#Commander fox x you

[nahoney22]

Liar Liar (Part 1/?)

🫧 Part One - 79's

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader.

🫧 word count: 5k.

🫧 Plot: When you meet a so-called clone named Whisky at 79's, you're a bit flustered with the impression he left on you. Little did you know that you were now caught in a web of Commander Fox’s lie.

🫧 Chapter Warnings: Safe for work, alcohol consumption, lying, teasing, flirting, Corrie guard antics, Fox is a little shit, grumpy. AFAB Female reader.

🫧 Authors note: Hi! So this is going to be a short story about reader and Commander Fox. Be prepared for lots of flirting, angst, crying, fun and eventual smutty goodness! Enjoy. I've also posted most parts to my AO3 account (NaHoney).

“You gonna join us tonight?”

You glance up from your work, eyebrows raised. “And that would be…?”

“79’s, of course!” Thire grins, slinging his arm around one of his brothers. “We need a break.”

“He’s right. I can’t remember the last time I had a night just to relax,” Hound chimes in, leaning casually against the wall, his helmet tucked under one arm. 

They look at you expectantly as you mull it over. You rarely went out—especially not with the boys—but the idea of unwinding at 79’s didn’t sound half bad. Besides, your friend Pia was working tonight, and catching up with her had been long overdue.

“Sure,” you say, nodding as you distribute the last of the data files onto the desks for tomorrow’s shift. “I’ll be there.”

The troopers exchange approving smiles. “Should we ask Fox?” Hound wonders aloud, glancing at his brothers before shifting his gaze to you.

“Why bother?” Stone snorts from the doorway. “He always says no.”

You roll your eyes but can’t deny the truth in Stone’s words. You’d overheard Fox turn down countless invitations. 

Anyway, he didn’t seem the type to let loose, especially with how rowdy the boys could get after a few rounds of Corellian ale. 

“I don’t see the harm in asking him again,” you reply, shrugging. “But yeah, he’ll probably say no.”

They leave you with the task. You finish tidying up, making sure everything is prepped for tomorrow. The clock ticks closer to 1900 hours, but Fox still hasn’t returned from the Senate. Deciding you’ve waited long enough, you gather your things and head for the door.

Just as you hit the button to open it, the door hisses apart, and you nearly collide with the broad red armor of Commander Fox.

“Oh!” You step back quickly, almost tripping over your own feet. “There you are.”

Fox enters, his usual confident stride noticeably subdued. He moves to his desk, his back to you, shoulders tense beneath his armor.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you continue, hovering uncertainly near the doorway.

 A weary and almost impatient sigh filters through his modulator. “And why’s that?”

Something’s off. You’re used to his abrupt tone, but tonight there’s a heaviness to it that makes you hesitate with your answer 

“Everything okay, Commander?” Your tone softens, concerned as you ignore his question.

“Fine,” he replies curtly, glancing over his shoulder. When he sees the worry etched on your face, he sighs again, this time sounding more human than soldier. “It’s just been a long day.”

You offer a small, sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I can imagine. You usually don’t finish this late at the Senate.”

He turns fully to face you, leaning back against his desk. His arms cross over his chest. “I’ve finished later,” he says dryly. “Is everything sorted for the morning?” He then asks, changing topic swiftly.

“Yes, Commander. Everyone has their files, and I put through an order for more supplies.”

“Such as?” He presses.

You hold your tongue and maintain a neutral expression. Back to his grumpy self, it seems.

“Extra medpacs, ammo, and rations. They should arrive by 0900 hours,” you list off, trying to sound efficient and competent, even though his scrutiny makes your blood simmer.

Fox nods absently, his visor fixed on you. Then he starts rattling off a checklist of additional tasks. Everything from inventory updates, personnel reports, security drills. You bite back the urge to roll your eyes, wondering why he insists on making everything harder than it needs to be.

“Like I said, Commander,” you interrupt gently but firmly when he finishes, “I’ve taken care of everything. For you.”

The ‘for you’ slips out sharper than intended, and you can’t help the flicker of satisfaction when you see his posture stiffen slightly. Turning away, you head for the door, masking your irritation with a forced calm. Just before you step out, you hesitate, glancing back.

“I stayed because the boys wanted to see if you’d join us at 79’s tonight. I’ll tell them you’re busy.” 

Because ‘busy’ always sounds better than ‘tired’.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

“There she is!” Stone cheers the moment he spots you, raising his glass in a mock toast.

You grin as you weave through the packed club, the bass of music thudding in your chest, lights flickering in shades of blue and violet. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Typical 79’s.

As you reach the group, a chorus of nods and smiles greet you. Thire, Hound, and a few other Corrie Guards stand clustered together, already a few drinks in.

“Lookin’ good.” Hound nods appreciatively, earning a playful jab from you but accepting the compliment regardless. It’s not often you dress up, after all and the shirt you bought last month was too cute not to wear.

“Surprised to see you all behaving,” you tease, eyeing Thire’s drink before shifting to the man himself. “Especially you. No table dancing tonight?”

Thire groans, rubbing his head like the memory physically pains him. “I thought we all agreed not to bring that up.”

“Too hard to forget.” You smirk. “Especially the part where you fell flat on your face.”

Hound chokes on his drink, while Stone grins over the rim of his own. “I swear, the look on his face right before he went down—priceless.”

Thire mutters something about betrayal under his breath but smirks anyway.

“So, I take it the Commander isn’t coming?” Hound then asks, shifting the conversation as he leans closer.

You bite back a smart remark, still holding a minor grudge from your last interaction with Fox. Instead, you just shake your head. “Nope. He was really busy. Lots of files to go through.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Stone mutters, downing another sip.

You nod along, but despite your irritation, you can’t shake the image of Fox’s slumped posture, the exhaustion practically radiating off him. Still, you push the thought aside and excuse yourself, heading toward the bar.

Sliding onto a stool, you drum your fingers against the bartop, scanning the crowd until a familiar voice breaks through the noise.

“There’s my girl!” Pia grins, practically launching herself over the bar to pull you into a quick hug. “It’s been forever!”

“Oh, I know,” you sigh, grateful for the warmth of her presence. “Work’s been eating up my life. I haven’t had time for anything.”

“Tell me about it,” Pia groans, throwing a rag over her shoulder. “I’ve covered four extra shifts this week. Four! I basically live here.”

“That’s rough.”

“I wouldn’t mind if the pay was half-decent,” she grumbles, before quickly turning to serve an impatient trooper waving a handful of credits. She hands him his drink with a pointed look before spinning back to you. “Anyway, let’s get you a drink.”

As she sets a fruity, colorful concoction in front of you, you instinctively reach for your credits, but Pia swats your hand away with the tiny umbrella meant for your drink.

“Absolutely not.” She tuts, popping the umbrella in your glass for extra flourish.

You arch a brow. “You sure?”

“Of course.” She’s already dashing off to serve someone else before you can protest, so you just shake your head with a laugh.

“Don’t expect a tip, then,” you joke.

“Wouldn’t expect one from you anyway!” Pia calls over her shoulder, grinning.

You take a sip, humming in satisfaction. Perfect, as always. As the straw hangs lazily from your lips, you scan the bar, looking for any more familiar faces—though, ironically, in a room full of clones, everyone looks familiar.

Then you spot him.

Across the bar, a clone sits alone, elbow propped up as he rests his head in his hand. He looks… tired. Maybe bored. Maybe just hoping no one will bother him. But there’s something about him that catches your attention.

Salt-and-pepper curls frame his face, the dim light emphasising the lines along his forehead. He wears his blacks, leaving his battalion unclear. But you can’t shake the feeling that you should know who he is.

Before you can think too hard about it, Pia appears in your line of sight, snapping you back to reality.

“So, how is it?” she asks, wiggling her brows.

You blink. “How’s what?”

“The drink, duh .”

“Oh.” You flush slightly, realising you’d been too busy staring at the mystery trooper. “Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.”

Pia beams at the praise before suddenly flipping off a customer who’s been aggressively clicking his fingers for service. “ I said I’ll be with you in a minute!” she snaps, before turning back to you. “So, who’s your company tonight?”

“The Corrie Guards, of course.”

Pia gives you a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Well, do me a favor and make sure Thire stays off the tables this time.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Already warned him.”

As Pia busies herself with another round of orders, your gaze naturally drifts back to the clone across the bar. For a split second, you swear he meets your eyes, but Pia keeps unintentionally blocking your view.

“Hey! When am I gonna get my drink?” the same customer whines, earning a spectacular eye-roll from Pia.

“When I’m done talking to my friend .” She smiles sweetly, almost menacingly.

“You’re not even serving her anymore! You’re just chatting!”

Pia glares at him. He promptly shrinks back in his seat.

You take another sip of your drink before nodding toward the lone clone. “Say, do you know who that is?”

Pia grins knowingly. “Obviously. That’s—”

“Listen, lady, I just wanna get a drink and—”

“Kriff, fine ! Fine! ” Pia throws her hands up, stomping over to the persistent patron.

You sigh as she gets pulled away, your curiosity about the mystery trooper left frustratingly unanswered.

You try not to keep stealing glances at him, but there’s just something about him. It’s distracting. 

Maybe it’s the salt-and-pepper streaking through his curls, maybe it’s the way his shoulders hunch, like he’s carrying the weight of an entire day on them. He’s got that whole brooding, don’t-talk-to-me aura, which—ironically—only makes you more curious.

And, apparently, more reckless.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab a napkin from the dispenser and fish a pen out of your purse. You hesitate, pen hovering over the flimsy paper. What do you even write? Something casual? Flirty? Mysterious?

You roll your eyes at yourself—definitely overthinking it. Finally, you scribble down:

You look lonely. I can fix that.

As soon as you read it back, you cringe. Too forward? Too suggestive? Maybe you should—

Nope. No time for second-guessing. You fold the napkin before you can change your mind. Pia is still swamped, barely keeping up with the sea of 212th troopers ordering drinks, but thankfully, a server droid hums by.

