#the savory fox

[foxghost]

roommate: what did you just put in your oatmeal

me: lao gan ma

[rwac96]

Who is crazier Naruto? Anko or Neo?

Anko: *scowling* "Crazy?! Who the fuck are you calling crazy!?"

Neo: *glares, pulling out her umbrella and unsheathes her blade*

Naruto: *gulps, sweats* "Um, it's best that I don't answer."

[foxboyclit]

earl grey, chai and matcha for iphis please!

Iphis' tastes time lets goooo

Earl Grey: Does your OC like to read? What is their taste in books?

oh he loves reading, i think he filled up like 85% of House Nydalla's library. he mostly reads books on arcane theory and political strategy, so basically How To Make Friends And Then Betray Them (And Then Cast Fireball), and as for fiction, mostly erotica that he swears is better written than that garbage Minisstra reads, gods, you know we're not stuck reading contrived romance novels, right? good porn exists, Dahlia

Chai: What is your OC’s comfort food/drink?

anything Minisstra feeds him :p semi-serious answer: i think his comfort drink is jasmine tea, and for food i picture it being hearty, yet elevated, i think like pasta or stew is too "rustic" for him. i can see it being some kind of meat (probably rothe) with a wine sauce, roast veggies and sporebread on the side. if he had access to butter, i think he'd like that on his bread.

Matcha: What is your OC’s preferred little treat?

its his tea parties with Minnie :3 green or white tea, little tower of pastries, sitting in their little garden/courtyard talking shit about other Houses

brewing up oc asks-tea edition

[am-i-interrupting]

Au dad Silco I need 🙏

Like he’s already like a dad to Powder but from that he gets a small desire to have kids of his own and he does ?? 🤞❤️

Thoughts of Tomorrow

Silco had been parenting Powder for years now. He’d fallen into a wonderful pattern of love and trust with the child (well, young woman now). He never once thought he would be able to take the role so gracefully.

He attributed that grace to you.

Sure, he could be sly as a fox and slippery as a snake but he was not graceful like a dove. That was all you.

Powder was grown up now. She was eighteen. She had a boyfriend. She was starting her career. She was flourishing.

The house felt quiet. Almost too quiet. It felt empty without her constant presence.

Perhaps that’s what spurred this thought. It hit him suddenly as he was cleaning dishes.

He wanted a kid.

Well, another kid.

He attempted to shake the thought. He had Powder, even if she was grown now. He was in his late forties. That was too late in life to have another kid.

The thought didn’t leave him regardless.

One of his arms was wrapped around your torso. His hand was nestled at the bottom of your stomach. His thumb kept doing circles.

What would you look like pregnant? Would your stomach swell or stay flat? Would you hobble like he’d seen done with Felicia?

What would you crave? Would it be sweet, savory, sour? Would you crunch on ice? Would you abstain from certain foods that you loved before?

Would the baby look like you, like him, a perfect combination of both? Your hair, his eyes, your lips, his nose, your height, his physique.

“I can feel your brain thinking,” you said, voice slurred with exhaustion.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, my love,” he said.

“Uh-huh, then why you thinking so hard?”

He let out a huff of breath against your neck. He nuzzled closer. A kiss was placed against your shoulder. He pulled you against him.

“It’s been quiet,” he stated.

“Mh-hmm.”

“And these past couple weeks a thoughts been nagging my brain,” he admitted. “What if we had a kid?”

He felt you tense. For a moment he did the same. A silent fear that he’d crossed a line he shouldn’t have. He recalled having this talk many years ago but that was before you’d officially adopted Powder as you’d own. Things were different. Perhaps things had changed for you.

“That’s a big thought,” you said as you relaxed against him. You suddenly sounded much more awake. “How long have you been having it?”

He went to answer it’d just been since she left but then he thought back.

When she was eleven, just after her sister had been buried, he found her asleep in your arms. When she was twelve, she ran to him excited and giddy. When she was thirteen, she raided your makeup and smeared it on. When she was fourteen, she helped the two of you cook for the holidays; stealing chocolate as she did. When she was fifteen, she called him dad. When she was sixteen, she got in trouble for blowing up two different labs in the span of a week. When she was seventeen he helped her get ready for the Innovator’s Competition. Now, she was eighteen and the idea wouldn’t leave his head.

“Years,” he admitted softly.

You rolled over to face him. You placed your hand on the side of his face. Your finger skirted just below where his scar ended, all to aware that the skin was ultra sensitive.

“Let’s talk about this more in the morning,” you suggested.

“Of course.”

He savored the press of your lips to his. When you pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours. He closed his eyes and focused on your warmth.

The promise of tomorrow fluttered in his head like a moth to light.

