in fond exasperation, rolling his eyes slightly at the reminder. “Yes. Give me a minute to set up. If you need to grab a drink or use the refresher, now would be the time.”

That was a new warning, and you decided to do both of those things before you got started. When you got back, Fox had retrieved your bottle of lube, set a collection of toys on the bedside table, and was holding his binders. 

“What did you decide on?” you asked, crossing to the bed. 

Fox turned and your spine reflexively straightened. His posture was straight and his jaw was firm - clear signs that he had switched into dom mode. “You haven’t behaved well enough to ask questions. You aren’t entitled to the answers. Now, get on the bed and make yourself comfortable. You’re gonna be there a while.” 

You complied, your body already tightening with interest. It was unusual for you to be ready so soon after an orgasm, but there was something about the way Fox bossed you around…

“Yes, Commander,” you murmured as you slipped past him. Fox’s hand stroked over the curve of your hip as you went, and the feeling of that touch buzzed through you. 

This was going to be good. 

As soon as you were comfortably on the bed, Fox nodded at you. “Arms out.” 

You put your hands out toward him and Fox attached the now-familiar set of binders on your wrists. They had seen a lot of activity between you and Fox, but the sight of the dull, utilitarian material wrapped around your limbs still made you shiver with anticipation. 

Fox pulled your bound hands upward, pressing a single button to magnetize them to the headboard. His motions were brusque and businesslike, but his eyes burned at you every time he caught your gaze. 

He didn’t seem able to resist the last time, and ducked down for a long, searching kiss. You hadn’t even noticed the way you were leaning forward to accept and return that kiss until Fox’s fingers parted your folds. You gasped at the touch, still sensitive from your earlier activities, leaning back and back and back until you were finally sitting against the headboard. 

Fox was undeterred, his fingers toying with you. They weren’t entering you, not yet, but they stroked your folds and brushed over your clit. He took long breaks to run his hands over the smooth skin of your inner thighs, and you eagerly spread your legs wider for him. 

When he finally decided to touch your core, his motions were slow at first. He dipped a fingertip into you and pulled back out immediately, studying the way your body had left a prominent shine on his skin. He licked his finger clean and you moaned for him. Fox’s eyes glimmered wickedly at you, then he was pressing two fingers deep inside of you. 

Your breath caught audibly at the intrusion of it. Fox’s fingers were broad and he didn’t seem worried about the fact that they were spread slightly as they pressed into you. If you hadn’t already had one orgasm, the sensation probably would have been painful rather than just intensely pleasurable. But from the knowing look on Fox’s face as he pumped those spread fingers in and out of your body, he had already taken that into account. 

All of a sudden, your hands jolted. With the binders locking you to the bedframe, the motion was ineffective but loud. Fox’s eyes pulled upward to your face. Dimly, you recognized that they had been focused between your legs for the past few minutes. 

“Fox- Sir,” you hastily corrected. “I’m close.” 

The hint of tension dissolved from Fox’s expression and he started pumping his fingers once more. “Good. This is your punishment, sweetheart. If you want to come so badly, I’ll make sure you have the chance to. After all, I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’re being deprived.”

The wicked drawl in his last sentence - clearly mocking what you had said earlier - made you burn. Whether that burn was lust or irritation or your impending orgasm, you couldn’t tell for sure. You were tempted to lean toward that last explanation, though, since your body tightened further and further until it snapped, releasing that tension in a flood of endorphins and bright colors bursting behind your closed eyelids. 

Fox worked you through all of it, milking every bit of pleasure from your system until you were squirming. “What do you say after someone gives you something you’ve asked for?” 

When you turned to look at him, your head lulled to the side in a lazy sweep. You grinned at him. “Thank you, Commander.” 

He gave an unimpressed little grunt. “If you’re gonna act like a brat, I’d better not give you any time to recover.” 

“Recover?” you asked, but Fox was already pushing himself down on the bed, forcing your thighs wide around the broad sweep of his shoulders. 

“Recover,” he repeated, a sweet darkness in his tone as his head lowered toward the junction of your thighs. 

In a smooth motion, Fox spread you wide for himself, holding your folds apart to make room for his lips and tongue. You had thought his actions had been intense before, but they had been nothing compared to what he was doing now. You could scarcely feel each touch as an individual sensation, let alone process any of it. The result was pleasure that managed to be overwhelmingly strong and breathtakingly intense.

Fox had teased pleasure from you before. He had coaxed it from your body, stoked it like a fire. He had played your nerve endings like a melodium and, at times, he had withheld pleasure to keep you desperately balanced on the edge for an eternity. 

But this was different from anything you’d ever shared. It felt like he was pushing the pleasure at you, forcing you to take everything he gave you… and he was giving you everything. 

Your toes were curling, your legs wrapping around as much of Fox’s torso as you could manage without fear of suffocating him. Your head thrashed back and forth, hands straining uselessly in the cold grip of the binders. “Fox, I- ah! That’s… ohhhh…”

The flat of Fox’s tongue worked expertly against your clit, pressing and ribbing, letting you revel in the rough slickness of the muscle against you. At the same time, he sank a finger deep into your core, moving unerringly to that place against the front of your channel that made you fall apart for him every time. 

You arced up off the bed, for all the world like he had electrocuted you rather than press against a hidden collection of nerves deep in your body. “Fox!” 

It was half a scream and you worried that Fox was going to stop. You stared down at him with wild eyes only to find him looking back at you. While your gazes were linked, he closed one eye in a slow, deliberate wink. 

Your head tipped back, connecting solidly with the headboard as your breath whooshed out in a sharp exhale. That was followed by an equally sharp inhale and then you were gone. Your body danced and shook under Fox’s careful attention, squeezing and working his fingers like it could trap him there forever. 

At last, the rough slide of his tongue against you seemed like more of a punishment than a mercy and you groaned. Fox stopped immediately, patting your thigh and sitting back, careful not to jostle you. 

“Something you want to say?” he prodded. 

Your head lolled to one side, resting on your own bicep as you flexed your fingers in the binders. “Thank you, Commander.” 

“You did beautifully for me, pretty girl,” Fox congratulated lowly. Just that little bit of praise made you warm for him. “You were so sensitive and you let me hear you. For that, I’m going to let you have a minute to settle before we go again.” 

“We aren’t done?” you asked, bewildered. That speech had certainly sounded like the end of your punishment rather than the middle of it. Or worse, the beginning. 

Fox laughed. “You’ve come twice. Are you saying that was enough for you?” 

“It was three times,” you countered stubbornly. 

He tilted his head at you. “If you can’t handle any more, use your safe word.” 

It was hard not to pout at him, but you knew what would happen if you did. And since you were already in the middle of one punishment, you really didn’t think it was wise to start on another. You bit your lip, looking studiously at your own knee. 

“That’s what I thought,” Fox said, clearly satisfied with himself. “Take a minute. Do you need a drink?” 

All of that panting and moaning had left you feeling distinctly parched, so you nodded. Fox was unmoved. “Let me hear that voice. I asked, do you need a drink?” 

“Yes, sir,” you affirmed, face heating. That hadn’t even been begging, but it was subservient in a way that you had always made a point of avoiding. 

“Good,” Fox praised, erasing the burn in your cheeks. It returned in full force when he lifted a glass of water to your lips so you could take a series of sips. 

When you had finished, Fox set the glass down on a dresser across the room. He had to - the surface of your bedside table was covered in an army of vibrators, plugs, and other assorted toys. The largest bottle - holding your preferred lube - loomed over the rest like a king. 

Fox had apparently noticed where your gaze went, since he gave a sweeping gesture to indicate the table. “Pick one.” 

You frowned at him, searching for the trap in his words. Fox smiled, shaking his head a little. “No trick, little one. I know your favorite changes and I want to make sure this feels good for you.” 

“It always does, Fox,” you assured him, quickly biting your lip. “I mean, Commander.”

“Pick,” Fox repeated, durasteel in his tone at the reminder of the power games you were playing. “If I have to pick, you won’t like my choice.” 

That threat was laughably empty, especially given the conversation you had just finished, but you pretended to be concerned anyway. It was what you needed to keep things moving, and you desperately wanted to see where Fox went with this. 

“The white and gold,” you decided. Fox quirked one dark brow, but reached for it anyway, grabbing the lube at the same time. 

You studied your chosen toy as he began to stroke a thick layer of sheen over it. It was a rabbit vibrator, a lovely white silicone with gold embellishments. Both colors set off Fox’s rich skin tone as he prepared it for you, creating one of the most appealing images you had ever seen.

Despite the shine of the gold and the velvety matte white, the sophisticated-looking toy was simple to use and had the strongest vibrations of any toy you owned. It didn’t nudge you inexorably toward the edge of pleasure - it loaded you into a cannon and sent you there in an irresistible explosion.

Was it an overambitious choice for this particular occasion? Yeah, probably. But you wanted to throw Fox off his game, make him feel even partially as unbalanced as he made you. Besides, it really was your favorite toy at the moment.

True to his gentle nature, Fox started slow. He pressed his lips to yours in a gentle kiss, one you eagerly returned. When he was sure you were interested, he slowly deepened it, his mouth growing firmer and more dominant until you were opening and submitting to him. 

You hadn’t consciously parted your legs, but you must have at some point, probably in an attempt to make room for Fox. You hated the idea of him stooping awkwardly over the bed to kiss you in the range of your binder-clad hands when he could simply kneel on the bed in front of you. 

That helpfulness made it extraordinarily easy for Fox to lower the vibrator between your legs, teasing the head of it up and down your slit. You shuddered for him, and he swallowed down the tiny moan you gave.

He turned on the vibrations, alternating between almost breaching your channel and concentrating the head of it - and the strongest buzzing - directly against your clit. The noises you made were inhuman, and only the binders looped through the headboard kept you from pushing your way down the bed and forcing Fox to touch you the way you needed. 

“So impatient,” Fox tutted, as if he could read your mind. He pulled the vibrator away slightly. It was still in contact with your folds, but not nearly strong enough or where you needed it to be. 

“But you said I did good,” you pled, giving Fox your biggest, saddest eyes. 

“Hmm…” You wanted to call him out. There was no way he could really be considering your point while he pulsed the vibrator between your legs like that. “You’re right.” 

And then the whole beautiful, buzzing, well-lubricated toy was sinking into you. Your body parted eagerly around it and you made a sound that seemed to stem from your chest. Even with three orgasms in your recent past, the toy still brought on a stretching sensation, though it was noticeably less intense than usual.

“Fox!” you called, your fingers curling uselessly in the air. You wanted to dig them into Fox’s shoulders and back, the way you always did when you were consumed with pleasure, but the binders were strong enough to keep that from happening. 

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the side of your neck and nuzzling lightly. “I wouldn’t miss a second of this.” 

You couldn’t respond to his sweet words - you were too busy experiencing everything that was going on with the toy. The attention you had focused on the sensations between your legs only grew sharper as Fox began to pulse the toy gently in and out of you. The result was a tantalizing feeling of thrusting without removing the bulk of the vibrator from your core. 