Perfect.

“Hey,” you beckon it over, glancing toward the clone across the bar. “Can you take this to him?”

The droid gives a curt beep. “That is not my function.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan. “It’ll take two seconds.”

“Then do it yourself.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’ll tell Pia you need rewiring.”

The droid snatches the napkin without another word, wheeling off toward the clone.

Your stomach knots as you watch it place the note in front of him, then—completely unhelpfully—point directly at you. Great. You quickly avert your eyes, suddenly regretting everything.

But you still sneak a glance from the corner of your eye.

The clone straightens slightly, unfolds the napkin. Reads it. Pauses. Then, without a flicker of reaction, folds it back up and finishes his drink.

And then… he stands.

Your stomach drops. Oh. That’s it, then. He doesn’t even look your way as he walks off, disappearing into the crowd.

You exhale, a mix of relief and secondhand embarrassment washing over you. You swirl the ice in your glass and mutter to yourself, “Well. Won’t be doing that again.”

A voice speaks up behind you.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You turn on your stool, and—oh.

The clone from across the bar is now standing right in front of you. Tall. Broad. Close.

Heat creeps up your neck. Your mouth suddenly dry.

“…Yeah,” you manage, a little breathless. “Kind of surprised, actually.”

“How come?” He gestures to the empty stool beside you, waiting for your nod before he sits.

“You looked like a man who didn’t want to be bothered.” You take a sip of your drink, hoping it steadies you.

“And yet, you were bold enough to send a note,” he muses, lips curving just slightly. “Very sweet.”

You giggle, shrugging as you set your glass down with a soft clink. “You don’t know if you don’t try.”

His amusement lingers. “Looks like it paid off.” He chuckles, then tilts his head. “Can I get you another drink?”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

He signals for another round, ordering one for himself, too.

“So,” you begin, tilting your head, “I haven’t seen you around before. What battalion are you with?”

The clone pauses just a fraction too long before answering, “Coruscant Guard.”

Your brows lift. “Oh? Me too! I feel like I would’ve noticed you… what’s your name?”

Another brief hesitation. Then: “Whisky.”

You arch a brow. “Whisky?”

“That’s right.” He nods, taking a deeper sip of his drink. There’s a flicker of nerves in his expression, but you don’t press. “Big whisky fan.”

You chuckle. “Fair enough. Cool name.”

“And yours?”

You offer your name along with your hand, flashing a bright, playful grin.

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he places his hand in yours. His palm is warm, his grip firm but careful.

“Lovely name,” he murmurs.

His voice is smooth, just a little too low, and it sends a surprising shiver up your spine. There’s something about the way he holds your hand—like he’s not sure if he should, but doesn’t want to let go, either. The earlier nervousness is gone, replaced by a small, amused smirk.

And you?

You’re intrigued.

Still, you release his hand before yours can get clammy. “So, the Corrie Guard?” You lean back slightly, studying him. “I still feel like I should’ve seen you around.”

He clears his throat, taking another long sip. “I’m not exactly frontline.”

That explains it. “What department?”

“Mechanic.”

That really explains it. You nod, feeling a little sheepish. “Ah, that’s probably why. I love working with my boys in red, though. They’re good to me.”

“Good,” he says, then hesitates. “So, uh… what’s the Commander like?”

You blink. “Fox?”

He nods.

You smirk, turning away slightly as you consider your answer. A hundred words come to mind—moody, buzzkill, abrasive, miserable, exhausted…

“Grumpy,” you settle on, swirling your drink. “Big grump.”

He chuckles. “Can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, but he is.” You huff, thinking back to earlier that night. “But… he works hard, so sometimes the grumpiness is excused.”

“Sure,” Whisky nods, idly swiping at the condensation on his glass. He hesitates again. “He… does he treat you okay?”

You arch a brow, amused. “Why? You planning to put in a word for me?”

The teasing is lighthearted, but Whisky seems oddly stiff about it. You wave it off before he can dwell. “He’s okay,” you say simply. “He just gets under my skin sometimes. I don’t think he means to.” You sigh, taking another sip before turning back to him. “You know him?”

He shakes his head, then drinks. “Nah. Just heard he can be a little hard on people.”

You hum. “You got that right.”

You don’t notice the way Whisky shifts in his seat, rubbing a hand through his hair, his eyes dropping into his glass. He’s quiet, thoughtful—until you break the silence again.

“Actually,” you say, warmth from the alcohol making you bolder, “I know a secret about him.”

He raises a brow. “You do?”

You giggle and scoot closer, lowering your voice. “I’ll tell you but you have to keep it between us.” You hold up your hand, pinky extended. “And all my promises have to be pinky sweared.”

Whisky stares at you for a second, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Then, with a small smirk, he hooks his pinky around yours. “Alright. Spill.”

“So, about a year ago, I was in the office, sorting files or whatever. I came across one of his, and being the amazing worker I am, I marched right up to him at his desk and dropped it in front of him.” You start grinning, the memory as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

“And you know what he said?”

Whisky watches you closely, his gaze flickering to your lips as you lean in, your voice dropping secretively. 

Closer, closer, closer…

“No,” he murmurs.

“Nothing.”

His brows draw together. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, eyes alight with mischief. “Because he was snoring under his bucket.”

There’s a moment of silence followed by laughter. You tip your head back, giggling as you wipe a tear from your eye, and Whisky laughs along with you, shaking his head. It’s not even that funny, but the irony of it is too good.

“He always tells us to work harder, no time for rest,” you say, rolling your eyes. “And there he was, sleeping on the job. And it wasn’t even the first time! He sleeps upright, so it looks like he’s just watching us. But nope. Out cold.”

“So he’s a slacker?” Whisky smirks.

You shake your head. “No, not a slacker. He works hard. Really hard.”

“But you didn’t wake him?” He eyes you curiously.

“Nah. He barely gets any rest as it is, so I let him sleep.” You glance at Whisky, smirking. “Besides… it’s kinda cute.”

Whisky watches you closely, his lips twitching at your laughter, but his eyes seem to linger on you a moment longer than necessary. He swirls his drink idly, then asks, “You think he’d be mad if he knew you caught him slacking?”

You shrug, still grinning. “Maybe. But what’s he gonna do? Fire me? I know he’s my boss but those lot won’t function without me.” You laugh. “Besides, I doubt he gets much rest, so I let him sleep. Figured he needed it.”

There’s something in Whisky’s expression that shifts—just slightly. His fingers drum against his glass, his posture relaxing, but you catch a flicker of something you can’t quite place. It’s gone as soon as it appears, replaced by that same amused smirk.

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” he muses.

You roll your eyes but smile.“It’s not sentimental. Just… practical.”

“You like him,” he says. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You hum, tilting your head. “I admire him,” you correct, swirling your drink. “Fox works harder than anyone I know. He doesn’t just give orders—he takes the weight of everything on his shoulders. Every mission, every casualty, every prisoner, every mistake. And I don’t think anyone really sees that.”

Whisky watches you carefully, listening.

You sigh, resting your elbow on the bar. “I just wish he was… a little nicer, sometimes. He’s got a good squad. I mean, the guys look up to him. I think if he let himself relax, let himself be one of them instead of always keeping himself separate, they’d follow him even harder. But he never does.” You exhale, shaking your head. “I dunno. It’s not my business, really. Just somethin’ I think about.”

Whisky is quiet for a second, “Maybe he doesn’t know how,” he says finally.

You pause. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Maybe.”

A small smirk tugs at his lips, but it’s softer this time. “You’re a bit of a softie, huh?”

You scoff, playfully nudging him with your elbow “Shut up.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s not a bad thing.” He takes a sip of his nearly empty drink, eyes flicking over you. “You care about your squad.”

“Of course I do,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “I spend all my time with them. They’re like family.”

Whisky hums, contemplative. He watches you for a moment longer before he shifts in his seat, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing against yours.

“So,” he says, voice dipping lower, more conspiratorial, “if Fox is the grumpiest, who’s your favourite?”

You huff a laugh. “Oh, come on, I can’t answer that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I pick one, I’ll have to deal with the rest of them whining about it for the next month.” You shake your head. “I’m not walking into that trap.”

Whisky grins. “Smart.”

You take a sip of your drink, then tilt your head at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re in the Guard, too. You’ve gotta have a favourite.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second—so quick you almost miss it. Then, he smirks. “Can’t say I’ve thought about it.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Liar.”

He chuckles, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he taps the side of his glass. “Alright, fine. Who gives you the most trouble?”

You groan dramatically. “Thorn . Hands down.”

Whisky raises a brow. “That bad?”

“He’s so smug,” you complain, exasperated. “He knows he can get away with murder because he’s one of Fox’s best. And he loves rubbing it in my face. I’d also argue Stone because he’s cheeky but Thorn can be devious if he wants to be.”

Whisky chuckles. “Sounds like a menace.”

“Oh, he is ,” you confirm. “But I can’t even be mad about it, because he’s also stupidly good at his job. So I just have to suffer .”

He leans in close. “Poor thing.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t patronise me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” His voice is smooth, teasing, and— Maker , his eyes are intense when they settle on you like that.

Your breath catches slightly, but you mask it with another sip of your drink. The air between you has shifted—still playful, but heavier now, charged with something unspoken.

You clear your throat. “So, Whisky,” you say, changing the subject. “Tell me something about you .”

His smirk lingers, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it. “What do you wanna know?”

You tap your fingers against the bar, pretending to think. “Mmm… what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done while on duty?”

Whisky chuckles, shaking his head. “Now that’s a dangerous question.”

“Oh, come on,” you nudge him. “I won’t tell.”

He eyes you for a moment, considering. Then, he leans in slightly, voice lowering just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“Alright,” he murmurs, “but if I tell you… you owe me another secret in return.”

You grin. “Deal.”

And just like that, the night stretches on and the hours slip away without either of you noticing.

⋅───⊱༺ 🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

It starts with secrets, little things at first. Just small confessions that wouldn’t ruin you if they got out. 