[dee-writes-anime]

Too Much? Just Enough

FEATURING Toge Inumaki x Reader

SUMMARY You never considered that you might be too loud for your quiet, warm-hearted boyfriend... maybe you were selfish not to.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, insecurities, inumaki being the sweetest, maki being maki (sigh)

AUTHORS NOTE finally got a day off from schoolwork to do some writing! Here is Inumaki's justice as promised! Enjoy! <3

The festival grounds were alive with color and sound, the air thick with the smell of sizzling food and sweet treats. Lanterns swung gently in the evening breeze, casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd as they meandered through stalls of games, souvenirs, and food. The laughter of children mixed with the shouts of vendors calling out their wares, while the steady hum of excited conversations filled the background.

You had been buzzing with energy the moment you arrived, eyes wide as you darted from one stall to the next, dragging Toge with you, your fingers intertwined with his. There was something about festivals that just lit you up from the inside out—the music, the lights, the sense of celebration—it was like fuel for your soul. You’d barely stopped talking since you got there, your voice a cheerful lilt that seemed to match the lively atmosphere around you.

“Toge! Look at this!” you called, pointing to a stall selling a dizzying array of masks. Kitsune, tengu, and oni masks hung from wooden beams, their vibrant colors catching the light. “We should get matching ones!” you grinned, already picturing how adorable Toge would look in one.

Toge turned to look, his violet eyes sparkling under the glow of the lanterns. His lips quirked up in a small smile as he gave a soft nod, the affectionate look in his eyes sending warmth through you. He didn’t have to speak for you to know he found your excitement endearing.

“Fish flakes,” he said quietly, agreeing with a subtle nod.

Without hesitating, you picked out a kitsune mask for yourself and handed Toge a matching one, the white face of the fox sharp and mischievous. Toge slipped it over his head, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you both admired each other. He gave you a small, amused hum, clearly pleased by your reaction.

Yuta and Maki caught up with you two at the mask stall, Yuta laughing softly at your energy while Maki gave a small shake of her head, though the smirk tugging at her lips showed she wasn’t completely disapproving.

“Wow, you’re like a kid in a candy store,” Maki teased, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against one of the beams. “What’s next? Gonna drag us to every food stall here?”

“I might!” you shot back, grinning widely. “It’s a festival, Maki, you gotta go all in!” You tugged at Toge’s hand. “Besides, Toge’s totally down for it. Right?”

Toge’s lips curved upward again as he nodded, clearly amused by how much fun you were having. He squeezed your hand gently, his way of encouraging your endless energy. You knew you could be a lot, but Toge never seemed to mind, always steady and supportive, grounding you even when you were a whirlwind of enthusiasm.

Panda joined your group next, a huge smile on his face as he approached with a paper bag full of festival snacks. “Hey, did you guys see the yakitori stand? I got some for everyone!” He pulled out a few skewers, handing them out. “Except Toge, of course,” he added with a playful wink.

Toge waved it off, his eyes warm as he accepted the gesture regardless. You, on the other hand, eagerly accepted the skewer, practically bouncing on your feet.

“This looks amazing, Panda! You always know where the best food is!” you said, taking a big bite. The savory, smoky flavor hit your taste buds, and you groaned in delight. “This is so good!”

Panda laughed, nudging Yuta with his elbow. “See, someone appreciates good food.” Yuta chuckled in response, though his focus seemed more on keeping track of everyone in the bustling crowd than the food itself.

As you continued walking, the festival’s cheerful chaos buzzed around you like a soft hum in the background. Every so often, you’d stop to point out something new—a game stall, a street performer, another food stand you just had to try—and Toge followed you without complaint, his fingers never once leaving yours. Every now and then, you’d feel his thumb gently rub against the back of your hand, his silent way of grounding you in his quiet affection.

The two of you had always balanced each other that way. You were the loud, excitable one, the one who wore your emotions on your sleeve, while Toge was your quiet, calm counterpart. He never had to say much; his presence alone was enough to make you feel secure, supported, and understood. He let you be yourself—wild, energetic, loud—and never once made you feel like you had to hold back.

It was this easy, natural rhythm between you that made being with Toge feel like second nature. You could bounce from one thing to the next without worrying about exhausting him or overwhelming him. His patience was unwavering, his affection always subtle but present in the small gestures—the way he watched you with soft eyes, the way he adjusted his pace to match yours, the way he squeezed your hand every time you rambled on excitedly about something new.

And right now, your focus was on a nearby game stall. “Look, Toge! It’s one of those water gun games! You know, the kind where you have to shoot the target and fill up the balloon? We have to try it!”

Toge glanced at the stall, then back at you, his lips pulling into a half-smile. You could tell he found your excitement infectious, even if he didn’t express it the same way you did. He nodded, and with a little tug, you pulled him toward the stall, waving at Maki, Yuta, and Panda to join you.

As you grabbed the toy gun, determined to win, Maki strolled over with a smirk. “You’re really not gonna get tired of this, are you?”

You grinned at her, determined. “Nope! Toge’s got my back, right?” You shot Toge a teasing glance, and he gave a small hum of agreement, his eyes watching you with that familiar warmth.