The main benefit of this particular toy were the ‘ears’. With the vibrating shaft buried in you, they were touching your clit. And when Fox pressed it deeper, the resulting contact was firm and bright and breathtaking. 

It was strange, you mused. Your thoughts were coming far more slowly than usual, but their stream was still enough to pull you from the pleasure for a millisecond. You would have expected that reaching orgasm would take longer with each successive one you experienced. After all, you were no stranger to overstimulation. But you weren’t simply eager for Fox’s touches - your body was already starting to tighten in preparation for another orgasm. 

“Fox-” you started, cutting yourself off with a whine as Fox pressed the toy as far into your body as he could manage. 

Fox’s hands lightened against the vibrator’s silicone base. “You remember how to signal your safeword if you can’t speak, right?” 

You nodded, but didn’t tap the headboard three times. You didn’t want things to stop; you just didn’t want to be punished for coming without a warning. With every ounce of brainpower that hadn’t leeched down between your legs, you managed: “Close.” 

“Not good enough,” Fox decreed, increasing the speed of the toy’s vibrations. 

A choked scream clawed its way from your throat, almost painful in its intensity. The headboard clattered against the wall with the force of your hands against the binders. It wasn’t on purpose; your spine had arched so sharply that you couldn’t have prevented it if you had tried.

And you definitely didn’t have the mental capacity to try. 

This orgasm came over you like a flood, drowning you in pleasure until it was all you had ever known and all you would ever know. Every one of your senses was taken over by the sheer amount of information being fed into your nerve endings, and it robbed you of everything that wasn’t the overwhelming tide of sensations.

When you finally came down from that high, the vibrations had stopped, but Fox was holding the now-still toy thrust fully into you. The intrusion wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable. Especially with the way your inner muscles played over and gripped the toy, though you weren’t sure if they were trying to push it out or hold it in place. 

The slow slide of the toy leaving your body was strange, especially after having it settled firmly inside of you for that stretch of time. You shuddered as it finally pulled free, leaving you feeling oddly empty. 

“Thank you,” you murmured unprompted. 

Fox’s smile was immediate, flashing bright. “You’re welcome, pretty girl. Let’s keep this going, hmm?” 

Your eyebrows scrunched together as you tried to decide how you felt about that. You were exhausted and more than a little sore. More importantly, Fox hadn’t been inside of you yet, and you definitely wanted to fix that before you were done for the night. 

“Are you ready?” Fox asked. The question wasn’t pointed or demanding, but he was watching you as he waited patiently for an answer. 

“I… I don’t know how much longer I can last,” you admitted reluctantly. It had been a wonderful night, if a little more intense than you had expected, but you were starting to hit your limit. 

Fox was unbothered, clearly not disappointed in your lackluster answer. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart. I’m going to keep going until you safeword. That’s the goal of this particular session. Use the word any time you need to, but I’m not stopping until then. Do you understand?” 

You nodded, relieved that Fox wouldn’t be disappointed if you used your safeword. In fact, the revelation that you were not only encouraged, but expected to use your safeword was… freeing, somehow. Counterintuitively, it made you feel like you could keep going. 

Fox’s hands reached for you, and you were thoroughly relieved when they moved past the tender throbbing between your legs. Instead, he stroked your thighs, then your hips, working his way further and further in a massaging path up your torso. Fox was strong enough to reach behind you, supporting your weight as his fingertips trailed down your spine and back up again. 

He slowly began moving back down the front half of your body, and he took a lengthy pause at your chest. The weight of your breasts was hefted, cradled in a gentle palm as his thumbs teased lightly over your nipples. 

When Fox’s lips wrapped around the sensitive peaks of your flesh, you weren’t surprised. You cried out anyway for him as he licked and sucked, every motion careful with the knowledge that you were close to the breaking point. As his mouth worked against your nipples, Fox’s hands strayed over the soft, ticklish flesh of your ribs, stroking the skin that always suffered the worst in the confines of your bra. 

You made an inarticulate noise as you felt the barest hint of Fox’s teeth - only an edge of them, there for a millisecond and gone again, but the idea of it had you squirming with excitement. Fox slipped further and further down, the weight of him between your legs trapping your thighs splayed wide enough for him to fit between them. 

He didn’t use his mouth on you. You had actually expected that from the way he had been tormenting you this time around, but he didn’t touch your core at all. Instead, he folded an arm under his head and rested it on your inner thigh. It gave him a very intimate vantage point for observation and you felt a flash of embarrassment. That was gone as quickly as it had come on when he reached to draw a feather-light fingertip over your folds. 

The effects of that light touch were profound in your sensitive state. Chills broke out over your skin and something low in your belly quivered. It felt like your entire body took an anticipatory breath.

Fox either didn’t notice your sudden focus or he was pretending not to. Instead, he kept tracing an incomprehensible pattern across your sensitive flesh. The folds of your sex were decorated with designs you couldn’t see and couldn’t begin to visualize. But your body was thoroughly enjoying it anyway, and you started to feel sharp interest growing in you once more.

The torment was slow, savoring. Having had almost no time to recover between sessions, you were already keyed-up, and pleasure came quickly even with the lightness of Fox’s touches. When you reached your peak, the pulsing of endorphins came so languorously that you weren’t quite sure you had come at all. You just knew you felt wonderful and that the galaxy seemed so, so distant and your problems didn’t quite feel real anymore. 

Since it was difficult to tell when the pleasure had started, it was equally difficult to tell when it had ended. Your muscles still trembled with an occasional spasm and your walls flexed and grasped around nothing. The room seemed hazy, not quite solid, and sounds were muted until you heard someone say your name. 

You blinked, and the weight of your eyelids was intense. Fox had sat up, staring into your face from only inches away. You half-expected him to kiss you, but the concern in his expression was odd. 

He said your name again, and you focused on his familiar face instead of your own tumbling stream of thoughts. “Are you okay? Thought I lost you for a second there.” 

That brought a hint of a smile to your face. “You’re good, Fox, but no, you didn’t kill me.” 

“Not dead, sweet girl,” he said, clearly relieved by the joke. “But I was worried you were gone for a while.” 

The way he flicked his fingers beside his ear communicated that he thought you had passed out. You shook your head. “I’m fine.” 

He looked deeply skeptical at that. “Something you want to say to me?” 

“Thank you, Commander.” 

The words were rote, fully automatic, but you couldn’t help a laugh when Fox’s expression turned to a wry sort of grimace. “Not what I meant. I think it’s about time you use that safeword.” 

You paused for a moment to consider that. You couldn’t keep this going indefinitely, but you had some things you still wanted from this session. “No.” 

The smile that appeared on your face made Fox scowl. “Not a question. You didn’t answer me the first few times I called your name. I think it’s time for this to stop.” 

“You said you wouldn’t stop until I used my safeword,” you reminded him. “And I haven’t used it yet. If you want to stop, you use your safeword. But if not, I want to keep going. I do have a request, though.” 

“Brat,” Fox sighed, staring at the ceiling like it could help him tame your attitude. “What is your request? I’m not saying I’ll agree to it.” 

“I want you to fuck me,” you said, gaze level. “I need to feel you inside of me. Please, Commander.” 

There was an internal battle being waged within Fox; you could almost see it happening. At last, he sighed again. “I feel like I have to agree to that request.” 

“It seems to be in your best interests,” you said, letting your gaze drift obviously down to his hips. He was hard, and had been for quite some time. After all, he hadn’t come a single time yet, and you were starting to worry for his health. 

Fox shook his head, but you could see his eagerness in the way he moved over your body. As he settled on top of you, he still took a moment to stroke down your arms. “Does this hurt yet?” 

Until that question, you had actually forgotten that your arms had been raised over your head for such a long time. As soon as he mentioned it, the tingling running from your fingertips down to your shoulders intensified into something you struggled to ignore. “Not hurt, but it’s starting to feel… not great.” 

Fox immediately released the binders from the headboard, catching your arms when they fell heavily toward the surface of the bed. He massaged the muscles of your arms, easing the tingling. “Better?” 

You nodded, and he quickly magnetized the binders once more. This time, your wrists were connected to each other instead of the headboard. You had a lot more movement this time, but Fox solved that problem by tossing your bound wrists over his head, using himself as your anchor. 

He lined himself up at your entrance without looking away from you, and the eye contact made your tired muscles eager for him. When he started pushing into you, he felt incredibly, impossibly big and you made a helpless little noise. 

At the same moment, your inner muscles clenched, fighting to pull him inside faster and Fox choked out a breath. Your body rippled again and his fragile control snapped. He slammed inside of you. 

The sudden invasion was a shock to your system, utterly overwhelming, and it threw you directly into another orgasm. 

Thankfully, it was a small one and you were soon aware once more. Fox was watching you, brows raised as you shrugged. “Sorry, you caught me off guard. I’m ready for you to keep going.” 

Your breathless explanation clearly didn’t satisfy him, but Fox slowly withdrew from you and pushed back in once more. Once, then again, then once more as you made appreciative sounds. If you could still remember how to speak, you would have expressed that appreciation in words, but you were a little short on brain power at the moment. 

“You’re tight,” Fox grunted, thrusting a little harder. “How are you still tight? We’ve been doing this for hours.” 

“I-” You broke off, gasping a little at the rhythm he had taken up. “You feel so good, Fox.”

Fox’s eyes darkened and he sped up even more. It hadn’t been an idle attempt to flatter him, either. Of all the things you had done up to that point, this was easily the best one. You had barely started and you had already come once. Even still, your toes were curling and your bound hands clutched at Fox’s back and shoulders for support. 

There was a crease between Fox’s brows. “Not sure how much longer I’ll last, sweetheart.” 

“Now you sound like me,” you murmured, earning a radiant smile from him. He followed it up immediately with a kiss and you were gone. 

As soon as you started squeezing around him, Fox lost what was left of his composure. He speared himself deep inside of you, spilling heat in your core as you shuddered together through the overwhelming tide of pleasure. 

When the orgasm ebbed away, you were exhausted, more tired than you could remember having been. Fox gently turned you both onto your sides. He kept one of your thighs pinned over his hip, holding himself inside of you and keeping the worst of the mess under control until you could go clean up. 

Fox’s hand rose, and he stroked gentle fingertips down the curve of your cheek. “So good for me. Perfect girl.” 

You smiled, snuggling into his hand. “Palpatine.” 

Fox blinked at you, uncomprehending for a long moment before he gave a warm chuckle. “Good. I was starting to think I really was depriving you.” 

“Never,” you assured, pressing a kiss to the base of his thumb.

---

Author's Note - Here's another fic I'm not sure I'll continue. I love this couple and their sweet and spicy dynamic. I'm just not sure what else I have to say, if anything. If I do end up writing more, I'll be sure to link it here.

For now, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

[ghostofskywalker]

The Surprising Side Effects of New Bacta

Commander Fox/Reader

Fictober 2024 Day 10 of 31

Words: 1,345

Summary: When the Republic sends you a new type of bacta, you realize it has some pretty strong side effects, including the ability to make the ever-stoic Commander Fox mindlessly confess his feelings to you.