You tell him about the time you ‘accidentally’ shredded a report you were supposed to file, and how you spent half the day trying to piece it back together before finally giving up and blaming it on a faulty data pad. Or how you once snuck into the supply room after hours because Thorn had been too busy to eat, and you stole rations for both of you under the pretense of ‘inventory control.’

Whisky listens with quiet amusement, the occasional smile flickering across his lips as he watches you talk. He’s not a big sharer. His own stories are vague and kind of always deflecting back to you. But when you mention your upbringing, your life before the Republic and the war, he leans in slightly, genuinely intrigued.

“You ever think about what comes after?” you ask at one point.

His brow furrows slightly. “After?”

You nod. “Yeah. Like… what happens when the war ends? What do you want to do?”

For the first time, Whisky hesitates—not the way he had before, when he seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, but like he’s genuinely never considered it. 

“You don’t have to answer,” you say quickly, suddenly feeling bad for asking as he stares into his drink.

“No, it’s not that.” His voice is quiet. “I just… don’t know.”

The admission sits heavy between you, and before you can say anything else, he shifts the conversation.

“What about you?”

You exhale, leaning back against the bar. “Dunno.” You smile a little, but it’s laced with something soft and wistful. “I’d love to travel. See what’s out there, you know? Maybe settle somewhere quiet. Own a little shop or something.”

He studies you. “You’d leave Coruscant?”

You huff a small laugh. “Wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

The music has quieted now, the heavy bass that once thrummed beneath your feet nothing more than a distant pulse. The strobe lights have stopped their restless dance, leaving the room bathed in the softer glow of overhead fixtures. It’s only then that you realise most of the patrons have left.

You turn back to Whisky, surprised to find him watching you. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something quiet and intense.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head.

“You’re really beautiful.”

The words catch you off guard. You blink, lips parting slightly before you shake your head, laughing softly. “You don’t know me.”

“Do I have to?”

You frown slightly, not in offense but in confusion. “How can you find a person beautiful if you don’t know them?”

Whisky exhales a small laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your gaze again. “I… you look beautiful,” he says, voice steady but soft. “And the way you talk about your family, about your squad… it’s nice.”

You watch him before smirking a touch. “You’re not too bad yourself, handsome.” Your voice is teasing, but there’s warmth beneath it, something genuine that makes his grip on his glass tighten.

He smirks however, trying to play off your compliment. “That means you think all my brothers are handsome.”

You hum in mock consideration, swirling the last of your drink. “Maybe so…” You take a slow sip, then let your eyes meet his again. “But maybe I find you the most attractive.”

There’s a shift between you, a flicker of something deeper in the way he looks at you—like he’s memorising the moment, the words, the way you say them. His lips part slightly, a breath drawn in like he’s about to say something, but then—

“Kriff.” You sit up straighter, suddenly glancing at the time. “I’ve gotta get going! If I don’t sleep tonight, I’ll be late, and the last thing I need is to miss one of Fox’s drills.”

He reacts almost instantly, standing when you do, setting his drink down. “S-sure, no problem. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“I’m taking a cab, but thank you.”

Still, he follows you out, insists on making sure you get into one safely. Outside, the night air is crisp, cool enough to make you shiver. You wrap your arms around yourself, exhaling. “Knew I should’ve brought a jacket.”

Whisky chuckles, stepping a little closer. “I could warm you up.”

The words hang between you, charged, almost daring. You tilt your head at him, amused. “Bold offer.”

He grins. “It’s there if you want it.”

A cab hovers down in front of you, and he opens the door, but you hesitate. Looking up at him, you smile softly. “It was really nice meeting you, Whisky. I hope to see you again sometime.”

There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, but he nods. “I’m sure we will. Sooner than you think.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but there’s a thrill in the mystery of it. He holds out his hand, and you roll your eyes playfully, swatting it away. “I’m not shaking your hand goodbye.”

Before he can ask what you mean, you step closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You linger for just a second, enough to feel the way he tenses, the way he barely exhales.

When you pull back, you smirk. “Goodnight, handsome.”

He inhales sharply, watching as you step into the cab. His voice is quiet, soft.

“Goodnight… beautiful.”

He stays there as your cab lifts off, watching until it’s out of sight. Then, with a deep breath, he turns—only to hear someone calling his name.

His real name.

“Fox? Fox! We didn’t know you came out tonight! Where have you been?”

Thire stumbles toward him, voice slurred, movements a little too loose. Fox rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “I’ve been busy.”

Thire squints at him, blinking blearily. “Busy, huh?” He lets out a slow, knowing grin. “Didn’t take you for the social type, Commander .”

Fox huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not.”

His brother wobbles slightly, throwing an arm around Fox’s shoulders. “Right. So where were you?”

Fox debates answering honestly for all of two seconds before shaking his head. “None of your business.”

Thire gasps dramatically, pointing at him. “ Oh. So it’s like that ? You sneak off, disappear for hours, come back looking all—” he waves his hand at him vaguely, “— not miserable… You met someone, didn’t you?”

Fox sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go back to the barracks, Thire.”

But his brother is relentless. “ You did! ” He stumbles back a step, laughing. “Oh, I gotta know. Who is it?”

Fox shakes his head, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. “Go. Now.”

Thire groans, rubbing his face. “Fine, fine. But I swear , if I see you all giddy at work tomorrow, I will find out.”

Fox rolls his eyes. “Go sleep it off.”

As he stumbles away, still muttering about Fox meeting someone , the Commander exhales slowly. He turns back toward the sky where your cab had disappeared, rubbing his jaw where your lips had touched his skin.

He should feel guilty. He should feel stupid for going along with it, for making up a name, for listening to you talk about him without you even knowing.

But he doesn’t. Not yet, anyway. 

Instead, he just wonders what he’ll do when he sees you again.

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[ghostofskywalker]

Hi! Im not sure if you're still taking requests for your clone-urary event, but here I got. Could I request an F!Reader x Fox with the prompt "Do you want to go out sometime...?" || "Like a date?" || "Y-yeah, like a date".

It gives me a idiots in love to idiot lovers' vibe.

this is such a cute prompt, and fox was fun to write it with! i tried to go for the mutual pining/they both don't realize the other feels the same way vibe, and i still have your other request in my inbox, i hope to start on that soon!

What Happens To The Caf Machine (Sometimes Leads to The Admittance of Feelings)

words: 1,395

summary: As the caretaker of the Senate Archives, you don't usually see too many people. But when the Coruscant Guard's caf machine is out of commission one morning, your favorite trooper comes in to ask a favor, and things blossom from there.

clone troopers masterlist || request a clone-uary fic!

“Good morning Commander!” you said brightly as Fox’s telltale red helmet appeared in the doorway of the Senate Archives. 

“Good morning,” he greeted in return. While the cadence of his voice was nowhere near as cheery as yours had been, you didn’t think much of it. With the workload that he had and the amount of stress that undoubtedly rested on his shoulders, you didn’t blame him for not being cheery this early in the morning. “Can I use your caf machine?” 

“Of course,” you said, watching as he stepped behind your large desk and crossed the doorway into your small office. His visits to your little office in the Archives had become something of a routine at this point, and you’d be lying if you said you disliked it. You technically shared the sprawling basement of the Senate building with the headquarters of the Coruscant Guard, and lately Fox had been making regular appearances throughout the day, whether it was because he had something to ask you, or to just hide away in the stacks of books and documents for a little while.

“Thorn hogging your machine again?” you asked, stifling a laugh as you watched him survey the small collection of mugs you had amassed in your time here. Unlike the times you had been in his break room, where it seemed every trooper used the same blank white drinkware for their caf, your mugs were bright, colorful, and sometimes oddly shaped. 

“Thorn broke our machine,” was Fox’s answer, finally pulling out a pale blue mug with the first initial of your name on it. “The di’kut said he would fix it, but last time he said that, the machine ended up exploding all over the next person who tried to make some caf.” 

Laughter bubbled from your lips as you considered the sight in your mind’s eye. “And who was the unlucky victim?” 

Fox removed his helmet, allowing you to see the serious expression on his face. “Me,” he deadpanned. 

You laughed once more, playfully ignoring the glare he shot you. “Well, no matter what happens to your caf machine, you can alway come in and use this one. Even if I’m not here.” 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, face softening at your words. 

When the counter top contraption finally whirred to life and began to dispense (heavenly-smelling) caf into the mug, you smiled, starting a conversation you seemed to have every single time he was here. “I have milk and creamer in the small chiller over there, and there should be some sweetener packets resting in the bowl next to the machine if you want them.” 

And like every time you had made the offer before, you received the same answer. “No thank you, black caf is just fine with me.” 

You smiled, watching as he moved out of the office and back towards the entryway to the archives. “I know, but it’s here if you ever change your mind.”

Selfishly, you wanted him to stay. Your fascination with the marshal commander of the Coruscant Guard had done nothing but grow in recent rotations, and it was spiraling to full-on crush territory. You wanted to learn everything about him, to spend as much time together as the galaxy would allow, and you desperately wanted to make him laugh. While you had seen the commander’s smile on a few prior occasions, the sound of his laughter was still elusive, and it was very quickly becoming your most important mission. 

“I’ll bring your mug back when I’m done,” he said, and you smiled. 

“I’m not worried about that,” was your response. “Besides, I know where you work.” 

A smile crossed his lips as well, and what sounded like the barest beginnings of a laugh formed before the expression faded. Well, at least you knew he liked your jokes. “Thank you,” he said, nodding at you with an appreciative expression before putting his helmet back on and heading out the door. 

As you waved goodbye to him and began your actual tasks for the day, you couldn’t help the way your mind wandered to daydreams of the commander, and the way you hoped that his caf machine remained out of commission for the foreseeable future. 

***

It wasn’t until a few hours later that you saw Fox again, and you looked up from the document you were transcribing with a smile as he walked through the door again, the mug you had lent him earlier safe and sound in his hands. It was something of a welcome surprise to see that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. “I came to return this,” he said, gently passing the mug from his hands to yours. “And to thank you again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. “Did Thorn fix your caf machine?” 