That’s when Maki made the offhand comment. “I’m just surprised Toge doesn’t get tired of you. I mean, you’ve been going non-stop since we got here.”

Her comment was casual, even light-hearted, but something about it lodged itself into your chest, a small ache blooming out of nowhere. You laughed, the sound coming out more awkward than you intended. "No, Toge’s fine," you said, glancing up at him with a smile that felt a little too forced. "He doesn’t mind, right?"

Toge’s eyes flicked toward Maki for a second before turning back to you, and he shook his head softly, dismissing the comment entirely. “Bonito flakes,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. But even as he squeezed your hand to show he was fine, something in Maki’s words dug into your chest, planting a small seed of doubt.

Have you been too much? You were always like this—loud, full of energy, constantly dragging Toge along with you. But now that Maki had pointed it out, it was hard not to think about it. Maybe you were overwhelming him, and he was just too polite to say anything. He was quiet by nature, after all, and here you were, chattering away, pulling him from stall to stall without a second thought.

You tried to shake it off, but the thoughts lingered as the night went on. Every time you raised your voice, every time you pulled Toge along to the next thing, the doubt crept in a little more. Were you exhausting him? Were you being selfish, assuming he was fine with all of this? You couldn’t tell anymore.

As the festival wound down, the bright lights and energetic atmosphere slowly fading into the quiet of the night, the change in your mood hadn’t gone unnoticed. Where there had once been boundless excitement, your energy had dulled to a faint flicker. It wasn’t like you to walk in silence, not with Toge’s hand still held in yours, not with the buzz of festival joy still lingering around everyone.

You kept replaying Maki’s words in your head, wondering if maybe she’d noticed something you hadn’t. Maybe Toge really did get tired of you—maybe you were just too much, too loud, too energetic. The thoughts wrapped around you like a heavy blanket, making it hard to laugh or smile like you had been earlier.

The silence became so unusual that even Yuta, ever so kind and careful, furrowed his brow as he walked alongside Panda and Maki. He glanced between you and Toge, noticing your unusually quiet demeanor.

"Hey, are you okay?" Yuta asked, his voice soft with concern. "You’ve been a little quiet for a while now."

Panda, always the more boisterous of the group, chimed in with a good-natured grin. "Yeah, you were about to eat all the festival food earlier, and now you’re barely saying a word. You good?"

You forced a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "I’m fine," you said quickly, though your voice lacked its usual vibrancy. "Just... tired, I guess."

Yuta gave you a curious look, but he didn’t press further. Panda, too, noticed the shift, his usual lightheartedness momentarily subdued. Even Maki, though she didn’t say anything, shot you a glance as if wondering if her earlier comment had something to do with your sudden change in mood.

Toge, however, had been watching you the whole time. He hadn’t let go of your hand, and every few minutes, he squeezed it, as if reminding you that he was still there, that he was still by your side. His violet eyes flicked to you again now, a gentle worry in his gaze that only you could read.

“Salmon?” he asked softly, his tone inviting, asking if everything was really okay. But you just gave him a small, reassuring nod, despite the growing heaviness in your chest.

"I’m fine," you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper this time. "Really."

Toge wasn’t convinced. The quiet between you two had never felt so heavy before, so unnatural, and he knew something was bothering you. But he didn’t push you in front of the others, content to wait until the two of you could have some privacy.

The group lingered a little longer before eventually making their way back to the dorms, the lanterns of the festival becoming faint dots of light in the distance. Everyone was laughing, chatting about the fun they'd had, but you remained quiet, your mind lost in its spiral of self-doubt. It wasn’t like you to hold back like this, but you couldn’t shake the worry that maybe you had overstepped, that maybe you’d drained Toge with your constant chatter and boundless energy.

When the group finally reached the dorms, Yuta waved everyone off, smiling softly. “Goodnight, guys! It was fun.” Maki gave a brief nod of farewell, Panda let out a big yawn, and you mumbled something in response, your mind elsewhere.

Toge didn’t miss a beat. Without a word, he tugged your hand gently, guiding you toward his dorm. His fingers were still laced with yours, his touch grounding, comforting, but also insistent in that quiet way of his. He wasn’t going to let this slide—not tonight.

As you followed him through the hallways, the familiar comfort of the dorms all around, your heart started to beat a little faster. You could tell from the way Toge moved—quiet but purposeful—that he wanted to talk. And the thought of sharing what had been bothering you, the insecurity you’d been trying to shove down all night, made you nervous.

Once you were inside his dorm room, the door clicked softly shut behind you. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamp on his desk casting a gentle warmth over the space. Toge turned to you, his gaze soft yet determined, and led you over to sit on the edge of his bed.

He sat beside you, his hand never leaving yours, and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say, I’m listening.

“Mustard leaf,” he said softly, his voice a gentle prompt. Talk to me.

You stared at your intertwined hands, your heart racing as you tried to figure out where to start. The words were stuck in your throat, tangled up with the doubt and insecurity that had been eating at you all night. You didn’t want to burden him with this—you didn’t want to be that person, the one who constantly needed reassurance.