Note: i foolishly forgot about today's date when i was putting together last year's fictober order, so i was not going to make that mistake this year! have some fox fic on this fine 10/10 :)

Clone Troopers Masterlist

When you first unpacked the new type of bacta that the Republic had sent, you didn’t think anything of it at first. It was a different variation of the same product, and the note that accompanied it said that it was supposed to heal injuries in half the amount of time with minimal scarring, so you just placed it on the shelf and figured that you’d start using it when needed. Working with the Coruscant Guard in a medbay on Coruscant meant that a lot of the injuries you saw and treated were minor compared to the ones that front line combat medics dealt with, but you would take any supplies the Republic was willing to give. 

You didn’t know what you expected when you actually used it for the first time, but it wasn’t this. 

Fox was one of the most stoic and professional people you had ever met. It took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that he didn’t hate you, and you had cultivated what you considered to be a friendly working relationship with the commander of the Coruscant Guard.

Now however, every ounce of professionalism was out the window as he was high off his shebs, this new type of bacta working overtime to heal the injuries he had sustained in a speeder crash. “HMmmmmmggggg this feels really gooooooood.” 

You stifled a laugh, glad that none of his brothers were currently in the room as well, or there would definitely be some teasing (and likely a few holovids taken for blackmail purposes). “I’m glad you’re not in pain,” you said gently, walking over to where he was laying. “Do you need anything?” 

His eyelids were drooping and there was a blissful smile on his face, clear indicators that he was not in his right mind. “Idunno,” he slurred. “What happened?” 

You raised your eyebrows at him. He should have already been well aware of what had happened to him, as the two of you had just had this conversation a couple hours ago. Whatever was in this new variation of bacta was strong, and you would definitely be reporting that back to the Republic, suggesting that it only be administered in emergency situations. You had no problem letting Fox be as loopy as his heart contented while resting safely in your medbay, but in a combat situation, this kind of treatment might cause more problems than it solved.��

“You were in a speeder accident,” you said, reaching over to gently check the bandages that were wrapped around his arm and shoulder. It seemed that the bleeding had stopped, which was a promising sight, but you still needed to check the larger wound on his abdomen. If you saw positive results and felt it had already healed a good deal, you would probably switch him to regular bacta from now on.  “Can I check your bandages?” 

Fox nodded and you reached over, resting a hand on his chest to steady him as you gently unwrapped the gauze there. You tried to ignore his blissed out smile, but you were wholly unsuccessful. Your raging crush on the man in front of you was only growing, and it certainly didn’t help that he had been a little more touchy-feely under the bacta’s influence. 

You were so focused on the task in front of you that you didn’t hear your cleaning droid move across the floor, and you stumbled when you almost stepped on it. When you tried to catch yourself you ended up falling forward, and you didn’t realize what had actually happened until you stopped.

Fox’s arms had moved out reflexively, catching you before your head could hit his upper body. Maker, his eyes were so pretty, was your first thought, and your second was just how nice it felt for him to be holding you, if this moment could be categorized as that. 

As the embarrassment began to flood your body, you quickly pulled yourself up. “I’m so sorry,” the words were out of your mouth immediately. “I didn’t mean-” 

“‘T’s fine,” Fox said, another smile crossing his face. “I’d let you fall on me anytime, you know. Or fall for me.” 

Your heart fluttered, but you knew that anything he said right now was almost certainly a result of the bacta. “I appreciate that Commander,” you said quietly, moving to pick up where you had left off checking his wounds. 

“You’re always so nice and I can never truly thank you,” he continued, his eyes drooping more than they had been previously. “Thorn says I should just ask you out for a drink, but I didn’t want to push-” 

“Fox,” you said gently, cutting him off. “Is this the bacta talking?” It took everything not to laugh at the sound of confusion he made, but you held it in. “The bacta I gave you this time, it was stronger than anything we’ve had before.”

“And I think it’s helping,” he said, the topic of conversation completely shifting. “Because I feel goooooood right now.” 

It seemed that he had forgotten his previous ramblings, so you moved on with your life. It was impossible to forget, but you also had no interest in asking him to elaborate, no matter how loopy he was feeling at the moment. You didn’t think he’d be rude to you if he found out what was said in these moments, but it wasn’t worth risking a friendship you really valued.

His bandages looked good and the bleeding had stopped, so you would be switching back to the bacta you were used to using, and he would soon be discharged. Maybe you would be able to build up the courage to ask him out, but right now, you had to be content in just wondering where the conversation might have gone if he said that at a time when he hadn’t been under the bacta’s influence.

***

The medbay was quiet as you worked, with the last patients of the day returning to their barracks after you bandaged a few scrapes for them. The amount of reports that you needed to submit were slowly piling up, and you still needed to do a full inventory of medical supplies, so you probably weren’t going anywhere for the foreseeable future, but at least it was quiet. 

The sound of the doors opening pulled you from your focus, and you turned to see Fox walking towards you, stopping right by your desk as you stood up to greet him. “Can I help you Commander?” you asked. You hadn’t seen him in a few rotations, since he was discharged after the speeder accident. 

“You know to call me Fox,” he said softly, and you smiled in response. “I need to apologize to you for the way I acted when I was here last.” 

“Don’t even worry about it,” you said. “You were in pretty bad shape, and the type of bacta we used didn’t really help. I do have one question for you though.”

“What is it?” 

“You mentioned something about us going out for a drink while you were pretty out of your mind, is that offer still on the table?” 

You watched as what could only be described as a full range of emotions crossed Fox’s face. First confusion, then embarrassment, and finally he landed on what you wanted to believe was hopefulness. “It’s still on the table,” he said slowly. “Why, would you want to accept?” 

Instead of responding right away, you took a step closer to him and leaned in to place a quick kiss on his cheek. “I would,” you responded, hoping the grin on your face didn’t look too ridiculous. 

Fox smiled, reaching down to take your hand in his. “What about right now? I’m off duty this evening.” 

You nodded, sending a quick message on your comm device to another medic, begging her to come and cover the rest of your shift (which she did, once you explained why you were asking). Reports, inventory, and whatever else you had to do could definitely wait another rotation.

- the end -

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[ireadwithmyears]

Hi! Would you be able to write something for the clones (any of them) with a reader who has a guide dog. I've been running into a lot of issues with people trying to distract her and borderline harassing us (the president of my university follows us around with his unleashed dog running up to us, someone grabbed her nose when we were on a bus and then screamed at us, I'm a biology/genetics major so we get some subtle discrimination in academic opportunities like research projects, etc). Also I don't currently live somewhere with public transportation so I have to take Uber to get anywhere which is a whole other nightmare (a driver dropped us off at the wrong location and I was stuck in a sketchy part of town for 45 minutes while drivers kept denying us a ride). Maybe something with how the clones would comfort/handle their SO dealing with these things. Obviously you don't have to write about all of these scenarios, just some ideas

You don't have to of course, but I figured it was worth an ask:)

Looking Out for You:Part 1

Pairing: Commander Fox/fem Reader

Visually impaired reader masterlist

Word count: 4.1 K

Tags/warnings: Visually impaired reader, meet cute, grumpy x sunshine vibes, denial of feelings(Fox falls first, he falls hard, and he denies it every single step of the way because he’s Fox), guide dog cuteness, brief mention of ableism(this chapter is pretty tame, but in future installments, I intend to explore these elements more deeply, specifically as they pertain to service dog users. These topics aren’t always the most comfortable to discuss. But I feel they are important to bring awareness to)

Summary: Making the transition from your small, rural homeworld to Coruscant already promises to be tough. But when you’re employed to work at the Senate buildings directly under senator Organa and you’re also a guide dog user, things quickly become more complicated, in a variety of ways. Luckily, you seem to have caught the eye of a certain Marshal commander, who swears up and down that he’s not falling in love with you, but who, regardless, always has your back, and is always looking out for you.

A.k.a. 

The three times Fox makes sure that you get home safely. Plus the one time he ends up following you inside

Authors note: Hii anon. I was so happy to hear from you and received this request. As a fellow guide dog user, I have so many different experiences that I feel are worth sharing, so that more people are aware of the trials we face because as amazing as it is that we have these incredible animals, it isn’t always just a nice walk in the park. Which leads me to my next point. Because of all of these experiences that I want to highlight, this 1shot quickly evolved into a four part series, to give it the proper breathing room that I feel it deserves. I hope that’s okay, and I hope you still like this one. If you’d like to message me privately so that I can make sure you’re tagged in each subsequent update, please do. I’d be happy to do that

The first time it happens, Fox is admittedly running on his default, which is to say in plain terms that he is annoyed.

“Why is this my problem?”

Fox winces upon hearing the barely concealed snarl in his own voice through his helmet speakers. He could have phrased that better. He should have at least taken the courtesy to add “with all due respect” when leading into that sentence, even if both he and the trooper who has the misfortune of being at the other end of the line are both fully aware that he doesn’t intend to sound respectful in the slightest.

There’s a pause, a hesitation on the other end of the coms, which causes Fox to silently berate himself for his initial sharp tone. He reminds himself, as he does about 500 times daily, that he needs to be more careful with it.

This warning, for some reason, always falls on deaf ears. But still, Fox wagers that he at least keeps trying, and who knows, maybe one of these days, it’ll actually stick. It probably won’t.

“It’s just that the issue is occurring at the entrance closest to your office, sir,” the trooper begins before rushing to add, “but if you’re busy, we can send—”

“Don’t bother,” Fox sighs. “I’m already on my way there.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be on such a high horse, but really, being sent to investigate a loitering complaint is far above what he, as a marshall commander, should be doing. Despite this though, he privately admits that he’s been looking for an excuse to stand up from his desk chair and stretch his legs. Maybe if he’s lucky, he'll manage to shake off the aching twinge in his left shoulder, hunched from filling out a last-minute stack of crime reports that he had been on the scene of, all from the previous night between the hours of 1 to 3 in the morning. So really, he rationalizes, can anyone blame him for being more than a little bit pissed off at the interruption? 

Maybe it’s a sign that he needs a refill on his caf. 

He rounds the corner and, with what is in hindsight probably more force than is necessary, smacks a hand against an access panel. The door slides open, and a cool breeze hits him as he steps outside into the open air.

His eyes scan through the visor of his helmet, and to his annoyance he doesn’t see the suspected loiterer that he had been warned of, at least not at first. 

Sighing, he steps further out and past the awning above the entrance. Though the air is cool, the sun still shines, and the slight glow causes his eyes to catch on the gloss of your hair as you walk past, eyes nervous as they flick around. Sensing his presence, you pause, shoulders stiffening slightly as you turn to face him with trepidation. Fox also takes notice, his eyes widening in momentary surprise when he observes the guide dog harnessed at your left side, looking up at you with big brown eyes, as if silently trying to understand your sudden hesitance.

You, of course, have every reason to be suspicious of any unannounced or unidentified presence in your vicinity, especially now that you’re living on Coruscant. But, if you’re honest, you’re already on edge, and even though it’s still morning, the day has promised to be shit if the beginning of it is any indication.