Fox shook his head. “He’s attempting to as we speak. From the profanity I heard coming from the break room walls, I don’t think it’s going that well.” 

You laughed. “Well, at least there haven't been any explosions yet.” 

But it seemed the galaxy wanted to showcase its comedy skills in this moment, because right after you finished speaking, the sound of something echoed through the walls, shaking some of the tomes as they sat upon the archive’s endless shelves. It was silent in the room for a moment as you and Fox locked eyes, and then the very thing you had been hoping for happened: the commander began to laugh. It was a joyful sound that you immediately decided you wanted to hear every single day for the rest of your life, and it didn’t take more than a second for you to join in. 

“Well,” you said, after finally composing yourself. “I guess you’ll be using my caf machine for a little longer then.” 

“I suppose so,” he responded, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way his face changed as he smiled. There was no telling what stress he was subjected to on a daily basis, but right now, as some of that seemed to have slipped away, he looked almost younger. “I’ll have to start bringing my own mugs and ground caf."

“Oh please, don’t even worry about it!” 

“No, I couldn’t-” 

“Fox,” you said, cutting him off. “You’ve seen my mug collection, you know I have more than enough. And the caf here is stocked by the Senate, I don’t pay a credit for it.” 

He paused for a moment before speaking again. “I still want to thank you for your kindness though.” If you didn’t know any better, you would almost say that the look on his face was one of nervousness. 

“Well, you don’t have to bring me caf to do that,” was your response, and you kept talking before you could really process what was coming out of your mouth. “Do you want to go out sometime?” 

Your words had clearly come as a shock to him, and his eyes widened as he took in your words. Thankfully though, he didn’t shoot you down right away, and the voice he responded with was much softer than you had ever heard before. “Like a date?”

Kriff it, you might as well own this now. If he refused, maybe you could still be friends, or at least friendly acquaintances. “Y-yeah, like a date.” 

But to your surprise, he didn’t pull a face and awkwardly try to end the conversation. “I’d like that,” he said quietly. 

Right as you were about to speak, the comm device on his wrist started to blare, and it was clear that either the situation with the caf machine had suddenly gotten a lot more involved, or something else had happened that needed his attention. “I’m so sorry,” he said. 

“Don’t worry about it, I know you’re an important guy around here,” you responded, grabbing a piece of flimsi from your desk and quickly scribbling something on it. “Here’s my comm frequency, maybe we could go out for dinner when we’re both off.”

He smiled, quickly silencing the ringing as he grabbed the flimsi from your hands. “That sounds great.” 

He was out the door seconds later, but you didn’t blame him for the interruption. Looking back at the mug he had returned, you couldn’t help but smile, because even though nothing was set in stone just yet, you had a date with Commander Fox.

- the end -

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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. 

[mae-lou-ron]

Give Me the Twilight

Summary: Overworked and overtired, Commander Fox is just trying to make it through the rest of his shift, but with a budding migraine, it’s easier said than done. Lucky for him, you’ve got some ideas in mind about how to soothe him.

Pairing: Marshal Commander Fox x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fox suffering from a migraine, descriptions of migraine symptoms and triggers, sensory overload, Fox has teefies, teasing, senator reader is in a revealing dress and Fox can’t handle it. SFW with references to later non-descript sexual activity. Fluff (kissing, head massage, mando'a nicknames).

Word Count: 2,200

A/N: @ghostymarni marni, marni… what the heck are we going to do about all the delicious things you’ve been creating lately. DUH, MAE, YOU SAY? WE WRITE ABOUT IT, OF COURSE. But seriously, these pieces you did have been rolling around in my brain since you posted them, and I had a migraine yesterday, so like any normal person with clone brain rot, instead of resting, I projected it onto your sharp-toofed Fox and dumped 2,000+ words about it into my word processor. Beware: I wanted to riddle this thing with as much Fox Fanon™ as I could think of, so that's what I did. Fox girlies, I humbly present my offering to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marshal Commander Fox was thankful for three very specific things at this particular moment in time: the environmental filters on his helmet, the fresh batch of caf from the mess, and last but certainly not least—returning to his office to discover you were there, waiting for him.

"Well hello, ad’ika..." His warm, modulated voice rumbled through the room as he stepped over the threshold. "...are you lost?"

You turned your head, keeping your back to him. "What makes you say that, Commander?" you cooed. "Maybe this is exactly where I want to be..."

A silence descended upon the room, broken only by the quiet trill of the door locking and a soft clunk of his mug on the desk. His footsteps drew closer, slow and deliberate, bringing the lingering roasted scent that mingled with his presence. It was then you noticed he still hadn't removed his helmet despite the dimmed lighting—it looked like Fox was suffering from another migraine.

But before you could turn around, you felt the familiar weight of his armor pressed against your back, followed by the telltale hiss of a pressure seal. He set his helmet on the table in front of you before resting his gloved hands on its edge, one on each side of your waist. He sighed deeply as he caged you with his large frame, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck and shoulder; the darkness and pressure over his eyes relieved some of the throbbing behind them.

"I take it your evening concluded early, senator?" he said while running his nose along your bare shoulder, savoring the gentle scent of your skin. He had noticed that you recently stopped wearing perfume around him—another thing he greatly appreciated, especially right now when his head was already pounding enough without the added barrage to his sense of smell. "And tell me how is it you got in here without being seen?" he said with mock scolding.

"Mmm," you hummed, feeling his thick curls brush your shoulder. "I have my ways too, Commander... and you should know by now that I can be quite resourceful when I want something." You smiled, gently running your fingertips over his vambraces before covering his hands with yours. "Or someone..." Your sultry tone caused him to chuckle softly as he moved somehow even closer. "But the gala was actually quite short since the Chancellor never made his appearance..." Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed up the side of your neck. "And I was hoping to see you there..." you added, swallowing thickly.

"I was called away... the Chancellor..." he sighed, his warm breath fanning across your skin. "...you know what, it's not important," he said, his hands toying with the very silky and very red fabric that spilled out over your hips. "Did you wear this for me?" he rumbled.

To his delight, the dress was completely backless, save for a delicate silver chain that ran from the collar down to where the silky fabric draped over the curve of your backside, stopping dangerously above your hips. If he didn’t know any better, it looked like the chain was the only thing keeping the fabric on your body. His gloves were then discarded onto the table along with his helmet. You shivered as his fingertips slid under the chain, sweeping down along your exposed spine.

"Perhaps," you smirked as his hands alternated toying with the fabric and your soft skin. "It is one of my favorite colors, after all." A soft gasp escaped your lips as his mouth moved the base of your neck.

"Ah, so you were hoping to tease me, mesh'la... is that it?" he said darkly, spinning you around to face him. The long skirt of the garment gracefully swished and flared out at the abrupt movement.

"Well," you planted your hands on his shoulders, leaning close into his ear. "I was wearing something over it... but seeing me like this? Well, that's just for you..." you said huskily, making him groan deeply as his fingertips dug into the soft swell of your hips.

"Oh, mesh'la," his voice melted into an even deeper timbre. He loved when you did this. Whether it was wearing a nod to his colors, or the delicate fennec fox pin you often put in your hair for assembly. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought of the tiny tooka cat figure you'd playfully pushed into his hand that time you "ran into each other" at the night market a couple of months ago. What you probably didn't know was how he'd kept that precious trinket in his belt ever since, carrying a tiny piece of you with him wherever he went.

He held you against him as he rested his forehead to your temple. The scent of you, combined with the way the smooth fabric hugged your curves so perfectly, was somehow simultaneously soothing his nerves and driving him wild despite the other growing desire to lie down and close his eyes.

Suddenly, the courtyard lights began its ridiculous nightly display, flooding through the window with their bright, swirling patterns. Fox recoiled with a pained groan, grinding the heels of his hands against his eyes as the capillaries in his head exploded from a lingering ache into searing agony. Without hesitation, you went to the wall panel and activated the blast shield, plunging the room into a gentle darkness broken only by the soft glow of floor lighting.

"Are you alright?" you asked softly as he continued to rub his eyes. "Fox?" you implored, reaching for him. But before you could touch him, he gently snatched your wrist and brought it to his face, nuzzling into it before he planted a warm kiss on your palm, gazing intently into you with those impossibly deep golden eyes. He leaned in, dragging his teeth over the soft pulse point on your wrist.

"Yes…better now that you're here..." he said in a strained voice against your skin. You sighed and gently wrapped your fingertips around his jaw, caressing the stubble on his scarred cheek. He leaned into you, and your fingers moved into his hair, displacing some of his salt and pepper locks.

"Come here..." you murmured before you started gently massaging his scalp, earning you a deep groan from him as he wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning into you.

His eyes fluttered closed as you massaged the back of his head down to his neck, giving you the perfect moment to press feather-light kisses to each of his eyelids, silently worshiping your hardworking Commander. Your fingers traced down his jaw and neck as you whispered, "Come home with me... let me take care of you."

He started to speak, but you cut him off. "I don't want to hear it. You let them work you to the bone, you deserve to be looked aft—" Your words were silenced as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, drawing you into a gentle kiss.

"Hush now, cyar'ika," he chuckled gently against your lips. Fox's ochre eyes met yours with playful sternness, glinting in the dim light. "I was only about to ask if you still have those bacta patches..." he added with a soft peck.

"I do," you cooed, tracing the scar that ran along his jaw. "And some painkillers, and that tea you like, it'll help you relax." His lips quirked up in a small, grateful smile as you traced more soothing circles into his hairline.

"Being with you relaxes me..." he nuzzled into your cheek as you grinned, feeling his dark eyelashes flutter against your cheekbone. Your soothing touch combined with your gentle presence worked wonders, already melting away much of the lingering tension from Fox's arduous day.

"I should check if it's clear before it gets too late," he said, reluctantly pulling away to retrieve his helmet and gloves. After donning both, he opened the door and scanned the darkened corridor.