But Toge was patient. He gave your hand another small squeeze, his thumb brushing gently across your skin, a silent encouragement. He was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath. “I... I just... I’ve been thinking about something Maki said earlier,” you began, your voice quiet, hesitant. “About me being... a lot. Too much, maybe. And I started thinking, what if she’s right? What if I’m just... exhausting you?”

The words came out all at once, tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, the insecurity you’d been trying to hide now laid bare. “I mean, I know I can be loud and excitable, and you’re so quiet, so calm. I just started thinking... maybe I’m overwhelming you. Maybe I’m too much for you, and you just haven’t said anything because you’re too nice.”

Toge’s eyes widened slightly, his grip on your hand tightening as he shook his head, his expression full of quiet urgency. “Salmon,” he said, his tone firm but tender. No. You’re wrong.

You looked up at him, your eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. “I know you’d never say anything to hurt me, but... if I really am too much, I want to know. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to put up with me.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you, the air thick with emotion. And then, Toge reached up, his free hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was warm, steady, and when you met his eyes, you saw nothing but sincerity and affection there.

“Tuna mayo,” he murmured, shaking his head again as he brought his forehead to rest against yours. You’re perfect the way you are.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and for the first time that night, the weight on your chest seemed to lighten just a little. But the doubt still lingered, clinging to the edges of your heart. “But... how do you not get tired of me?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m always dragging you around, talking so much, being loud... I feel like I’m the opposite of you.”

Toge pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours as he gently brushed his thumb against your cheek. He shook his head again, his expression soft but insistent. He brought a hand to his heart, then pointed to you—You’re what makes me happy. You’re the one I want to be with.

You blinked, the tears finally spilling over as the weight of his words sank in. He wasn’t just tolerating you. He wanted you, all of you—the loud, excitable, chatty parts of you that you’d been worried were too much. They weren’t too much for him. They never had been.

“Kelp,” he whispered again, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. I love you the way you are.

You let out a small, shaky laugh as you wiped your tears, a wave of relief washing over you. “You really don’t mind?” you asked, your voice still thick with emotion.

Toge smiled softly, shaking his head once more. “Salmon,” he murmured, his thumb still brushing gently against your cheek. Not at all.

And for the first time since Maki’s comment, the doubt that had been weighing you down finally began to melt away. Toge didn’t just accept you—he cherished you, loudness and all.

With a soft sniffle, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he held you close, his chin resting atop your head. “I love you, too,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

Toge’s hand gently rubbed your back, soothing and comforting as he pressed another kiss to the top of your head. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the quiet strength of his presence wrapping around you like a protective shield.

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the dorm and the steady beat of Toge’s heart beneath your ear. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was warm, peaceful—filled with the unspoken promise that, no matter how loud or excitable you were, Toge would always be there, holding you close, loving you just the way you were.

And as you snuggled into him, feeling the gentle rhythm of his breathing against you, you felt something return—a spark of that boundless energy, that loud, excitable girl that Toge loved so much. Because with him, you didn’t have to be anyone else but yourself.

[lipglossanon]

The Old Ways

Leon S. Kennedy x Priestess fem!reader

A little more savory tier commission from the lovely @porcelainseashore 💜 thank you for your patience 😭

Word Count: 2318 🫣

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, alternate universe, paganistic practices, animal sacrifice, slight gore, blood, blood sacrifice, bloodletting, predator/prey, sex magick, biting, marking, scratching, rough sex, voyeurism, kissing, unprotected sex, creampie

proofread

Mother Moon wanes in the sky, like the sly grin of a fox. Turning your gaze from her cool light, you continue with your toiling. You gather herbs along with the other village women, whispering chants over the brambles and plants. Tomorrow you welcome the birth of a new moon and winter—and with those, the ceremony of oblation. 

The wights of the land clamor for your attention, whispering in your ear of the hunger for blood to be shed. As the priestess, you’ve led many rites to the elder gods. Every full moon a calf is sacrificed at the altar in the center of the village, followed by dancing and merriment. A wooden goblet is filled with its blood and poured upon your nude body, anointing you with its life so you can pass it on to the village. 

The women and men are gifted with innate power, dark arts to help keep your community prosperous and safe. These sacred practices have been passed down through the ages, the covenant with the Dark Ones holding fast and true with every new generation. It now falls upon you as the newest priestess to keep up these traditions.

The air is sharp and cold, furs keeping the soft animal of your body warm. Your fingers curl like the gnarled hands of the older women beside you, a fate you hope to see in your future. A few of them catch your eye and nod, solemn gazes and voices when otherwise there would be singing and joy.

Your gaze alights upon a party of the men returning from their traps, various animals thrown over their shoulders or writhing in sacks gripped in their fists. A few of them spot you and nod in respect. As you watch them walk back to the village, you muse that one of these men will partake in the ritual with you tonight. Many of them are a stranger to your eyes, but if it is the will of the ancient ones, then it shall come to pass.