Senator Organa isn’t in the habit of firing his junior staff for small mistakes like this, you remind yourself. Still, the thought, no matter how many times you’ve repeated it like a mantra at this point, doesn’t manage to calm your growing nerves, because regardless you’re still lost, and you’re still running late. You silently curse the pitfalls of being blind and using a ride-sharing service, and then you have to restrain yourself from cursing aloud when your eyes land on the silhouette parked a few meters in front of you.

You don’t have much vision. But with what you do have, it’s enough to deduce bright, contrasting colors. And the red splotches against white armor has you stopping dead in your tracks, because within the span of two seconds, a cold clarity settles within your stomach, because the red and white armor is distinctly and unmistakably that of a Coruscant Guard member, the visor of his helmet tilted, looking no doubt with suspicion directly at you.

Resisting the urge to bemoan the shortage of orientation and mobility droids designed to assist with transitions like this—which would have ensured that you would have been able to smoothly get yourself out of this situation in the first place—you bring your guide dog to heel before gesturing for her to sit, then slowly and hesitantly raise your eyes to the trooper, already feeling a mix of anxiety and guilt stirring in the pit of your stomach.

There’s a small sound from his helmet, a hesitation as he seems to clear his throat before speaking. 

“Personal Senatorial aides aren’t permitted to use this entrance,” he says, gesturing to the badge on the lanyard that hangs around your neck. 

He speaks as if this is a reminder that he’s given more than once, which you’re sure he has. Still, there’s an underlying sharpness to it that makes you jump despite your efforts not to react. 

“I, I know,” you say, swallowing before rushing to continue. “I didn’t mean to be dropped off here, sir. I took a Speedershare to get here this morning, and I didn’t realize the driver dropped me off at this entrance until I got out, and by that point it was too late, and I should have asked to verify which one he was going to but—”

“Hey, easy. Slow down.”

The trooper steps closer to you, and it’s only then that you register that you’ve been rambling, your anxiety ratcheting up with each word. Now that you’re silent, you can feel the way your heart is pounding. You’ve seen the Guard around, of course, but you’ve never really interacted with any of them. He’s tall, you realize as he stands in front of you and you look up into the visor of his helmet. Tall and broad, and you were already nervous before he showed up. 

But his hands are raised, in supplication or as an offering of peace, you’re not sure. But regardless, he doesn’t seem on the verge of scolding you further for your silly mistake, which is good, because your nerves are still so frayed from getting out of your ride only to realize that you had no idea where you were, and that apart from knowing that you were somewhere at the Senate building, you were effectively lost and alone. A scolding, delivered with just the right amount of displeasure, would probably be enough to make you start crying, which would make this day go from being the worst to certifiably irredeemable.

“Speedershare isn’t always the most reliable service. Your employer is Senator Organa,” he says, eyes once again scanning over your badge. “I’m sure he could arrange an alternate transportation service that is much more consistent and professional for you to use.”

“I don’t want his charity,” you say, and you can’t help the hard edge that creeps into your voice when you speak.

But really, you don’t. You know that he could, and knowing Senator Organa, he would be happy to do so. But it’s unnecessary. You grew up needing extra accommodations and things that, despite your teachers’ constant stream of reassurances, always made you feel singled out. 

You’re an adult now, and you don’t want that. You don’t need his charity, his pity, or to be added to his ever-growing list of things to worry about at the beginning and end of each day—an item to be checked off. 

As far as you’re concerned, the best thing you can do for the both of you is to keep this to yourself, and you’ll figure out how to manage sooner or later.

Fox takes a step back, able to recognize your quick deflection of his suggestion as a sign that he’s slightly overstepped, and he nods, glancing towards the door.

“Well,” he says, forcing his voice to sound lighter. “I suppose I could let you off the hook this once and let you use this entrance.”

“Thank you,” you say, before hesitantly adding, “I, I’m not familiar with the route to get to Senator Organa’s office from where we are. Would you, I mean, you don’t have to if you’re busy, but—”

“I’ll take you there,” he cuts you off, finality in his voice. “Do you, uh, need a guide or anything?”

Fox internally kicks himself for not knowing how to handle a situation like this, but you give your head a small shake, which allows him a moment of relief. 

“The color on your armor is bright,” you respond, and for the first time in this interaction, you smile. He can’t help but admire the way it seems to transform you, your previous nerves and worry disappearing like the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s quite lovely, he observes, and then internally kicks himself just a bit harder as punishment for that traitorous thought. 

Useless, he scolds. Unnecessary. But it’s already been thought, and he can’t take it back. He’s grateful for the helmet concealing his face, hiding the way his lips repeatedly twitch in an effort to turn upward as he hears you, your voice giving a soft, encouraging command, and the slight pitter patter of paws against pavement as your guide dog leads you to follow after him. 

He firmly resolves not to speak unless necessary until he’s taken you to the senator's office.

This resolve lasts for less than two minutes before he feels the slight brush of a wet nose against his hand and hears a small sniffing sound at his hip. Turning his head, he finds your guide dog, who has stopped walking and is sniffing at a pouch around his waist, and you looking sheepish as you stand behind him.

“Mandalore, leave it,” you scold, your voice lower than he’s heard it and with a suddenly authoritative edge that has his eyes widening slightly. You’re so little, he thinks, and all you’ve ever been whilst interacting with him is timid and quiet like a mouse. Seeing that side of you, as if flipped on by a switch, well...he can’t help but be taken by slight surprise. You pull back the harness, giving it a slight shake and the dog, with obvious reluctance, backs off, abandoning its curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, your cheeks heating with a blush. His hand twitches of its own accord, struck with an unexplained urge to reach out and touch, wondering if he would feel the warmth of your cheek beneath his gloved fingers.

Kriff, his internal monologue groans, disgusted. What the fuck is wrong with you today? He refocuses, looking down at you and shaking his head.

“Your dog’s name is Mandalore?” he asks, genuinely curious and unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

You laugh, nodding your head. “The one and only,” you grin. “Certain training schools do things differently. But the one we went to likes to name each litter by theme, and hers happened to be planets.”

You lower your voice, leaning in conspiratorially with a slight twinkle in your eye. 

“You know, for a Mandalore, she doesn’t look very intimidating, does she?” you ask, and he’s surprised, startled even, to hear the snort of laughter that is pulled from him as he nods his head, looking down at the guide dog who’s unaffected, her professional mask barely concealed behind a tail that wags at him and big, pleading eyes that seem to pierce through his soul.

“No, she really doesn’t,” he agrees, and your grin widens.

“I’ve always joked that if a burglar broke into my house, she wouldn’t bark or growl or try to bite at them,” you say, still smiling as you continue to walk. “She would simply flop down on the ground at their feet and roll over to demand a belly rub.”

“Well…” he says, and faintly, in the back of his head, he registers that he’s 

actually smiling. Huh, he thinks, taken slightly off-guard by the strange feeling. He can’t remember the last time that’s happened. It’s almost slightly disturbing. “If she’s not a fighter, she at least has some good distraction tactics.”

You laugh, your previous nerves surrounding getting lost and being late all but forgotten. It’s a nice sound, bright and lively, and Fox, the Maker help him, finds that he wants to hear it again.

“She probably smells the treats I keep in my pouch for Grizzer,” Fox explains, slightly rueful. He rolls his eyes and pretends to dislike it every time Hound brings the massiff to his office, citing that his panting is distracting, and that his drool gets everywhere, which is disgusting. Those things are both true. But Fox also can’t help but appreciate the warm weight of Grizzer’s head against his leg or the large, imploring eyes the massiff gives him when he knows that Fox has food. 

“I figured it would be unprofessional of me to offer one to her,” he continues, and you nod your head, glancing down.

“It would, but...” you begin slowly, calculating as you clock the staircase you’re approaching and turning your head to look up at him as a slow smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “If you give it to me, I could give it to her by proxy if you want.”

He nods, unzipping the small pouch, guiding you to hold out your hand as he places several small treats on the palm of it, which already has the dog vibrating with eagerness. But you don’t give in right away. 

“Forward,” you say, gesturing your head to the small set of stairs. The added incentive makes the dog quick on her feet, and you have to tell her to slow down as she rushes to comply, guiding you towards the stairs, barely able to contain the excited trot in her step. “Okay, Mandalore, show me where the railing is.”

The guide dog turns slightly, changing course to lead you towards the railing on the far right, placing her front paws up on the stairs and pausing, turning her head to look up at you for approval. 

“Yes,” you beam, stroking a hand along her head. “You learn so fast. Good girl.”

Fox watches, a smile on his face as you hold out your hand with the treats, giving it a few taps against the railing before opening your palm, offering it to her. She eagerly gobbles them up without hesitation, her tail never ceasing its happy little wiggles, which makes Fox want to laugh.

“You know,” he says, stepping up beside you and beginning to mount the stairs. “On second thought, maybe she is a fighter. I mean, she looked like she was ready to take off your fingers along with the treats.”

“When it comes to food, she definitely is,” you say with a grin, following after him. “If only all burglars came covered in peanut butter or dog treats, I’d feel much safer about our odds.”

You both snicker, and the rest of the journey up to the senators’ offices passes in a relatively comfortable silence apart from Fox giving you a few quiet directions as you make your way through the halls. You never fail to turn your head and smile at him each time he warns you of a crowd of people incoming so you can maybe take a step to the side, or if you need to turn left or right at this next intersection.

He isn’t sure how to describe it, but his heart does something strange each time you do. 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience...” you trail off, uncertain of the trooper’s name as you stand outside the doorway to Senator Organa’s office.

“Fox,” he responds, and he’s quickly struck by the strangeness of how he felt compelled to give you his chosen name first instead of his rank. That, he thinks, is definitely odd and out of the ordinary, but he recovers himself quickly. “Commander Fox,” he adds, and your cheeks rapidly heat with a blush.

“Oh, Force,” you groan, covering your cheeks with your hands and closing your eyes, mortified. “I’m sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean to inconvenience so much of your time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, and the brush of gloved fingers against your arm is barely there, brief and gone in an instant, but it’s enough to startle you out of your embarrassment, your eyes widening as you look up at him. “It wasn’t an inconvenience,” he says, sounding so sincere that you lose any ability to respond to that, falling into a silence in which the both of you simply stand, contemplating each other.

Fox, for his part, is struck by the realization that, for once, he means every word he’s just said. 

“Well,” you say, blinking as you try to shake yourself out of your stupor. “Regardless of the circumstances, it was lovely to meet you, Commander, and if we ever encounter each other again, you may want to introduce yourself by name if we speak. Every trooper shares the same voice, which makes it much harder for me to differentiate between you all, and I’d hate to mistake you for someone else and embarrass the both of us any further. At least, more than I probably already have.”

“Right,” he says, equally as slowly and strangely hesitant for this conversation to end but not knowing what else to add. “Understood.” 

“I should go,” you say, feeling suddenly shy as you give him a small smile and turn to the door. “See you around, Commander,” you murmur, giving him a playful wink.