"Most practical, as usual, Commander," you stiffened your posture, playfully mocking your own senatorial facade as he returned to you, the door whooshing shut behind him.

"Well, we can't have anyone catching you sneaking out of my office at this hour," he murmured with a smirk in his tone, his gloved fingers trailing down your arm. "Especially not dressed like this..." he tilted his head and looked at you longingly from behind his visor with a soft sigh, disappointed that you'd worn that kriffing dress for him and he was in no state to be doing anything about it.

You were now very good at reading him with his helmet on. For so long it, was the only way you'd seen him. The first time you saw his face, you couldn't stop staring at him. You were instantly taken with how beautiful he was. You chuckled and squeezed his hand gently before reaching for the more modest, yet still opulently traditional overcoat you had adorned earlier.

"I'll still have the dress tomorrow, you know," you grinned, flashing him a good view of your leg as you walked towards the door. He took note of the deep slit in your dress that stopped at your mid-thigh—all Fox could think about in that moment was you guiding his hand to wander under and touch...

"Fox?"

"Here's what we're going to do, mesh'la..." he said urgently, fingers adjusting the collar of your coat. "I'm taking you home, then you're going to put some bacta patches on my head and make some tea and whatever else— and then I'm going to take my time worshiping every inch of you in that dress until you're begging me to take it off you." His voice was low and gravelly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as his fingers traced up the edge of the slit.

"But first things first..." He pulled his hand away, making you grumble. He chuckled softly at your soured expression as he chivalrously offered you the crook of his elbow, now mocking his own stoic soldier facade. "Senator..."

You rolled your eyes but smiled at his gentle sense of humor, taking his arm with an equally dramatic flourish. "Why thank you, Commander. How very gallant of you to escort a lady home at this late hour."

As you left his office and strode through the empty corridors, you couldn't help but notice how he drew you closer to him before slipping out of the building and into the ever-bustling Coruscant evening.

You looked quite the pair as you walked arm in arm through the streets, with your dress billowing elegantly behind you and Fox in his polished guard armor, painted with those deep red stripes. Fox again found himself thankful for his helmet—not just for shielding him from Coruscant’s bright neon lights and roaring ambience, but for allowing him to steal glances at you without or anyone else noticing the lovesick expression on his face. He couldn't help it.

To any passerby, you appeared just as any other senator and Corrie would moving through the city late at night. But the way you walked beside him—proud and unabashed to be on his arm— it made his chest tighten with that feeling he was beginning to frequently associate with you. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine being your proper escort for the evening, accompanying you to the gala and back home like a normal couple. But those thoughts quickly faded as his mind focused on what he truly cherished— being safely tucked away from prying eyes for another precious night with you. And better still were the times when those precious nights stretched into even more precious mornings.

[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.

[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 Commander Fox x female!reader. Commander Fox x female!reader x Commander 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 Like without a Reblog will result in an automatic block.

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.

[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!

2/24/2025 UPDATE: This series will no longer be continued as a reader-insert. It will instead be re-worked and written as a OFC fic going forward. I apologize for the disappointment!

Fic taglist: @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @returnofthepineapple

[FFF Masterlist] [Taglist] [New OFC NFITH Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

[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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[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.

[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.

[nahoney22]

Congratulations on the followers! Please can I request some angsty fluff with Fox and a female reader with this prompt - 24: “Who hurt you?”

Maybe reader got attacked and he found her and tends to her wounds which leads to some feelings being shared? Thanks if you do 😊 I love your work

Medical Feelings 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

word count: 1.8k

prompts:

• “Who hurt you?”

Plot: After a risky mission that left you injured, Commander Fox helps nurse you back to health.

Warnings: Safe for work, hurt whump, idiots in love, Reader scared of droids momentarily, needle mention, slightly injured reader, minor blood mention.

Authors note: Sorry for the wait 🩵

“How are you holding up?”

You blink, trying to focus as the voice cuts through the haze in your head. But your vision blurs and swims, the light above stabbing behind your eyes like a viroblade.

“Like someone who’s been hit in the head,” you groan, wincing as you sit up on the medbay cot. The room tilts for a moment and you feel like you may be sick but luckily it settles, and your eyes finally set on the figure perched nearby. Thire.

The mission hadn’t gone as planned. What should have been a straightforward retrieval of intel left you caught in the crossfire. You weren’t a soldier so when the fighting started, you’d been forced to rely on pure luck and very minimal training. Clearly, neither had been enough.

Your memory of the incident was weak as all you could recall was a sharp pain to your head followed by the sight of clankers looming over you before everything went dark.

“You took quite a hit,” Thire says, his voice lighter than the situation warrants as he pulls up a stool to sit beside you.

“I noticed,” you mutter, rubbing gingerly at your temple that felt sticky and as you pull your hand back, a splodge of blood painted your fingertips. A dull ache radiates from where the blow landed, and your entire body feels stiff and battered.

Recovery is going to take a while.

“You know the Commander’s going to want to see you.”

The comment makes you freeze for a beat before you force a painful shrug, hoping to look unaffected. “He’s busy. I doubt he even noticed.”

Thire snickers. “Not too busy for his favourite girl.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting letting him sit down. “Oh don’t start with all that.”

But Thire doesn’t let up, grinning like a loth-cat who’s cornered its prey. “Come on. You’ve seen the way he looks at you. If Fox stares any harder, his visor’s going to fog up.”

“Shut up, Thire,” you grumble, though a reluctant chuckle escapes before you can stop it. The movement makes your ribs ache, and you hiss softly in pain. “And no, I haven’t seen the way he looks at me. It's you lot putting that notion in my head.”

Instantly, Thire’s grin fades, replaced by concern as he notices your pain. “Should I call a med droid?”

“No!” you blurt, a little too quickly. Thire raises a brow, clearly catching on.

“Not a fan of droids, huh?”

You cross your arms, or at least try to; the motion is stiff and awkward. “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need—”

“Who hurt you?”

The sudden voice freezes you mid-sentence. Both you and Thire turn toward the door at the same time, and your heart stops.

Commander Fox. The visor of his helmet glints under the overhead lights as he strides toward you, exuding that no-nonsense authority he’s known for.

Thire shoots you a smug, told-you-so glance before rising to his feet. “This one took a blow to the head, sir. She has a possible concussion.”

Fox’s attention shifts to the datapad in Thire’s hand. “Why wasn’t this reported to me immediately?”

“I figured you had more pressing matters,” Thire replies smoothly, clearly unfazed by the irritation in Fox’s tone.

Fox huffs, the sound sharp and metallic through his helmet’s vocoder. His gaze snaps back to the datapad, scanning the details. “And why hasn’t a med droid been dispatched?”

You groan, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I’m right here, you know. Maybe someone could ask me what I want instead of talking like I’m invisible.”

Both men turn toward you at the same time. Thire’s expression is sheepish, though it doesn’t quite mask the amusement in his eyes. Fox, however, is unreadable as always, his emotions hidden behind the stoic facade of his helmet.

Thire clears his throat, stepping back. “I’ll, uh, leave you with the Commander.” He’s gone before you can protest, disappearing through the door with a suspiciously quick pace.

The silence that follows is thick enough to cut with a vibroblade. Fox stands rigidly near the cot, his arms folded across his chest. You can hear the faint tap of his boot against the durasteel floor as he shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug, regretting it immediately when the movement sends another sharp ache down your spine. “I’ve been better.”

His head tilts slightly, a gesture that might be concern. “You should’ve reported your injuries sooner.”

“You think I wanted to end up in here?” you counter, the bite in your voice softened by exhaustion.

Fox doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his broad frame almost casting a shadow over you. For a moment, you think he might argue. But his next words surprise you.

“You’re lucky,” he says almost quietly. “It could’ve been worse.”

There’s something in his tone—a rare softness that catches you off guard, even if it is for a moment. You both seem to snap out of whatever the hold that ensnared you both and you close your eyes, leaning back with a soft agreement of his words.

Fox pauses for a moment, then steps away. You crack one eye open, expecting him to be halfway out the door, but to your surprise, he returns moments later with a medical droid trailing behind.

You suddenly sit up straighter, tension rippling through you as the AZI droid glides closer, a stim injector held in one of its arms.

“I’m fine. I don’t need a droid to see me,” you declare quickly, glancing between the droid and Fox with what you hope is a convincing look of confidence. But Fox is already standing there, arms crossed, and his helmet tilts slightly in a way that screams ‘you’re not fine’.

“The patient requires an injection to reduce inflammation and prevent complications,” the droid announces, already grating on your nerves.

Your heart skips as the droid raises the injector, the gleam of the stim making your stomach twist. You instinctively lean back, trying to put more space between you and the advancing machine.

“No. I don’t want it,” you snap, panic slipping into your voice despite your best efforts.

Fox’s gaze shifts to you, then to the droid. He holds up a hand, “Stop.”

The droid halts mid-motion. “Commander, the patient requires—”

“I’ll handle it,” Fox says firmly.

Before you can process what’s happening, he steps forward and plucks the stim from the droid’s arm.

“What are you doing?” you ask apprehensively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead inspecting the stim injector with almost practiced ease. “You need this,” he says finally, his tone calm but resolute under the modulator. “If you don’t want the droid to do it, I will.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you as he pulls a stool closer and sits beside the cot. He’s quiet, efficient, and unbothered by your flustered state as he rolls up the sleeve of your tunic. His gloved fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt through you that has nothing to do with the injection.

“This will only take a second,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “Just relax.”

You nod stiffly, your pulse racing as he steadies your arm. The sharp pinch of the needle is over in a heartbeat, but the warmth of his proximity lingers far longer.

“There. All done.”

You exhale, tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended.

But Fox doesn’t get up. Instead, his gaze shifts to your temple, where the bruising from the blow to your head.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

You look at him, eyes wide. “It’s fine—”

“Sit up,” he interrupts, standing and motioning for you to move to the edge of the cot.