Once enough has been gathered, each of the women rise and follow along the winding path back to the village temple. Fires burn bright and hot in the night, dancing shadows cast upon the men while they skin and flay the carcass of beasts in preparation for tomorrow night.

Entering into the temple last, the other women have formed a circle around the altar. The red-stained surface feels cool under your fingers when you press your own herbs down onto it. Words spill from your lips like wine, an ancient chant of embracing the dark for its sinister gifts. Other voices join, swelling to fill the chamber with their ambiance. 

Hands raise in supplication, feet stamp against the cold, earthen floor, and you slice open your palm to rub blood across the runes etched into the stone altar. Once filled, you turn, chanting softly, to paint symbols across each of the women’s faces. They bow their heads and sink to their knees once they’ve been anointed. Before reaching the final woman, a wisp of a boy—straddling the line of manhood—enters the doorway with a plump hare in hand. 

He waits until you beckon him forward with blood-coated fingers. Placing the warm animal in your arms, he leaves the temple. The chanting of the women ebbs and flows like the wind in a storm, the sound bolstering and soothing. An elderly woman steps forward and holds the hare against the altar’s face. Pulling out the same blade you used to slice your hand, you wait until the old woman snaps its neck, then you plunge your blade deep in its soft belly. 

Lifeblood runs hot and thick across the stone. Each of the village women comes forward to gather the blood, bathing their arms and necks with the dark liquid. You skin the chosen creature, gutting it quickly before the innards grow too cold for use and drop the heart and lungs in a separate wooden bowl. Finished, you pick up the bowl and walk outside to the center of the village. You toss them into the fire with a smattering of herbs gathered earlier. 

You shout out an incantation, tossing more herbs and branches into the fire. Voice growing quiet, you bow to the flame, ending the ritual. Everything is now in place for tomorrow’s oblation. A few of the women help you to your home, exhausted as you are from the fervor of performing your duties.

The next morning dawns brightly. You rise along with the burgeoning rays. Dressing for the cold, you join the congregation of people at the temple. The scant time of daylight is spent readying the skins and headpieces for the ceremony. Masks and furs are to be given to those joining, a trickery of confusion to one chosen to Hunt for the priestess. The times when the Hunter has become confused and chosen poorly, the dark gods were unkind, and many perished.

The village elders now choose more carefully lest it happen again. For as long as you’ve been alive, every chase has ended with the priestess caught, ensuring the village is secure until the next ceremony of oblation. The sun begins to set, signifying an end to preparations. 

Everyone begins to gather outside the temple. The elders talk amongst themselves, narrowing down who shall become the Hunter—who shall be the one to find you amidst the trickery in the dark of the forest—the one who shall perform the ceremony and satisfy the lust of the ancient ones.

“Leon, come forth.”

A young man with blonde hair and blue eyes is brought forward. His strong arms, offset by scars, signify battles won, someone who must be from the war party. You’ve seen him before, but with his task of being a fighter, he is rarely in the village. This ceremony, however, requires everyone to partake. All of the war parties and hunting parties made the trek back home in time. 

A loud cheer goes up when the man accepts the crown of raven’s wings, letting one of the elders anoint his brow with blood before placing it atop his head. He shrugs on the sacred skin of the bear, cutting a formidable figure against the dying sun. You hope he is up to the task. His serious blue eyes seek you out amidst the villagers, nodding in deference once he locks eyes with you.

You join the elders and enter the temple. They strip you of your warmth and paint your body with runes and symbols of the dark gods you worship. Herbs are crushed into a paste and smeared across your belly and breasts. Chants and incantations are murmured while they ready you for the ritual. Dressing you in the coat of a freshly skinned stag, they adorn your brow with a headdress of antlers.

Guiding you from the temple, you join the group of men and women joining the chase, each dressed in skins and masks. Now that you’re ready, they’re off, running into the dark of the forest with you trailing behind. The elders will release the Hunter once they’ve completed the blessings for him. It’s not long before villagers begin to split off. 

The chase warms the blood. It’s why this part of the ceremony has lasted the test of time. Warm blood is the preferred offering of your dark gods. The antlers snag on a low branch and keep you in place. You can hear the others running, footfalls muted on the soft, damp earth. It gives them time to distract and escape from the clutches of the Hunter. 

The heavy coat of the stag drips against your skin, sticky blood running down your naked body. You finally snap the branch that’s keeping you from moving, feet picking up speed until you’re running through the winding trunks. The silver birches gleam like ghosts in the murky night. You catch fleeting glimpses of other animals—deer, rabbits, a fox or two. Your eyes have yet to see the Hunter, clad in the finest bearskin with a crown of raven’s wings atop his brow.