You step into the office, not waiting for his response. It takes him a full 30 seconds of just standing there out in the hall listening to the sound of dog paws tapping against the floor, growing distant as you move out of his listening range, to realize that you left him—completely and deliberately if the smirk that was pulling at the corners of your lips was any indication—with a blind joke.

He chokes, uncertain of if he’s allowed to laugh—of if it would be completely inappropriate for him to laugh. His cheeks heat with belated awkward embarrassment. He shakes his head, making a note as he forces his feet to move and forces himself to walk away, heading back in the direction of his office.

The next time he sees you—and he can’t help the strange and foreign hope that twinges in his chest at even the thought of seeing you again—he’ll have to ask you.

Until then, he thinks, giving himself a firm shake as he maneuvers himself through the halls of the Senate building. He resolves to keep you—the girl with the pretty smile, the hair that looks like it was made to run fingers through, and the infectious laugh that he still hears clear as a bell even now that you’re gone—far from his thoughts, ordering himself to stop acting like some sort of lovesick puppy and for kriff sake to just get back to work.

*

Fox, to his consternation, is unsuccessful.

The whole day, as he goes about his tasks—filling out reports, sending requisitions to the Senate, doing patrol—he can’t stop thinking about you. 

Your smile as you tilted your head to look up at him, your warm, encouraging demeanor as you worked with your guide dog, the excitable pup looking up at you like you’re her whole galaxy, the way that he had been able to make you genuinely laugh...

Okay, maybe his bar for sharing friendly interactions with natborns was insanely low up to this point. But knowing that he had brought that out of you had felt strangely good, leaving a warm, unfamiliar feeling in his stomach that lingered every time he thought of it.

He’s so unsuccessful at keeping his mind off of you during the workday that it’s still early in the afternoon when he pulls up your file on the database, scrolls through your work schedule, and at the end of the day is standing outside of Senator Organa’s office waiting for your shift to end.

When he sees you come out, Mandalore, sensing his presence before you do, happily begins to waggle her tail, her footsteps quickening as she leads you out of the office. He calls out to you, and you turn, searching for the voice.

“It’s Fox,” he says, removing his helmet and tucking it beneath his arm. “From this morning.”

Is he imagining it, or do your eyes actually light up when you spot him? 

“I just wanted to make sure that your ride picks you up without complication,” he continues. “Not that I don’t think you can do that on your own,” he rushes to add, his cheeks heating slightly. He’s already gotten the sense that you don’t like being underestimated, and he respects that. “I can make sure that you have detailed instructions in the app so that your driver knows exactly which entrance to collect you.”

“That would actually be super helpful!” you exclaim, and there’s no masking the relief in your voice as you pull out your comm, fiddling with it for a second before passing it to him. “I’ve been meaning to ask someone to update them, because I have a vague idea of what each entrance looks like and how to describe them, but honestly, I don’t think it’s enough to be helpful.”

He takes the device from you, and working quickly, types up detailed directions on how to get to the staff entrance along with a description of its surroundings. He pastes a copy into your notes for good measure so that you’re able to keep reusing it at your convenience. He explains all this to you as he passes it back, letting you know your ride is booked.

“You’re an angel, Fox,” you say in a relieved breath, beaming up at him. “Moving here has been so stressful as it is, and getting used to the transit options is just one more thing on top of that.”

You miss the way his cheeks go pink, but you do catch his quiet, breathy chuckle as he awkwardly avoids your gaze. 

“Right, well,” he scratches at the back of his neck, looking down at the ground. “Your ride should be here soon. Want me to come with you and make sure it shows up?”

“I don’t want to hold you up if you have other things to do,” you say uncertainly, biting your lip.

The truth is, you so badly want to say yes. Waiting for a Speedershare on your own can be anxiety inducing. So many things can go wrong. Your driver might not be able to find you, and when they call and ask you for directions, you aren’t able to provide them with much help. They could drive past and cancel altogether once they realize you have a service dog. Or worse, they can turn it into a full out yelling confrontation. In all cases, you’ve learned, your anxiety is significantly lessened if someone else is with you, ready to back you up at a moment's notice.

It’s true, you’ve only met Fox today. But his presence is steady, safe, and you get the sense that he would stay without question and without hesitation. But you also don’t want to become his burden.

“You’re not,” he states, hooking his helmet to his belt. “And I’m not. Come on, let’s go find your ride.”

And that’s exactly what he does. 

He leads you out towards the pick-up point, and when the speeder gets there, he verifies the plates, opens the door, and helps you inside, waiting patiently for your guide dog to tuck in her tail before beginning to let it close. Before it does though, before it drives away and you’re left wondering if and when you’ll ever see him again, he speaks, his voice low and carrying the softest, lightest undertone of teasing.

“See you around, mesh’la.”

It takes you a moment, but as you drive off, the echo of the words you had jokingly thrown over your shoulder at him just this morning flashes through your memory, and before you know it, you’re tipping your head back against the headrest of the seat, quietly laughing to yourself, uncaring of the driver giving you a funny look from the corner of his eye as he picks up speed, driving away from the Senate building.

You’re still smiling as the speeder rounds the corner, and the building, as well as Marshall Commander Fox, disappears from view.

If you like and enjoy this story, please consider dropping a reblog, as you might help someone else find something they enjoy just as much. Thank you :-) and thank you to @strangergraphics-archive for such cute puppy dividers

[nahoney22]

hey, honey! congratulations on 3000! you deserve it and so much more for your incredible work. could i possibly request fox with gn!reader and the prompt “why are you really here? to mock me? to... make me hate you more?” “no. none of that. i came to be a friend, because it really looks like you need one right now.” ? thank you, and i love you 3000 (lmao i think i'm hilarious)

3000 Prompt List Celebration

Commander Fox X GN!Reader

word count: 1.8k

SFW

Prompt:

“Why are you really here? To mock me? To make me hate you more?” • “No, none of that I came to be a friend, because it really looks like you need one right now.”

warnings: Gender Neutral reader, platonic or romantic relationship reader can decide. Slight angst. Reader stressed with Job and Fox being a difficult man but redeems himself.

authors note: so sorry for the wait. Enjoy. Love you 3000 💕

Working for the Coruscant Guard had been a dream come true for you personally, but the reality of the job proved far more grueling than expected. The constant barrage of files and responsibilities heaped upon your shoulders was enough to exhaust even the most resilient individuals.

Though despite the demanding workload, there were silver linings.

You managed to form friendships with some of the Corrie guards during your shifts. Surprisingly to you, they managed to keep their tempers in check, resisting the urge to smack a certain Supreme Chancellor who often pushed their limits.

And during the rare moments of respite when the workload lightened, you quite enjoyed your time being stuck in an office with a bunch of rowdy clones. Which is quite funny seeing as they’re meant to be the strictest of the lot.

However, such peaceful and carefree moments were interrupted by a certain Commander. When he entered the room it felt like life was sucked out of it.

For reasons unbeknownst to you, Commander Fox seemed determined to keep a watchful eye on your every move. He persisted in requesting double-checks of your work, even when you were confident of its accuracy. It felt as though he was intentionally trying to catch you off guard and embarrass you.

Nonetheless, you refused to fall to his tactics.

Inevitably, a day arrived when the mounting pressure became too much, and Commander Fox seemed to have the upper hand. Weariness weighed heavily upon you as you mustered the energy to address him once more. "Commander, I assure you, everything has been thoroughly checked and is accurate," you stated with a hint of frustration and a suppressed yawn. The lack of sleep over the past week was taking its toll on you.

Fox's piercing gaze intensified behind his visor as he swiped his finger slowly through the files, creating an almost agonising atmosphere. A nervous knot now formed in your stomach, sensing that something was wrong with doubt beginning to gnaw at you.

"I... I believe so," you replied, attempting to sound confident, but your wavering voice betrayed your uncertainty. The room that was once filled with silent chatter fell into a now hushed silence as the clones you worked alongside subtly tuned in.

Fox's chuckle, laced with a hint of mockery, only added to your growing unease. He seemed to relish the moment as he posed the pivotal question, "Then please tell me the date you had added to all these files?"

You took a steadying breath, trying to maintain composure. "Today's date," you answered firmly, as it was the truth.

Though you couldn't see his expression hidden behind the distinctive red helmet, you had a gut feeling that he was smirking. He handed the files back to you, and for a moment, he said nothing. The silence in the room was palpable, and everyone's attention was fixated on the exchange.

Then, in a commanding voice that reverberated through the room, Fox broke the silence. "Perhaps you should now triple-check the work you submit."

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air. You fought to remain composed, but beneath the façade, your nerves were fraying. Fox walked away, hands clasped behind his back and you could sense the watchful eyes of your fellow clones.

As soon as you realised your mistake, a sinking feeling washed over you, and frustration mixed with embarrassment began to build inside. All those files, painstakingly worked on, were now marred by a glaring error of you signing the wrong date. You couldn’t help but feel defeated.

The mounting tension in the room weighed heavily on everyone present as you finally snapped, unable to hold back your emotions any longer. "Do you have a problem with me?"

Gasps and sputtering sounds of someone spitting their caf everywhere echoed throughout the room as the unexpected outburst startled your colleagues. Their eyes darted between you and Commander Fox, unsure of how the situation would unfold. Fox, though surprised by the confrontation, halted in his tracks.

He turned around to face you, and you met his gaze through his visor with a glare that could pierce beskar. The tension grew even thicker, but to your surprise, Fox's response was not the belittling or combative reaction you had anticipated.

"Do your job properly, and then we won't have a problem," he retorted sternly, maintaining his composure. His words cut deep, but they were not entirely unjustified. You knew that he had high expectations for the members of the Coruscant Guard, and your error had obviously fallen short of those standards.

His next words, however, were what stung the most. "I expect you to stay here after your shift and correct all 700 reports you did wrong." And with that, he left.

You were in for a long night.

As your weary eyes struggled to remain open, you lost count of the files and reports you corrected during the hours that stretched far beyond the end of your shift. The weight of exhaustion bore down on you, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, sleep finally overpowered you. Your head fell onto your arms, the makeshift pillow offering a moment of rest.

You had no idea how long you had dozed off but the rustling sound nearby gradually pulled you back to consciousness.

Blinking your eyes open, you were met with the sight of a pair of gloved hands adorned with red armor along the arm. A very familiar colour. It took a moment for your drowsy mind to register who was sitting beside you, but when recognition struck, it felt like someone shot a cannonball to your head.

"W-what are you doing here?" you stammered, quickly sitting up and attempting to arrange the scattered files neatly, hoping to convey that you had not just been sleeping on the job. Yet, glancing at the time on one of the control panels, you realised with a sinking feeling that you had managed to nap for at least an hour.

The figure beside you, none other than Fox himself, remained impassive behind his helmet, his expression unreadable to you. He had caught you at a vulnerable moment, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of embarrassment.

Before you could utter any further explanation or apologise for your unintentional nap, Fox finally spoke in his usual stern tone. "I came to see your progress," he said simply, giving no indication of whether he was displeased or approving of what he had observed.