Reluctantly, you scoot forward, your legs dangling over the side as he steps closer.

Much closer.

He stands between your knees, his hands are surprisingly gentle as they cradle your face, tilting it slightly so he can get a better look at your wound.

The proximity makes your breath hitch, your heart pounding so loudly you’re begging he can’t hear it. His touch is careful, his thumbs brushing along your jaw as he examines the cut near your temple.

“This should’ve been cleaned properly,” he mutters under his breath “You clones are always too stubborn for your own good.”

“But i’m not a clone,” you mumble, your voice embarrassingly shaky even though his comment amused you.

“No,” he replies, glancing down at you for a moment. “But you’re just as stubborn.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die in your throat when he dips his head slightly, focusing on your injury with laser precision behind his visor. His presence is overwhelming, the sharp, clean scent of his armour mixing with something distinctly him.

“This might sting,” he warns, holding up a sterilising wipe.

You barely register the faint sting as he cleans the wound, too distracted by the way his hands move so deliberately, so gently. His thumbs brush against your skin again, steadying your head as he works, and you find yourself leaning into his touch without meaning to.

“There,” he says after a moment, stepping back just enough to toss the used wipe onto the nearby tray. His hands linger on your jaw for a second longer before he finally lets go. “That should help.”

You glance up at him, your cheeks warm, and manage a small, “Thanks.”

He straightens, his imposing frame still far too close. “You need rest,” he says firmly, though his voice is softer than before. “No arguments.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Got it. Rest. Sure.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the charged silence stretching between you.

For a moment, you don’t think about your actions. Perhaps it was the blow to your head that made you act in a certain way. As he was about to turn and leave, you reach out and grasp his wrist.

He looks back, his helmet adorably titling to the side as you gesture him to come back by pulling his arm. And he does.

“Thank you, Commander. You’ve… you have always been kind to me.”

Then, you lean up and rest your forehead to his, eyes closed. His visor made it a little difficult but you heard his shallow gasp pop through his modulator.

But, he doesn’t move back. He lets it happen and only moves when you finally break away, a soft and nervous smile on your lips.

“Thank you.”

“G-Get some rest.” Then, with a curt nod, Fox finally steps back, his presence still lingering long after he’s gone.

And as you lie back on the cot, staring at the ceiling, you can’t decide what’s more distracting: the ache in your head or the memory of his hands on your skin.

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[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!

[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

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | 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

[wild-karrde]

hi Karrde!!! Congratulations on 800, you deserve every single one and more 🤩 you’re so talented and a bright, bold member of our community. The way you care for your characters, and how amazing your OCs are just blows me away!

If I’ve made it in before 20, can I request a ficlet please?

Fox + “what did you think was going to happen?”

Congratulations again 💙💙

AHHHHH THANK YOU SEV!!! YOU ARE TOO KIND AND I AM JUST GRINNING LIKE A FIEND!! Seriously, thank you SO MUCH for the kind words! I'm glad I can make some positive contributions!

I struggled with this one for a bit, but had a sudden idea that I wound up liking A LOT. I hope you do too!

Pairing: Commander Fox x gn!Reader

Rating: T

Warnings: language, some suggestive themes, Fox telling jokes

Word Count: 1.5k words

Your heart thunders in your ears as you race down the alley, already leaping for the chain link fence that blocks off the end of it, fingers digging into the metal to pull yourself up and over. Heavy footfalls slap the pavement behind you, and you tuck and roll as the duracrete on the other side of the fence breaks your fall. You slam into a trash bin, skinning your knees and bruising your shoulders. You’re already pushing yourself to your feet when you see a switch just to the left of the fence. 

Bingo. 

You scramble over to it, slapping on the power, and you hear the electricity in the links hum to life, making them glow and effectively cutting off your pursuers. A red light comes on at the top of the fence, warning anyone around that it’s electrified now, and that they should only touch the fence at their own peril. You kick a half-eaten fruit that had tumbled from the trash bin at it, and it sizzles satisfyingly when it makes contact with the fence. You grin as the familiar voice of a Coruscant Guard echoes down the alley from the direction you came from.

“STOP!” 

Three Corries skid to a halt on the opposite side of the fence. 

“I think she’s activated it sir,” one of the troopers states. 

He’s new.

“Oh, are you sure, Brick? Was the big fucking red light your first clue?” snarls the commander sarcastically, the telltale wings on his helmet glinting in the glow of the fence. 

You extend your middle finger haughtily as you back away from the fence. “Eat shit, Thorn!” You can’t help but grin to yourself as you round the corner. You hear him swear through his vocoder as you trot out of view. 

The bracelet that you’ve swiped off of one of the senators jingles in your pocket as you pull out the credit pouch you snatched off of her husband and begin tallying your score. You’re so absorbed in counting your credits that you don’t even notice the wall of red and white plastoid standing in front of you until you slam face-first into it. You fall backwards onto your ass, the credits bouncing across the pavement with a light tinkling noise as you stare up into the familiar visor of Commander Fox. His arms are crossed over his chest. 

He sighs, muttering your name under his breath. You grin. 

“Fancy meeting you here, Commander,” you tease. 

“Not as fancy as that jewelry poking out of your pocket,” he growls. 

“Oh this? I just picked this up for my uhhh grandmother. It’s her birthday tomorrow, and you know, she just loves her jewels," you lie, shoving the bracelet back in your pocket. He doesn’t move as he watches you clumsily try to scoop some of the credits back into the pouch.

“Am I to assume that credit pouch is for your grandmother also?”

“Yup. You know. In case she wants to get something else if the bracelet isn’t her style.”

“How nice of you to get it monogrammed for her with Senator Siil’s husband’s initials,” he says flatly. 

You wince as you finally note the flowery Aurebesh branded into the leather. “Grandma’s a uh… big fan of his work. As a senator's husband.” 

Fox leans down and offers you a hand, which you take. Like an idiot. He pulls you up before spinning you and pushing you against the wall, slapping a pair of binders on you. You tug at the restraints behind your back, shooting a glare over your shoulder.

“Oh, come on, Fox!” 

He spins you around. “What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to pat you on the ass and let you wander off to shake more people down?” 

You shrug, tongue poking between your teeth. “I mean, if you want to pat my ass, I wouldn’t be that opposed.” 

You can’t see his eyes, but you can practically hear them rolling in their sockets beneath his bucket. 

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you find it endearing.” 

He scoffs. “Not the word I’d choose.” His hand clamps around your forearm as he starts to guide you out of the winding network of alleys. You walk slowly, dragging your last moments of freedom out. You’ve always enjoyed your chats with Fox on the way back to the station anyway, at least before he books you on a petty crime and sends you to lockup for a week or two. You’re pretty sure he likes your interactions too, as much as he’ll deny it. But he isn’t rough with you, and he's not making any effort to rush your pace. That’s all just you speculating though; his bucket does a good job of hiding what he’s actually thinking, which you suspect is the point.

You walk in silence for a few minutes, and you feel his grip on your arm loosen slightly. He knows you won’t run; you know when you’re caught. 

“So, Thorn’s gotten slower,” you note casually. 

He huffs what you think might be a laugh. Hard to tell with the way the helmet's vocoder alters his voice. 

“I’m serious," you insist. "Maybe tell him to lay off the beer and work more cardio into his routine.” 

“I’ll be sure to pass your feedback along.”

“Was that a joke, Commander?”

“Been trying them out every now and then.” 

You can’t help but snicker at that.

The silence resumes for a few more minutes, but this time, he’s the one to break it. 

“Why do you always come here to pickpocket? You know we’re all over the place with all of the rich assholes walking around. The marks may be high-reward, but you can find plenty of Coruscant’s most wealthy in the lower levels, sleazing it up with less savory types. You'd probably have a better shot at getting away too.” 

“Thanks for the tip,” you snipe. “I’ll be sure to keep it in mind for my future criminal endeavors.” 

His grip on your arm tightens enough to stop you. “I’m serious,” he says, the exasperation in his voice clear. He shakes his head before raising his visor to look at you. “Look, things are starting to get a little more harsh up here. With the level of petty crime increasing as the war goes on and who it's impacting the most, there’s a push to start doling out harsher punishments. You’re going to land yourself more than a week in lock-up if you keep adding to your record. I’m talking years in prison.” 

You wish you could see under his helmet right now. You’re studying his visor carefully, looking for any sign as to what’s led to this concern for your well-being. 

“I like it up here,” you reply. 

“Why?” 

You shrug, trying to hide the heat in your cheeks. “I don’t know. Maybe I hope I’ll get to see more of a certain commander when he arrests me.” 

“Thorn hates you, just so you know.”

“I’m not talking about–”

“I know. That was another joke.” 

You stare at him blankly for a moment before you burst out laughing loudly. You could swear some of the tension leaves Fox’s shoulders as he watches you, his helmet tilting to one side. 

“That’s good. You’re getting good, Fox.” 

He nods, and you think he might be a little proud. His fingers flex nervously at his sides. “You said it was Thorn that lost you?”

“Yeah him and a couple of shinies. Why?”

You can see Fox considering something, something that makes him nervous, something wildly out of character for him. He reaches forward, spinning you to face away from him, and you feel the binders click loose. You bring your hands to your front, rubbing your wrists as you whirl to face the commander of the Coruscant Guard, who’s tucking his binders back on his belt. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you ask, completely gobsmacked. 

He shrugs. “Thorn cheated at sabacc last week and still won’t own up to it. I like the idea of being able to hold this over his head and give him shit about it.” 

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Only if you keep standing here talking to me.” 

You grin, stepping forward and standing on tiptoe so that you can boldly place a kiss on his bucket. You pat the side of it as though it were his cheek. “Thanks, Fox.” 

His hand catches yours as you step away. “If you really want to see more of me,” he says quietly, “just come to the 79s and ask me on a date. Less paperwork and binders involved that way.” 

"But what if I like the binders?"

"I save those for at least the second date," he deadpans.

Heat flushes across your face at his offer. You poke a finger into his chest plate, trying to recover your footing with him. “Fine, but you’re buying.” 