No matter how cold the night is, the heat of the chase keeps the chill at bay. You’re close to where the ritual needs to take place. This Hunter is smart, corralling you close enough that he can catch you more easily. The elders chose wisely this time. The tree comes into view. A horrible wretch of a thing. Legend tells the screaming face embedded in its onyx-colored bark is the combined souls of those who would do the village harm. Another reason why the covenant with the dark gods is so necessary. Its thorny branches are sharp enough to slice into flesh. 

A thick arm bands around your waist, stopping your momentum and sending you stumbling back against a warm, fur-covered chest.

“I’ve caught you, priestess.”

You can see the smoke of Leon’s breath passing by the side of your face. A low humming chant begins deep in the forest, the elders leading the procession of villagers to the site of the ceremony. He manhandles you until he’s pressing your back against the rough bark of the dead, wizened tree. The antlers are tossed from your head onto the ground along with his own crown before he takes your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. 

The men and women begin to form a semicircle around the tree, witness to the ritual about to take place. They’re only a minor distraction before Leon rips the stag coat from your body, dropping it at your feet. Skin scraping against the bark makes you hiss in pain, small cuts forming along your back and arms. He kisses you again, parting his own animal skin to bare his naked body. 

You pull away and sink your teeth into his shoulder, biting hard enough the tang of blood fills your mouth. He grunts, cock thickening against your leg. Shoving you more firmly against the dead tree, he slots his leg between your thighs, pressing the damp lips of your cunt against the warm skin. Hissing, you rock down against him, pleasure zipping through your body. 

The ritual is meant to be bloody and rough, an offering to the dark gods that bay and howl for life. Leon moves to kiss you again at the same time you dip forward to bite his other shoulder. His chin knocks against your cheek, making you shift, arm catching on a thorn-covered branch and slicing open your flesh. Pulling you into his chest, he braces his forearm against your side, the branch cutting into his flesh and preventing it from sinking into yours.

You admire his care; the ancient ones have no preferences whose blood is shed as long as it is human and it is fresh. He kisses across your jaw before sinking his own teeth into your neck at the same time he lifts your leg to wrap around his waist. Your eyes catch sight of the villagers, standing solemnly, watching as Leon and you perform the rite. He brings your attention back when he ruts his cock against the seam of your cunt. Notching the head of his dick at your hole, he bullies his way completely inside, stuffing and stretching your pussy so suddenly you can’t breathe. 

He groans like a wounded dog, pulling halfway out before sinking back into your pliant flesh. Your nails scratch and claw at his back, shredding the skin underneath. He retaliates by biting and snarling, teeth maiming your neck and shoulders until it’s a bloody mess. All thoughts of higher thinking are lost to the frenzy. Leon mates you like some rabid animal. You're biting and clawing at each other—blood spilling from your bodies to coat the imposing tree at your back.

At some point, Leon pulls out to spin you around, pressing your stomach and chest against the rough bark. Keening like a bitch in heat, Leon pounds your cunt with hard, powerful thrusts. More cuts open against the soft meat of your belly and breasts, palms scraping against the tree while Leon fucks your pussy into submission. His palm cups above your mound, angling your body back in a way that makes you clamp down around his cock. 

Groaning, he keeps up the fast pace—his dick plunging in and out of your wet, dripping hole, the tip grazing something so delicious it’s making your brain light up in ways you’ve never experienced. You can’t stop the noises escaping you, like a stuck pig braying for help. Leon rams into you, cock thick and heavy, stretching you out. A pleasure unlike anything you’ve experienced is overcoming your senses. Your fingers curl into claws, mouth open in a silent scream as something in your brain snaps. 

Everything goes silent except the pleasure engulfing your entire being. Time is infinite in this space. Tears streak down your cheeks, eyes open yet unseeing even as Leon buries his cock to the hilt to fill you with his sticky spend. You come to yourself when a heavy fur is draped around your exhausted body. 

“Priestess, the ceremony of oblation is complete.”

Turning, you look into a pair of blue eyes. 

“Thank you,” you rasp, voice scratchy. 

He shifts on his feet, nude body covered with his own animal skin. The various men and women are walking back to the village, preparing the feast that is to follow the ritual. Leon stands next to you, a warm and quiet presence while you gain your bearings once more.

You walk in silence, side by side, through the forest. It’s a companionable feeling, a sense of peace that pervades you. The man beside you coughs lightly. 

“Priestess,” he pauses for a breath. “May I dance with you at the fire tonight?”

Heat suffuses your chest, and you smile at him, dried blood flaking from the movement. 

“I’d like that, Leon.”

[bonebabbles]

There's a chapter where the patrol comes across some Sister toms (Beach and Slate), two bachelors living in a gross den who don't know how to cure their own injuries, and Ivy's got a big paragraph of condemning the sisters and how sick and twisted their way of life is. Annoying as ever, but something I expect at this point.

I don't dislike this chapter though, because I am a sucker for the cats just explaining stuff. I like the way they all decide to explain to the two WHY it's important to keep things clean.