You straighten your posture, trying to shake off the residual fatigue and regain your composure. "I've been working to correct the mistakes.” You attempt to inform him but he says nothing.

As you both continued working in an oddly comfortable silence, the initial shock of finding Commander Fox assisting you in correcting the files lingered in the back of your mind. He seemed entirely engrossed in the task at hand, efficiently working through the documents you had messed up, and you couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't woken you. Moreover, the sight of the multiple cups of caf nearby suggested that he had been there for quite some time.

After a few minutes passed, your curiosity got the better of you, and you mustered the courage to break the silence. "Why are you really here? To mock me? To make me… hate you more?"

Fox paused momentarily, sitting up straight and finally turning his head to look at you. The visor of his helmet was still impassive, but there was a sense of sincerity in his response that caught you off guard. "I'm here because I really enjoy filling out files," he said flatly.

Though, he actually was offering a hint of humor, it didn't seem to elicit the response he might have hoped for.

He sighed, and for a brief moment, you wished you could see his face to gauge his expression better. "No, none of that. I came to be a friend, because it really looks like you need one right now," he admitted candidly.

The unexpected exchange between you and Commander Fox revealed a side of him that you hadn't anticipated. While you initially wanted to dismiss his offer of friendship, you couldn't deny that his actions spoke louder than his strict demeanor. He had shown a level of kindness and consideration you hadn't seen before, and it made you reassess your perceptions of him.

"I was not aware that you hated me. This kind of information should be passed on so we can move you to an environment you are more comfortable in," he mentioned, sounding genuinely surprised. You realized that perhaps you had been too quick to assume hostility in his actions without fully understanding his intentions.

"Okay, maybe hate wasn't the right word to use, Commander, but I just always feel like you're harder on me than others," you admitted, acknowledging that your feelings might have influenced your perception of him.

Fox turned to face you fully, and the swiveling chair made a soft sound as he did so. "Naturally, I have to be strict with beginners. It’s how I was treated when I first started out. However, I can now see that the workload has had an impact on your sleep," he explained, offering an understanding perspective.

You felt a bit embarrassed by your moment of vulnerability but appreciated his attempt at openness. "I'm so sorry for falling asleep," you apologised, still feeling a sense of responsibility for your earlier mistake.

He waved away your apology, putting you at ease. "No need. I would have woken you if someone of high importance was to enter. Also, don't think I haven't nodded off once or twice while working," he admitted with a hint of humor, surprising you with his forthrightness.

Your smile grew, and you felt an actual change between you both. "Really? Ever got caught?" you inquired.

"Of course not," he chuckled, his amusement infectious. He then tapped his helmet lightly, explaining, "That's why I wear this. It scares some of the shinies when they show up here, though. They just think I'm glaring at them nonstop when I'm actually catching up on some lost sleep."

You chuckled at the image, realising that even the seemingly unyielding Commander Fox had his moments of vulnerability. "You don't sleep much?" you asked, looking back at the multiple cups of caf by his side.

"Can't you tell?"

The two of you continued with this surprisingly good small talk and it comes to no surprise to you that some of his brothers had offloaded their work unbeknownst to you onto you.

You could definitely feel the tension between you both fade as you continued in through the night and you couldn’t help but feel like a bond was formed when he gently pushed a cup of caf in your direction.

Masterlist

Prompt Works

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @blustalker @by-the-primes @the-bad-batch-baroness

[mori-does-sw]

Of Hell May Smile

PAIRING(S) \ Vampire!Marshall Commander Fox x GN!Reader SYNOPSIS \ You've got an agreement with the Coruscant Guard, an agreement that Fox is looking to cash out on for the usual reasons as well as some more... personal ones. WARNING(S) \ Very brief horror, detailed descriptions of blood and blood drinking, minor injury, description of altered mental states (vampire spit is drugs), some very minor suggestive content A/N \ I saw a vampire Fox post once and I think it changed my brain chemistry. This man has me by the throat at All Times and I am unashamed of that fact lmao. So, anyways, here's exactly 1500 words of my own spin on that idea in honor of spooky month!

It’s when they start turning out the lights for the night that the Senate archives, usually a place of refuge from sneering politicians and throngs of reporters, becomes ominous. You always feel on-edge, walking through the darkened halls with only the flashlight on your datapad and the sound of your own footsteps for company.

But you aren’t a child anymore, you tell yourself; There aren’t any monsters going to jump out of the nearest shadow to get you. You aren’t still afraid of the dark. That would be ridiculous.

That’s why, when a shadow detaches from the wall, you’re primed and ready to send the datapad on hand flying in its direction. It misses, and faster than you can open your mouth to voice your terror, they slap a hand over your lips and start dragging you back into their hiding spot.

Instinctively, you claw at your attacker’s shoulders only for your nails to slide harmlessly down smooth, cool plastoid. A stab of startling clarity, and your eyes are darting to the sword-and-cog insignia emblazoned in red across his pauldron. Higher up, to a familiar helmet with a familiar color scheme—Fox.

The fight leaves you so quickly you sag in his grip, a moment of weakness he readily abuses to drag you further into the alcove. You register your shoulders hitting the wall, then your back, until the bulk of his armor is pressing you deep into the shadows.

“Can I help you, commander?” you finally work up the courage to ask, unable to soften the bite from your words. His silence makes it hard to calm your racing nerves, to pull your thoughts together, to think at all.

Your quickened breathing is loud in the small space between you. The pop of his helmet’s airtight seal is louder. You flinch at the sudden noise, but go still when one of his hands starts to rub soothing circles into your hip bone. With the other, he lifts his helmet off and lets it fall to the ground, clattering loudly and then rolling into your ankle.

There’s a long pause, and then: “I’m hungry.”

“... Ah.”

Fox has always taken great care to maintain the facade of the infallible commander of the guard, the model clone trooper complete with a regulation haircut and the emotional range of wet cardboard. The headlines call him steadfast, the citizens, cold-blooded; His quarry can only say he’s terrifying.

In this moment, he’s desperate. Vulnerable. Any anger beginning to brew from his rude surprise cools at the sight.

His whole body is trembling, almost vibrating, and his eyes are so far blown that they’re almost totally black. His skin has turned colorless and ashy, corpse-like, and its frigidity can be felt through the thick fabric of his gloves. 

Fox’s mouth is slightly parted, the distended tips of his fangs pressing into his bottom lip. You can’t tear yourself away from the sight, darkly fascinated by the way they gleam wetly with saliva. You can feel the blood rushing through your body, drumming in the places where your veins lay beneath your skin. Where you know he’ll sink his teeth.

You swallow heavily, your fear replaced by a not dissimilar, but altogether different thrill.

The clones of the Coruscant Guard have been on the receiving end of the public’s… curiosity. Whispers abound, they say that the guards never take off their helmets. That the workload is too heavy for their number, that they must go days without sleeping to keep up; Some claim that they don’t breathe.

Even before you knew what, exactly, made them the way they are, you agreed with the general sentiment: There is something incredibly eerie about the Coruscant Guard.

The chill of Fox’s skin makes you shiver as his nose bumps against your jaw. He inhales raggedly, his breastplate digging more firmly into your skin with the motion.

“Your heart is beating very fast.” He sounds off, dazed like he’s already half-drunk with blood. Your pulse kicks up even higher when he presses his mouth to that soft spot under your jaw to feel it.

You must make some noise, because after a moment he pulls away. The heat of Fox’s gaze bores into you even when you can’t meet his eyes.

“Am I scaring you?”

“... No.”

For all that you’d been doing this for several months you’d never been approached by Fox in the same way as his vode. Others who’d taken the agreement—credits for your blood and discretion—had offered and been turned down. If the shinies who stayed back to chat were to be believed, he only fed from his closest compatriots.

That doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed the weight of Fox’s gaze on you, observing you like he can’t help himself. You haven’t wondered what his bite would feel like, if he’d be as sweet and apologetic as some of the younger Corries, or whip-fast and to-the-point like Commander Stone. You haven’t considered if he’d want you to feel just as good as him.

It feels like you’ve swallowed sand, with how dry your mouth is. Every inhale whistles through your esophagus, which, in the meantime, feels like it’s been scraped raw. Your face is uncomfortably hot. Fox’s thumb is still swirling hypnotic, utterly damning circles against your hip.

Licking your lips, you try to smile. “I can handle it, if you promise to be gentle.”

The first prick of his fangs stills you; You’re biting your lip to keep quiet. But as Fox continues to sink his teeth into the column of your neck, you can’t help the soft whine that escapes your lips. He hums low in his throat, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. He tilts it gently away from where he’s fixed, lessening some of the pressure.

Being held my him doesn’t hurt. It’s barely uncomfortable. And after a moment, the bite stops being painful too—ebbing away as a heated flush slowly spreads through your body.

You can feel blood pooling around the punctures and sliding down your neck. Fox laps it up hungrily. Much like the rest of him, his tongue is cold, and it feels odd passing over your skin.

The longer he feeds, the more pronounced the effects it has on you become. Your memory of Thire’s explanation escapes you, something about sedatives and happy chemicals that keep their prey pliant. It feels like your brain is melting, thoughts slipping from your grasp like water dripping through a sieve. You blink multiple times, hard, and distantly note how your vision has gone fuzzy at the edges. 

You think you should be frightened by this, but you can’t figure out why. Fox has you; You’re warm, safe, and perfectly content to go boneless in his hold for as long as he wants you there.

After an indeterminable amount of time, you’re roused by a strange sensation reverberating through your chest. It takes an embarrassing amount of time for you to realize that Fox is purring.

Many times you’ve done this, and not once has a Corrie purred like they’re shaking apart, trying to fit you inside their ribcage and keep you there. 

“Oooh, the big bad commander is getting soft,” You giggle drunkenly. 

“Pipe down. You’re just—warm,” he mutters, brusque tone belying the way he fists the back of your uniform in his attempt to press closer. Seeing as he’s already pinned you bodily down, Fox isn’t very successful. Nevertheless, his satisfaction is clear when he starts purring louder.

“That’s just because your body sucks.”

A pang of disappointment shoots through you when Fox finally pulls back. His breathing is slow, but heavy, and he’s still curled into you like gravity is pulling him in. Your brain is still too addled to control the pathetic whimper that slips out at the loss of proximity. 

Fox chuckles raspily, moving to dot kisses like freckles across your cheeks. Your legs are wobbling, fawn-like, and when he steps back you have to grab him again, lest you keel over and onto the duracrete floor.

Fox is looking much better. There’s a healthy flush to his face that speaks to the new blood flowing through his system, and his eyes have returned to their normal brown. The relaxed set of his mouth, however, dips down into a frown as he surveys you.

“... I got greedy, took more than I needed. My apologies.”

“It’s okay,” you sigh, “You needed it.”

Your eyes keep sliding closed without your permission, but, more lucid now, you manage to prop one eye open and fix him with a coy look. “However, I wouldn’t mind someone taking responsibility for his actions and helping me back to my flat.”