He tosses you the credit pouch, which you clumsily catch. “Nope. The Senator’s husband is. But I’d get rid of that monogrammed pouch.” 

You playfully salute him. “Yes, sir.” 

He nods again before turning on his heel, disappearing into Coruscant’s fading light. 

Thanks for participating in my 800 Follower Celebration!

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[meshla-cyarika]

Sleazy politicians and sloppy make-outs

Pairing: Commander Fox x male!reader

Word count: 1,847

Tags/warnings: 18+ only! Smoking Star Wars weed, smut, handjobs.

Summary: Fox has had more than enough reasons to be pissed this week and coincidentally his mesh'la kyramud is finally back from his latest bounty.

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

Fucking self-righteous politicians.

Fox stomps his way through the Coruscant streets, suddenly wishing he had brought his helmet to filter out the stench of exhaust fumes and who knows what. Even though he knows exactly what would happen to him if he loitered around the lower levels in full armour. Fox rearranges his jacket, which was yours at some point, and keeps his gaze glued to the floor while he marches on.

The Chancellor had arranged a banquet with all his sleazy rich friends, which obviously required the utmost security. They stuffed their faces with delicacies from around the galaxy, until Fox was sure they'd split at their grubby seams. They talked about the state of the galaxy, as if discussing the weather.

"A thousand civilians dead on Lothal from one terrorist bomb. Awful." "Better them than me."

The sound of the laughter made Fox want to clasp a hand around their necks and wait for the gasping giggles to finally cease and to observe the amusement fade from their eyes.

As the evening went on at a snail's pace, they just got drunker and drunker. By that point, they just became even more rowdy than before. The topic of the clones suddenly sprung up in their conversation and Fox prayed to whatever wretched God that's up there for them to not single him, or any of his men stationed in the room, out.

Thankfully, they were all too drunk to tell Fox and his vode apart from droids standing in the background. They had complained and complained and complained for every and any reason they could come up with about the clones fighting across the stars. As their jarring voices spoke "jokes" about leaving clones to rust after the war, Fox held his hands behind his back and dug his nails into his palms so harshly it felt like they ripped through his gloves.

Most clones would think otherwise, but Fox does care about his vode. Cares so much about them that he can't even remember how many brothers he's saved from decomissioning by smuggling them into the gaurd. Even though he has the title of Marshall Commander, Fox is powerless. He may aswell be a shiny. The only thing he can control is how much effort he can put into saving his vode and putting them above everything else. No matter the consequences he'll face.

It took a few days for Fox to calm down after the banquet. For once, paperwork became a welcoming distraction. That is until he became utterly swamped with demands for requisitions that they barely have any money left in their budget for.

"Where are you going?" Thorn had inquired, stood next to the holy grail that is the caf machine.

"Fresh air." Fox ironically said back.

His brothers have most definitely picked up on him leaving the Senate building for a peculiar amount of time, but they have never questioned it. When it comes to Fox, it's better not to question.

Fox runs a hand over his face, staring at the durasteel door infront of him. He punches in the access code and tries to ignore his disheveled appearance in the blurry reflection.

《》《》《》《》

Crash!

You've been watching a pair of squabbling Trandoshans for the past fifteen minutes from your tiny balcony. You let out a small laugh at the sight of one of them smashing his beer bottle on the other's head.

You're hunched over slightly, elbows resting on the metal railing and your right hand occasionally lifts up to bring the burning blunt to your lips.

Your recent quarry was not worth the payment and left you pissed and tired and bruised. You trecked through a swampy wasteland for two days, nearly got eaten by the wildlife and your quarry wasn't as stupid as you hoped. He, she, they, it, whatever it was, managed to land a few good hits.

Atleast when you slammed its decapitated head onto your client's desk, she paid you the agreed price and slid you a box.

"For your troubles." She cryptically said.

You scoffed when you opened it later on your ship and saw a neatly rolled blunt. By the time you slumped into your apartment, shed your armour and provided treatment for your bruises, you put the gift to good use. It's working. You feel numb enough to not feel any pain, but not enough to feel nothing entirely.

You hear the door chime and slide open from further within your apartment and you can't help but grin. Some days you can't help but laugh at the irony of the big bad Marshall Commander Fox falling for a bounty hunter like you. You can just imagine the flustered outrage on all those sleazy politicians' faces if they ever found out.

The glass door screeches open behind you and within seconds a pair of arms slide around your waist and a head of salt and pepper curls leans against your shoulder.

"Evening, officer." A swirl of smoke slips past your lips and you lean back agaisnt his chest, observing the Trandoshans yelling profanities at each other before finally going their separate ways.

Fox releases a heavy huff from behind you, before leaning back slightly as you look over your shoulder. This isn't the worst you've ever seen him, but he still looks rough. He doesn't seem to want you to analyse him for too long, so he presses his slightly chapped lips against your softer ones.

He lazily follows the movement of your lips and that's enough for you to know he's stuck in his own thoughts. You slowly pull away and he blinks his eyes open.

"What's wrong?" You furrow your brows.

Fox let's out another sigh, before saying; "sit with me?"

He lightly drags you over to the singular wooden chair on the balcony and pulls you onto his lap with you back to his chest. You use this moment of silence to take a long drag from your blunt, the embers at the other end glow a vibrant orange when you do so.

"What the hell are you smoking?" You hear the disgust in his voice and can't help but laugh.

"Spice." You reply in a duh tone. "The plant that it's made from is used in medicine, it's supposed to make you feel…floaty."

"Floaty." Fox echoes back, amusement evidence in his voice.

"That's what I said." You recline further into his embrace.

"Does it work?" His hands rest just underneath your undershirt.

"Find out." You raise your hand in offering.

He hesitantly plucks the blunt from your hand and you can imagine him inspecting it as if he's never seen such a thing. You see the glowing embers in the corner of your eyes, before hearing a deep exhale.

"Good?" The blunt is placed back between your fingertips.

"It tastes weird…"

"You don't smoke it for the taste, dingus." You roll your eyes and release a shriek when he pinches your hip.

"What…" his hands ruffle under your shirt, feeling the bacta patches along your torso, "what happened to you?"

"Same old story. Asshole bounty wasn't as stupid as I hoped." You leave it at that. "Besides, you're stalling. What's wrong?" You repeat your question from earlier.

"Nothing worth saying."

"Fox."

"Some of my men and I were tasked with providing security for Palpatine's freinds at a banquet. It was an unwelcome reminder at how society puts all the wrong people in power, let's leave it at that." Fox looks past you as he talks and looks off somewhere in the distance.

"What did they do?" Did they get you, or your men, involved in anything?

"They just talked some banthashit for an hour and a half." Fox replies, distantly. "Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore. I came here to see you, not think about that." He suddenly snaps himself back to the present.

"Aw, you miss me?" You slightly turn in his arms, just enough to face him. "Or do you just miss a good fuck?" You hover your lips just over his.

"The best fuck of my life." He slots his mouth over yours. You reach a hand up to grip his soft curls and the groan you get in return is so delicious. A small surprised sound leaves your lips and Fox wastes no time to deepen the kiss, his hand rests on the slight bulge in your trousers after giving you a squeeze.

Fox's hand slivers up to your buckle and works to unbutton and unzip your trousers. You break away from the kiss that quickly turned sloppy for the requirement of oxygen.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one distracting you?" You lean your head back agaisnt his shoulder.

"You think seeing you moaning and writhing in pleasure while I do whatever I want to you isn't distracting?" His lips skim along your exposed neck. A chocked sound leaves your throat, when he finally clasps a dry hand around you and works it up and down your length.

"Been, hmm, thinking about you all week. Never thought I could think about someone so much." You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale when he twists his wrist around the head of your cock. "Can't even be satisfied when I jerk myself off anymore. You bastard." Fox can't help but laugh agaisnt your neck from where he's been marking his claim on you.

"Im only sorry that I can't be with you all the time, ner mesh'la kyramud. Can't sink my teeth into your jugular, or give you a helping hand when you need it the most." His lips trail from your neck to press agaisnt your ear. "Or fuck you so hard that you won't be able to walk for a week afterwards."

"Fuck, Fox!" You arch your back, feeling your body heat up as red as his armour. Arousal sinks down through your body and makes your cock throb in his hand. Fuck. You're not going to last long.

Fox traces the thick vein running down the under side of your cock and that's all it takes. You cum with a almost obnoxiously loud moan, streaks of cum coat his hand and your shirt. Fox kisses down your neck and over your cheeks as you come down from your high, feeling like jelly in his arms.

"Feeling even more floaty now?" Fox plucks the blunt from your fingertips and takes another drag. You only hum in response, settling further onto his lap and feel the bulge in his trousers.

"Don't get so cocky, Commander, you and I both know how much of a whore you can be aswell." You stand up and turn to face him. Fox tugs you forward with an arm around your waist. He runs the flat of his tongue along your abdomen, cleaning up the mess he made. "F-freak." You voice comes out too shaky for your liking.

"Your freak."

It's safe to say that Fox is willing to make up for lost time tonight and it's safe to say that one of you definitely won't be walking tomorrow.

[dragonrider9905]

What Tooka You So Long?

Happy birthday @imabeautifulbutterfly!!! I hope it is filled with many blessings and much happiness! It’s been so wonderful chatting with you and reading your stories. I’ve been a fan for so long ;D I hope you accept and like this little gift I have for you :) ❤️🤗

Also @clonexreaderbingo this fits for my square “alone”!

Bending over flimsi for long periods of time is not advisable. Fox would know this.

Not just from the bothersome brothers who are medics, like Kix, telling him to stop and take care of himself, but also from experience. Currently, he’s been bent over the same piece of flimsi for three hours alone. How long he’d been sitting there for the entire stack on his desk….he didn’t know. From the tension and ache in his back and shoulders, he had a pretty good idea.

….he hated to think about how long he’d been sitting there for all the paperwork he ever did….