....THOUGH I still do need to nitpick about a detail lmaoo, they explain that you want to keep things clean to avoid attracting rats and crows;

Rats would taste just fine to cats, and they are also not MORE likely to bite than any other animals the cats are already hunting. All animals will fight back, and all animals have a risk of spreading diseases. Carrionplace rats are only a problem because they're eating rat poison-- NOT just because they are rats.

(...in fact rats would actually taste a lot better to cats than rabbits, the flavor would be more savory and complex. This is because rats have much higher fat content than rabbits, which are so lean you will actually starve if you only eat them!)

The reason why cats keep their living spaces clean is because they are mesopredators, meaning that larger animals eat them. Messy dens attract foxes and dogs, as well as flies and unwanted insects. Rats and crows are not the reason why you should keep a den clean.

[enigmaticexplorer]

Let Me Love You - Part V

Masterlist | Previous Part

General Summary. An opportunity to expand your grandmother’s business brings you to Coruscant and a chance-encounter with Commander Fox. Friendship is your intent. But feelings grow, and with them, renewed fears. 

Pairing. Commander Fox x female!reader

General Warnings. Self-esteem issues; intimacy issues; trust issues; explicit sexual content. 

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Word Count. 4.6K

A/N. And so, our journey comes to an end...

A Like without a Reblog will result in an automatic block.

20 Kelona, Benduday

The first night Fox visited your apartment, he arrived carrying a bag. Inside was an assortment of vegetables, a loaf of bread, a jar of sauce, and the phoenix bottle of Cheedoan whiskey.

“Thought we could make dinner.” He placed a kiss to your temple and then strode into the kitchen. “Unless you already ate?”

Nonplussed, you watched as he set the bag on one of your clean counters. 

After everything that had happened—after the last few days of silence—you thought he would have questions. You thought he would have reservations. You thought a long conversation was due. 

And yet Fox was retrieving the items from his bag, lining them along the kitchen counter, retrieving an apron from a drawer. He stood with a relaxed posture, his expression even, unbothered. He exuded quiet confidence; a blend of patient practicality and poised charisma.  

As you started to smile, you strolled into the kitchen, answering him: “No, I haven’t eaten.”

For the next hour, Fox concentrated on preparing dinner. Sleeves of his black, button-down rolled to his elbows, he commanded your kitchen with an authority you appreciated; reposeful, purposeful. The tasks were split. Most of the time, though, you and Fox completed them together. 

Sometimes, though, Fox would pause in the middle of his task. Settle his attention on you. Smile, like he was reassuring you he was there. He was real. Or maybe he was reassuring himself. You weren’t certain. 

Engrossed with his presence and distracted by the recipe’s steps, you’d forgotten about the expectations of a meal: eatingtogether. It wasn’t until Fox was plating your food that the easy happiness of the last hour dissipated. Like a candle flame snuffed out.

Mind spinning, you accepted a plate from Fox. Together, you sat at your small dining table, mirroring one another. A delicious scent of spices and savory vegetables filled the apartment, but you hardly noticed it. The thought of eating in front of Fox, a man you liked—

Fox uncorked the bottle of whiskey and poured himself two fingers. At your silent scrutiny, he arched a brow.

“I thought you were saving that for a special moment.”

“I was.” He knocked back the whiskey. A few blinks succeeded as he stared into the empty glass. A slow smile eased across his face. “That was worth the wait.”

You chuckled, dropping your gaze to your untouched food. But your amusement soon dissolved. 

Eating in front of Fox should’ve been as easy as preparing the meal. And yet your hands were wringing in your lap. A thumb digging into the planes of your palm. The muscles in your legs so taut with tension that they were cramping.

Across the table, Fox poured himself half a glass of the whiskey. Rather than sip it, though, he set it aside. He was watching you. Waiting.

The food was getting cold.

Your calf throbbed with a sharp cramp.

“I’ve decided to not sell the business.” Fox’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you pressed your hands beneath your thighs. “I’m going to reopen the gallery on Lefaepa and operate the business from there. The gallery here will remain but I’ll hire someone who can manage it for me.”

Fox considered you for a drawn-out moment, his eyes flitting to your untouched plate. He tapped a finger atop the table.

Your foot started to shake. “I love what I do, and I don’t want to lose the artifacts and my clients, and I thought this was a good compromise—” 

“My brother, Bly, is a curator at the Museum.” Fox scrubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “He’s passionate about the work. And he’s a former commander. He knows how to manage things well. He’d be a good fit.”

You leaned forward. “Do you really think he would consider it?”

“I do.”

With a small smile, you lowered your gaze to your plate: vegetables marinated in sauce; a chilled, citrus salad; steaming rice, spiced with herbs.

Hesitantly, you lifted your fork. 

You could feel Fox’s eyes trained on you. 

Your knuckles strained around the utensil.

Your foot shook an erratic beat.

You felt small, exposed. You hated it.