“Yeah,” Fox murmurs, pressing a coppery kiss beside his weeping bite mark. You can feel him smirking against your tender, abused flesh, and shiver. “I can take care of you.”

When the lights finally click off and plunge you into pitch-black darkness, Fox silences your startled shout with his own mouth.

[corrieguards]

Could you write some commander fox smut with 7 from your prompt list? Love you work

A/N: thank you so much for the request bby <33 I loved that prompt and I was hoping someone would choose it!! Also love my boy Fox so the combination was perfect.

Hope this is to your liking!!❤️❤️

18+ CONTENT

Commander Fox x reader Summary: Fox is starting to get tired of seeing you get brought in by the Guard, so he decides to try a... different approach Word count: 3,3k of filth C/W: porn with some plot, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected piv sex (pls don't be stupid irl), use of binders, creampie let me know if i forgot anything <3

Prompt: "Does it make you nervous when I stare?"

prompt list my masterlist

Smut under the cut, minors DNI

You weren't a bad person. Not really. You just had a knack for getting into trouble.

Born and raised in the lower levels of Coruscant, the itch for theft was basically built into your DNA. And you'd be damned if you weren't going to scratch it. 

Nothing too serious, of course; just petty theft. Pickpocketing a few stupid richies every now and then.

After all, they had more than enough to spare, and you would put the extra credits to much better use. Plus, it was an odd satisfaction to get back at the more privileged.

Unfortunately, the Coruscant Guard didn't share your view on the subject, specifically a certain commander of the guard. And that’s the reason why you're sitting in this miserable room for what feels like the fifth time in the last month alone.

The interrogation room was built to intimidate, with only one lone bright light shining directly on the metal table and cameras in all four corners of the room, all of them directed at you.

And the worst part, the big, dark, two-way mirror in front of you, with your own reflection staring you mockingly in the face.

You huff exaggeratedly, making a show of wriggling your hands as much as you can in these binders that are keeping you chained to the table. You may be alone in this room, but you're not stupid. You've been in here enough times to know that you're still being watched like a hawk. 

Jerking your hands again, harder this time, the binders clang noisily but don't budge. Immediately, the speakers crackle

"Please refrain from struggling. A member of the guard will be by to question you shortly."

Your head whips up at the sound of the all-too-familiar voice. It may sound the same as millions of others, but you've been in here enough times to recognize the particularly snarky tone of this one. You direct a glare at the dark mirror across from you, scowling. Fox.

You may not be able to see him, but you know exactly who's behind there. And you also know without a doubt that he's staring straight back at you.

—

Ever a man of his word, a few minutes later the door is sliding open, a clone making his way over to the table.

You graze over his armour quickly, looking for the familiar markings but finding none. Not Fox. A strange sense of disappointment fills you briefly before you squash it down.

The clone sits in the chair across from you, setting his blaster down on the table with a clang. Your eyes immediately dart to it, your fingertips stretching  just far enough to graze the cold metal.

Just as quickly, the speakers crackle to life again

"Don't even think about it."

You jump, pulling your fingers back quickly. The trooper startles too, but reacts swiftly, scrambling to snatch up the blaster and move it out of your reach.

Your eyes slide over to the mirror again, where Fox is obviously behind, watching you carefully. The voice of the trooper in front of you pulls your gaze back to him.

"Okay, let's get started Miss…"

He’s taken out a datapad, skimming over it quickly and trying to find your name. You scoff before he has a chance to find it, rolling your eyes.

"Don’t bother," you spit out mockingly. "I ain’t telling you anything."

The poor clone looks slightly taken aback at your harshness, and you almost regret being so hard on him. Until you see his fingers lift to press the side of his helmet, faintly hearing a gruff voice giving him orders through his helmet.

You scoff, feeling anger start to bubble up in you immediately. You move your gaze from the trooper to fix itself on the black mirror behind him, shouting loud enough for Fox to hear you behind the glass.

"How about you come out here and face me like a man, Fox!"

You see the trooper in front of you stiffen, and you smirk, satisfied when the orders coming from his helmet stop abruptly.

Your taunt obviously worked, because before you know it the door hisses open ominously, your smirk widening when you recognize the armour behind it.

He takes a step in and stops, helmet tilting as he regards you silently. You smile teasingly, wiggling your fingers as much as you can in the binders in an attempt at a wave. 

"Nice of you to join."

He sighs, shaking his head before turning to his brother.

He jerks his head towards the door and the trooper gets the message, getting up and shuffling out of the interrogation room, the door sliding shut behind him.

You follow Fox’s movements as he stalks over to the table, the chair scraping when he pulls it out. He grunts as he sits down, his armour clattering.

His helmet tilts, the black visor directed at you as the crackle of a modulated voice breaks the silence of the room.

"Y’know, I’m starting to think you miss me with how many times you’ve been in here recently."

You lean back, smirking and shrugging lazily. "Eh, you boys looked bored; I thought I’d give you something to do."

You smirk, satisfied when you hear him sigh frustratedly through the helmet. The thought of getting under his skin amuses you immensely. You can just imagine his eyes rolling under that stupid helmet.

Almost on cue, his hands grasp the rim of his helmet, hissing as he lifts it off. He sets it down on the table gently before shaking his head, tossling his curly hair.

Your eyes fix on a single coil that separates from the rest, hanging down in front of his forehead in a ridiculously sexy way.

He doesn't bother to move it.

You flick your gaze from the strand of hair down to his own eyes, your breath hitching when you're met with his own already staring at you.

His visor you can handle, his eyes, however...

His eyes, not so much.

They're so piercing that it's making your stomach lurch.

He sees your reaction, smirking and leaning back in his seat. You follow his movements, gulping when you see his arms bulge when he crosses them in front of his chest. Fuck.

"Not so mouthy now, huh? What happened?"

Desperately scrambling to think of a snarky comment to say back, you open your mouth but nothing comes out, only able to focus on him. 

He’s smiling smugly, raking his eyes slowly up and down your form, eventually coming back and locking his gaze with yours again.

Now you're squirming, desperately wanting to look anywhere but him, but simultaneously completely unable to tear your eyes from his. They’re such a pretty shade of brown, so soft, so- 

You swallow thickly and watch his eyes crinkle in the corners as he smirks, catching on to your uneasiness.

"Aw, does it make you nervous when I stare? Is that it?"

You scoff, his mocking tone bringing you back to reality. 

"Don't flatter yourself, of course not."

"Oh, really?" he quirks an eyebrow. Resting his forearms on the table, he leans forward, hands clasping together in front of him.

"Tell me, pretty girl, do you ever stop lying?"

"Only with people who deserve it," you tilt your head at him mockingly, "and dirty, filthy cops aren’t included in that, no exceptions. Not even for you."

He chuckles, the crook of his gloved fingers coming to rest under your chin.

"Oh, you have no idea how dirty I can be, darling."

"How ‘bout you show me then, Fox?"

You smirk, keeping eye contact as you sink your teeth into your lower lip. His fingers move to grasp the side of your jaw, tilting your face up.

"That’s Commander to you, doll."

Your mocking eye roll gets cut off by his hand moving to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair and pulling to tilt your head further. 

Your gasp of surprise turns to a choked moan when you feel his tongue slowly drag up your now exposed neck, leaving a wet trail behind.

Reaching your jaw, he leaves sloppy kisses until he reaches your lips, hovering over them but not moving closer.

Your eyes snap open, whining as you try to press your lips to his, but his hand in your hair is stopping you, keeping his lips just out of reach.

"Please Fox," you whine, hands clenching pathetically in your binders. You feel him smirk, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

"C'mon, baby, we just talked about this."

You glare at him, trying one more time to inch forward but failing miserably. Huffing in defeat, you grumble out the words.

"Please, Commander"

He hums, considering for a bit before shaking his head slightly.

"I know you can do better than that beautiful."

Glancing up at him through your eyelashes, you try again, this time giving him your best sickly sweet smile.

"Please kiss me, Commander."

He smirks, his free hand coming to cup your cheek "Much better"

He loosens the hold on your hair, allowing you to surge forward and press your lips together, hard. He grunts at the force of the collision but recovers quickly, kissing you back, hot and hurried.

His hand moves to hold your throat gently and you sloppily try to keep up with him, the thumb softly brushing up your neck making it difficult to focus on anything, your brain foggy and full of him. His lips, his voice, his hands-

He senses you getting sloppier and pulls back, panting slightly. A gentle thumb strokes your cheekbone as he searches your eyes for any hint of doubt.

"Do you want me to stop, sweetheart? You just gotta say the word, and it’s over."

You shake your head frantically, already trying to kiss him again.

"Fuck no, don’t you dare."

He smirks, leaning in long enough to give you a quick peck before pulling back again. You watch confused as he presses a button on his vambrace, realisation hitting you when all the cameras in the room power down simultaneously.

"I don’t want anybody watching us." He moves behind you, hands grasping at your waist and squeezing. "This is just for my eyes only."

Your lips part slightly, and you feel heat pool between your legs at the connotation of the gesture. He chuckles when he sees you press your thighs together, his own leg slotting itself between them to stop you.

"Patience, pretty girl, all in due time."

He leans forward to unclip your binders, but you push your ass back to stop him. 

"No, leave them. Please" 

He chuckles, moving his hand to your shoulder instead, pulling the thin straps of your top down and scrunching it up at your waist. Your back and shoulders now exposed, he presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, ducking his head down further to whisper in your ear.

"Such a filthy girl."

You hear a clatter of armour as he falls to his knees behind you, gloved hands following the curve of your hips and hooking onto the top of your pants. He presses a sweet kiss to the small of your back before he's yanking them down, taking your panties along with them.

You moan at the feeling of the cold air, but it quickly gets replaced with his hot breath fanning against your center. His unruly hair tickles your inner thighs as he leans closer, making you shiver.

You don't have to wait long before his tongue drags through your folds, moaning into you when he gets his first taste. You jerk forward, pressing further into the cold table when he repeats the action a second time, as slow and deliberate as before.

The sound of your desperate moan has him gripping your ass harder, spreading on your cheeks and pushing his mouth even closer to you.

The relentless lapping at your cunt has you squirming against his hold, binders biting into your wrist as you tugg on them desperately.

His hands leave you and you whine in protest, but they are immediately replaced, now far warmer and softer as they glide down your ass. He took his gloves off. That could only mean-

You gasp, feeling two of his fingers prod your entrance, pressing in slowly and making you moan his name.

An obscene squelch fills the quiet room as he moves his fingers in and out of you, angling them just right to brush over that one spot that makes you see stars.

You steadily melt further into the table, the combination of his warm tongue and fingers making your brain go hazy. 

And when he latches onto your clit, suckling gently, you fall, a broken moan escaping you as waves of white-hot pleasure roll through you.

Fox works you through it, diligently lapping everything up without pause. As you slowly come back to reality, you become increasingly aware of his tongue still swirling around your clit, now much too sensitive.

You whine, pathetically trying to get out of his reach but unable to get far, stuck between the cold table and his tongue behind you.