…And how much more would he have to do for the rest of his life?!…..

Suddenly, a tooka jumped him from out of nowhere!

Breaking not only his musings but…

Spilling his precious, delicious, delectable piece of crap, no excuse for good quality, absolute awful caff all over his desk….and flimsi.

Fox’s heart sank. It was due tomorrow…

With a heavy sigh he stood up, bones popping and muscles protesting.

Ah great.

There was a krink in his neck too.

Now his paperwork was all messed up AND he was sore. He quickly cleaned up the mess with some rags he had around the office. He’d forgotten why they were there but he used them anyway. If he didn’t remember, then it wasn’t important.

With another sigh, he looked down at the little, adorable intruder currently purring against him. Secretly, Fox had a soft spot for these incredibly cute, fuzzy creatures, (he didn’t let it out lest he’d never hear the end of it) but not today.

Scooping up the tiny culprit, Fox headed out the door with his third sigh that minute. In one hand, he held the empty mug, in the other, the tiny fur ball increasingly becoming attached to him, not only purring but wrapping its tiny paws contently around his arm and hand.

He didn’t know where the little guy came from…it isn’t like they were allowed in the building or were easily let in. Someone must have smuggled him in.

“Whatcha got there, hey Commander?” Hound teased.

Fox’s unamused scowl would have been enough for most, but not his brothers. “Not caff, that’s what.”

Fox trotted on past the sound of Hound laughing behind him.

He growled and hefted the animal to a more comfortable position in the crook of his arm. He made his way through the halls, to where he didn’t know. He supposed he was just going to let it outside when he heard a woman call out. He saw your face light up at the sight of him holding the kitten and ran towards him.

“Ohhhhh, you found her! Thank you! I’m so sorry if she bothered you or got in your way!”

You took her from his arms, holding her up to look her in the face with an angry pout.

“Naughty girl, Zula. No running off.”

Fox tilted his head. He knew you; you were the psychiatrist for the Coruscant Guard. He liked you because you always treated them all like people and not headcases. It also didn’t hurt that he found you rather pleasing to look at. Which was a secret he kept next to his love for tookas. He’d been wanting to meet you for some time. He never had time to make his appointments with you but that freed up time for his other brothers to go. He didn’t have the guts to go up to you in person so deep down, the curse of this morning was secretly turning out to be a blessing. He liked Zula a lot better now than five minutes ago.

Now he just had to figure out what to say…

You looked up at the clone blinking blankly at you. He hadn’t said a word yet. You knew about the stoic Commander—you’d heard lots of stories about him but never met him in person yet. He refused to show up to his appointments with you. You didn’t know if it was an insecurity of his to talk about his problems or if he had a problem with you specifically. Either way, this was the first time you were ever encountering him.

“I’m so sorry. She helps my patients relax, but she’s not totally trained yet and this is the second time she’s snuck out. It only takes her one second.” You sighed. “Let me please get you something for your troubles…”

You noticed the empty caff mug, realizing what probably happened. “Oh no, let me get you a refill…I hope she didn’t ruin anything.”

“No problem ma’am. There is no need. Glad to be of assistance.”

Fox tilted his head but kept his stoic face plastered in stone.

“I can get you a refill real quick! I have my own machine…”

“It is alright. I, uh, don’t need any more for today. Don’t let her get away again though. But if she does, let me know and I’ll track her down for you.”

He inwardly cringed at how demanding he sounded, the slight growl he worked to perfection coming forward. Instead of being taken aback, you smiled, charmed.

“Sure thing, Commander. Thank you. And thank you for your offer. It was great to finally meet you. I hope I’ll be seeing you around?”

“Definitely, ma’am.” Fox titled his head respectfully again. “Have a good day.”

With that, Fox headed back to his office.

“You too, Commander! If you change your mind about the caff, I have a whole bunch, more than what is good for me so feel free to stop in!” You called after him cheerily.

Fox half turned to grace you with a small smile before turning away so you wouldn’t see him turning as red as his armor. There was no way you meant that to be friendly…probably one of your mind tricks to get him to show up for an appointment…but would that really be so bad? Fox ran over the encounter in his head again. It was so brief but his head was whirling.

If she does, let me know and I’ll track her down for you?! Really, Fox? Couldn’t think of anything better? That was real smooth…not.

He scolded himself. He knew you worked in separate worlds, but he hoped your paths would cross again, not in a professional setting that is. He found himself elated in the fact his grumpy exterior didn’t scare you away. A small smile tugged at his lips.

Kriff, why leave it to fate? Why not just set it up himself? He could do that. He was Commander for goodness sakes! And by setting it up himself, he didn’t mean to become your patient. There were other ways.

Double kriff! He didn’t ask you for your comm number!

Ugh, today was not his day.

But the tooka did wander into his room before…perhaps it would again?

Fox left the door open, hoping the mischievous tooka would find its way back to him.

— — —

Quinlan Vos’s debriefings had got to be one of the most interesting ways to debrief a debriefing. Fox rubbed his temples and headed back to his office. He liked the jedi. He was efficient and got the job done…but sometimes he was just…so….much. Goodness gracious he was glad to have him on his side but serving with him on the next mission would be…interesting. If the last mission was anything to go by, the next pile of flimsi was going to be six inches high again.

Fox might as well say goodbye to sleep for the next week right now.

He quickly shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

Fox took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. Shutting his eyes, he leaned his head back. He never allowed himself many breaks, but this would be an exception. He needed a moment.

Rubbing his eyes, a pleasant smell wafted into his space. One that he knew well. Man, Fox must be tired because he swore the scent of caf invaded his nostrils. He never refilled his caf, and if he did, it would be cold by now…no, this was warm and steaming and waaaay more rich than the swill he was used to.

Slowly, as if in a dream, he walked toward his desk, and sure enough in the center was a steaming mug of his favorite beverage. The container was unfamiliar to him so he stared at it blankly for two whole minutes wondering who left their caf on his desk. What they wanted and why they didn’t wait for him to come back or perhaps how they got in in the first place. His office was secured…

Then he noticed the little scribbled note beside it.

It was for him!

Enjoy on me! I know you said it wasn’t necessary but I wanted to do something for you. Sorry about the spill. Hope you like it! Thanks for being a hero. Zula is such a troublemaker; she needs rescuing every once and a while and I’m grateful to know that when she goes missing, I can rely on you.

The writing was yours. Of course he’d know your script anywhere—you wouldn’t have needed to sign it but he loved that you did.

Perhaps today wasn’t a total failure then. Unbeknownst to him, a small smile crept up the corners of his lips and stayed there for the rest of his shift.

— — —

A few days later, little Zula did indeed find her way back to Fox’s office. The tooka’s visits became sporadic and he worried the troublemaker would find a new favorite place. So, he started leaving little treats to lure the creature back to his office consistently just so he could return her to you. His plan worked rather well. Every day at noon, Zula would slip out of your office and find him. It was perfect because you both had lunch at noon, and not only would you not be interrupted but Fox could spare a full fifteen minutes to talk to you if he wanted. You would offer him caff most of the time, and it was heavenly. He tried not to accept it all the time so he wasn’t taking advantage of your generosity (let’s not discuss the flow chart he kept in his office of the days he accepted and didn’t just to be sure). You always smiled brightly handing him the cup, and Fox never ceased at the joy you received from giving.

He just wondered how long it would be until you’d tire of it…

— — —

Of course, you were well aware that was what he was doing. At first it was a pleasant surprise, but when you noticed a pattern of not only Fox showing up every day with your pet, but that she was leaving at the same time everyday….mouth slightly wet with saliva or covered with crumbs…..you knew. And you weren’t complaining.

You just played along with it for as long as you could. You figured you could only play dumb so long. Then again, he probably knew you were playing. Man was an investigator! Why he continued the little charade, you didn’t know. But you were fond of your guess and didn’t want to let it go. As long as there was no definitive answer, you could dream away.

You knew it wasn’t advisable; games of the heart weren’t safe to play.

But here you were. Looking forward to every visit he paid you and hoping it wouldn’t be the last. You actually got him to laugh last time. Actually laugh! You’d gotten him to chuckle on a regular basis, which you delighted in, but something rang different seeing the stoic man break down, holding his gut while tears fell from his eyes as his voice echoed in joyous waves. To be honest, you can’t even remember what you said, but you’d never forget that moment.

You stirred your caf dreamily, eyes far off and smile bright. You didn’t even notice Fox approach you.

“Hello? Tooka got your tongue?”

You looked up sharply to find Fox in front of you yet again, holding your ‘runaway’ pet. You smiled.

“Oh no, I was just thinking. Hello Commander Fox.”

Fox was glad he was wearing his helmet. The only other thing that made him blush more than his full title was when you just said his name. It felt so personal…he felt seen.

Here comes that unfamiliar feeling again. The only one he got when he was around you.

“What brings you here today? Other than the naughty girl,” you side eyed the playful creature purring against the red armor happily, “did you have any more crazy missions to report? One of the other legions playing pranks against the Guard today?” you chuckled.

“No…not today,” Fox chuckled back shyly, “there was actually something else,” he coughed, “something else I wanted to tell you…ask you!” he quickly corrected.

Grinning to the side stupidly, you encouraged him on, “Alright, go ahead.”

He let out a breath and swung his arms. “Okay.”

Seeing Fox so nervous was just too cute. You tried not to laugh and mess him up but your giddiness inside was trying desperately to make its way past your smile.

“OOOOkkkaaayy. Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeated, biting your lip. “Right.”

“No,” he looked down with a breathy laugh, “not that…”

“Then what is it?”

“I just…really need to tell you. I like you. A lot. Would you consider going out with me?”

You chuckled. “You have no idea how long I’ve ‘considered’ it. Yes!!!! What took you so long to ask?”

Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in Fox’s chest. He didn’t know quite what it was, but that was one investigation he was looking forward to. Deep inside, something broke.

It wasn’t something he needed anyway.

It was only the feeling he was meant to be alone.

Replaced with a feeling of belonging and love.