"S’too much, please," you drawl out pitifully, shivering when he chuckles behind you, vibrations feeling all too good against your sensitive cunt.

You tug on the binders again, more purposfully this time.

 "Please, Fo- Commander. Wanna touch you."

He pulls back from your soaked pussy, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Only because you asked so nicely, baby,"

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he taps the button on the binders. As soon as they click open, you're ripping them off, whirling around to kiss him hard.

He grunts in surprise, but kisses you back just as desperately. You feel a tap on the back of your thighs, and you understand immediately, jumping up as he catches you effortlessly.

He lifts you back onto the table, pushing your legs further apart and slotting himself between them, never once stopping the kiss.

Your fingers rake through his curls, tangling themselves and tugging playfully. The groan he lets out is positively sinful, wetness pooling between your legs in response.

You move down his jaw to his neck, pulling at the neck of his blacks with your free hand, lips latching on to the tan skin revealed underneath.

He moans when you start sucking, his breath hitching when you nip at his Adam's apple.

"Fuck meshla," you feel the rumble of his voice against your lips. "You're too damn good at that, y'know."

You hum, sucking another pretty bruise into his neck "Yeah, I know."

He rolls his eyes, pushing a hand against your chest and making you fall back against the table with a small huff of surprise.

Instantly he's bent over you, chest practically pressed against yours, as he expertly unclups his codpiece with his free hand, pulling his weeping cock out of his blacks.

He does it so quickly that it has you wondering about how many other times he does this with other girls, jealousy rising at the thought.

You reach out to grasp his length, but he swats your hand away, gathering both your wrists into one of his hands and holding them above your head.

"What did I just say about patience, babygirl?"

Glaring at him, you roll your eyes. "It wouldn’t be a problem if you’d just hurry up."

Your quipp gets cut off by a gasp as he presses the tip of his cock into your cunt, nudging it forward and hungrily watching your reaction.

"Please, Commander. Please just fuck me already," you beg without shame, desperate to feel him stretch you out.

He smiles smugly and, with surprising gentleness, slowly pushes his hips forward, savouring every inch until his hips meet yours. Your head falls back, your eyes rolling at the feeling.

You're so full, it’s like you can feel him in your stomach. You're completely stuffed to the brim with him and you love it.

He pulls back just as slowly as he entered, the drag against your walls making you moan and scramble to grab his shoulders.

His eyes are closed, brow furrowed, and mouth parted, lost in the feeling of you squeezing him.

"F-fuck meshla. So fucking tight for me."

You whine, tugging at his hair, desperate for more. It seems to do the trick, his eyes snapping open and his hand grabbing onto your waist before he's surging forward again, this time with much more determination.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, fingers gripping his shoulder pauldrons as his thigh plates smack against your skin rhythmically.

He's got one hand on the crook of your knee, holding your leg open for him while his other one trails up your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You watch his mouth part as his eyes hungrily watch your tits bounce with every harsh thrust, his hand moving to grab one of them, his thumb brushing over your nipple.

The feeling has you arching your back, desperate to be closer to him, to feel every inch of him against you.

His hips stutter and he grunts, his head falling down and face pressing into your neck.

"Shit. You feel so good- So fucking warm, so tight." 

You feel his hot pant against your ear as he speaks, and you can only moan in response, burying your hand in his curls again.

He's losing his rhythm, and his moans are getting louder against your neck.

"Fuck I’m sorry, baby, I'm going cum. Can't hold it-  S'too good."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He moans at the silent message, gritting his teeth and thrusting sloppily as he tries to hold on a little longer.

"You sure, meshla? Inside?"

You cut him off with a wet kiss, nodding frantically, 

"Please Fox, need to feel you fill me up." You reaffirm your words by locking your ankles together behind his back, and that ends him.

He chokes on a moan, pressing his face further into your neck, hips slamming against yours and pushing as far up into you as he can reach.

One of his hands slides down to press against your belly as he shudders on top of you, fingers fumbling to find your clit. 

He presses his thumb against it, and that small amount of pressure is all it takes to tip you over the edge.

You back arches up, pressing your breasts into his chest as you moan his name, digging your nails into the back of his neck, leaving red trails as your eyes roll back, feeling the hot spurts of his release against your walls.

He sloppily thrusts forward two more times before he collapses on you, completely spent.

"Fuck meshla, that was- fuck that was incredible."

He's still catching his breath when he cranes his neck to press an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, a wet thumb brushing over your bottom lip softly.

You smile at him cheekily, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking gently, tasting your own slick and looking up at him innocently. His breath hitches, his eyes darkening.

"Keep doing that, and I might just have to give you something better to suck on."

You smirk, making sure to keep your eyes on his as you suck hard, your tongue swirling around the pad of his thumb. A low chuckle rumbles out of his chest, eyes darkening further

"Filthy girl."

----

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[wizardofrozz]

you got time for smut with your favorite clone in gray sweatpants? 👀

Golden Hour

Commander Fox x fem!reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: NSFW +18, smut (this is basically just sleepy, morning filth)

A/N: I was stuck between posting this or an angsty Thorn request but I just couldn't resist lol. Thank you Clara for the request that led to this 👀

It had been a long night. Drinks with Fox’s brothers always ended with too much alcohol, not enough water, and at least one of the commanders in the drunk tank. Thankfully, Fox hadn’t been the commander spending the night sobering up with Stone and his unimpressed stare. 

Wolffe was going to be pissed when he came to. 

You blinked at your steaming caf, willing your head to stop pulsing in time with the ticking chrono across the room. A speeder swerved too close to your apartment building, the blaring horn drawing your scowl. The temptation to wander back to bed was almost strong enough to make you move until you heard shuffling from the hallway. Hangover or not, you still swooned a little when he stepped through the doorway. 

Frankly, Fox was a fucking mess. His eyes were barely open and his curls looked fuzzy as he absently scratched at his stomach. It was disgustingly adorable and you were overcome with the urge to squeeze his face. A soft grunt had your eyes refocusing on his face, and a dark brow arched when your eyes met his. 

“Caf,” you mumbled, waving lazily to your right. Fox grunted again, shuffling into the kitchen and glaring down at the empty mug. You leaned into his side only to blink when your forehead met warm skin, shifting to look up. Fox had turned his head, half-lidded eyes staring down at you, his brows pulled together in confusion. 

You leaned away, letting your eyes drift across the width of his shoulders, finally taking in his attire or lack thereof. Fox’s favorite worn sweatpants sat low on his hips, your eyes following the subtle curve of his hips that disappeared under his waistband. The sudden carnal need to trace them with your tongue felt like a gut punch. 

“What?” Fox rumbled, lazily curling an arm around your waist. Your head was still fuzzy with sleep and leftover alcohol but the slow-growing arousal warming your skin was helping to sharpen your thoughts. Fox’s perplexed expression never changed as your eyes trailed over his soft stomach before settling on the faint outline of his cock. Even soft, you could still make out the shape through the gray fabric and you idly wondered if Fox was even aware of it. 

“Hey,” Fox huffed, gently shaking you, “what’re you doin’?” The scowl he wore was dulled by his still slightly red cheeks and the creases left behind from his pillow.

“Admiring the view,” you hummed, a small smirk lifting the corner of your lips. Your eyes fell to the waistband of his pants again until a finger hooked under your chin, tipping your head back, forcing you to meet Fox’s dark eyes. 

“My eyes are up here, cyar’ika,” he mumbled, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Maybe it was a lingering buzz but you were captivated by the pet name, zeroing in on the way his mouth formed the word. 

“Mm, true,” you chuckled. With a boldness that surprised even you, you curled two fingers under the band of his sweatpants, tugging hard enough that Fox stumbled closer, pinning you against the counter. “But what I want is here.” 

The response was immediate, the material clinging to his now half-hard cock; a breathy chuckle passed your lips when it twitched under your gaze. 

“Maker,” Fox breathed, the hand that had been holding your chin moving to rest around the base of your throat, his empty mug abandoned in favor of more interesting things. “It’s 8 in the morning.”

“Need I remind you of the night after that prison riot,” you teased, gently playing with the hair just under the fabric. He immediately ducked his head, the color in his cheeks becoming even more apparent and you smiled, tugging on his waistband again. 

“Could’ve told me to piss off,” he huffed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” Fox rolled his eyes but his top lip twitched, giving him away. You leaned closer, a shiver zipping down your spine when the fingers around your neck tightened slightly, and paused just before your lips found his. “I think you wore these on purpose.” 

“Too hungover to think clearly enough for that,” Fox countered, sounding a little breathless, “although, now I’m glad I did.”

“I can tell,” you giggled, finally curling your hand around his hard length. It sounded like the air had been punched from his lungs, his breathing picking up as you appreciated the velvety texture. Fox bucked into your hand, apparently unbothered by your dry palm or secretly liking the harshness of it. Fox tightened his hold on your throat just enough to pull you into a lazy kiss, clumsily fucking into the tunnel of your fist. 

“May - Maybe I should wear ‘em more often,” Fox mused, panting into your mouth. His hips started moving fast, with more purpose as he chased his release.

“Hold on,” you whispered, loosening your grip, making him whine in the back of his throat. It seemed to take momentous effort but his hips slowed to a stop and you leaned in, rewarding him with a languid kiss that made him throb in your hand.

“You okay? Wanna stop?” Fox managed around labored breaths.

“No,” you hummed, pecking his lips once more before tilting your head down. You pulled the elastic away, gathering saliva in your mouth, crossing your fingers that Fox hadn’t caught on yet. 

“What a - ah.” Your spit rolled down the length of his cock, allowing your hand to glide easily over his skin, turning Fox’s soft noises into full-blown moans. With a bit of coaxing, Fox rolled his hips again, his forehead dropping against yours.

“Feel good, love?” you purred, dragging your nail lightly over his flexing pec.

“Fu - fuck, yeah, yeah,” Fox stammered, aiming to kiss you again only to gasp against your lips. “I - I’m - shit - so close.” 

“Cum for me,” you nearly pleaded, lightly squeezing him. Fox unraveled in record time, gasping out a string of curses with your name mixed in as his thrusts turned shallow. You slowly released him, pecking his lips when he groaned at the loss, and stifling a giggle when he winced as his sweatpants snapped back into place.

“Yeah, that’s not comfortable,” he huffed, working to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” you replied with a small shrug, not feeling guilty in the slightest. Fox’s lashes fluttered, his eyes finally opening to meet yours and you smiled, sweet yet a little mischievous. His lips parted, most likely ready to ask what you were doing only for his jaw to go slack when you brought your hand to your mouth. The greedy drag of your tongue made his pupils grow, his eyes glued to his cum sitting on your tongue. 

You were almost finished cleaning off your fingers when his restraint snapped. Fox surged forward, groaning when he tasted himself on your tongue, dominating the kiss as he pressed you into the countertop. 

“My turn for a taste,” Fox growled, depositing you onto the counter with little effort. Your stomach swooped when he dropped to his knees, a faint smirk on his lips. Maybe you would go out with his brothers more often if this was what you had to look forward to in the morning. 

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