Eating was fucking normal; it was necessary to survive. If you finished all of your food, that was appropriate because you were hungry and needed to fuel your body; and if you didn’t finish, that was also understandable because you didn’t need to force yourself to eat when you were satiated— 

A chair scraped. 

You looked up. 

Holding his plate and glass of whiskey, Fox was rounding the table, pulling out the chair beside yours, settling into it. Spearing a vegetable, he took a bite. A satisfied noise rumbled in his chest.

You glanced back at your plate, exhaled your tension, and then scooped a vegetable into your mouth. The spices complemented the sauce’s slightly sweet taste. You ate another. And another.

At some point, Fox’s hand found your thigh. Light, unhurried touches circled your knee. 

Once dinner was complete, Fox convinced you to sample the Cheedoan whiskey. Its smoky taste burned your throat. Your wrinkled nose earned a low chuckle from him. 

The night’s activities moved from cleaning the kitchen to relaxing on your couch. There were so many stories and opinions and topics to discuss, it was hard to believe that you’d ever talked in the last four months. 

And when the hour latened (at least for you), and your yawns were harder to suppress, Fox decided to leave. At the door, he cupped your face. Angled your head back to stare you in the eyes. Pressed his mouth against yours. Chaste, at first, and then harder, deeper.

He kissed you until you were sinking into him. He kissed you with such languid intensity, it could’ve been hours, days.

“Tomorrow?” he whispered against your lips.

“Tomorrow,” you agreed breathlessly. 

2 Selona, Centaxday

The first time you and Fox fought, you were kissing him. 

Seated on the couch in your apartment, evening’s sunshine warming the open space, you were straddling his waist, your skirt pushed to your upper thighs. Large hands roved beneath your blouse; they skimmed and squeezed your ribs, grazed and gripped your hips. Fox held you tightly, like he was afraid of losing you.

You held him just as tightly. Fingers weaving through curls, and a palm pressing against his bare chest, basking in the heat of his skin and the rapid thump of his heart. 

A kiss beneath your jaw.

(Your hand lowered to his stomach, slipping aside one half of his unbuttoned shirt.)

A flick of his tongue to your throat.

(Your nails skimmed the nape of his neck.)

A large nose nuzzling just behind your ear.

(You shivered, arousal slickening your underwear.)

Fox pulled away from your neck; his eyes were darker, nearly black, as he surveyed the undone buttons of your blouse. 

“Fuck,” he murmured distractedly. He brushed a palm along your spine. “You’re beautiful.”

“Don’t say that,” you murmured. Distracted, yourself, by his soft curls and the single lock dusting his temple, it took you several seconds to realize he was frowning. You smoothed the line between his brows. “What?”

“Why can’t I say that?”

You looked out the windows. “Because…you don’t need to say things like that.”

“I wanted to say it.”

“You said it because it’s an expectation.” The warmth humming beneath your skin suddenly felt cold. Sluggish. You brought your arms to your chest. “I don’t need to be appeased.”

Fox scoffed. “It’s a fucking compliment. Take it.”

“No.” Stumbling from his lap, you straightened, frowning at him. “I’m asking you to not say things like that.”

“Why?” He pushed himself to his feet and glared down at you. “I meant it—”

“I don’t want flattery—”

“It wasn’t flattery,” he snapped. “Why’s it a fucking surprise that I’m attracted to you?”

You scowled. 

“You think I’m lying when I say that?” Fox took a step forward but you retreated. He cut a hand through his hair. “Fucking hell, woman. I want to compliment you. And you’re gonna have to deal with it—”

“No,” you hissed. “I don’t have to do anything. And I sure as fuck don’t have to accept a compliment. Especially when I don’t want it.”

Fox stared at you: outraged, incredulous. 

You glared back: unapologetic, defiant.

“Do you know how many times I’ve got a hard-on in the gallery from watching you bend over?” he demanded. 

It was such an abrupt change in conversation you could only blink. 

“It’s a fucking embarrassing amount,” he said, hazarding another step closer. “And do you know how I get myself off each night?” He moved closer; you fisted your hands at your side. “It’s to you.”

Your mind was spinning

spinning

spinning.

“And do you remember when you asked me what I wanted and I said you?” Fox brushed a piece of hair from your forehead. “I fucking meant it. I’m attracted to you—”

“I need a moment.” You sidestepped him, eyes pinned to your bedroom’s door. “I just…need to be alone for a moment.”

Inside your bedroom, you crumbled to the floor, your back pressed against your bed. 

For an indeterminable amount of time, you sat there. Staring out the windows. Arms locked tightly around the legs pulled into your chest. Chin rested on your knees.

It may not have seemed like it, but you liked your body. Over the years, you had nurtured a still-developing relationship with it and food and exercise. And even though your breasts were small, your stature lean, you liked your appearance. You were confident. 

Until someone complimented you. And then it felt disingenuous; like they pitied you. Like you were so vulnerable and so unconfident that they felt the need to boost your morale.

The sunshine faded to long shadows, and the city lights winked to life. 

It must’ve been a long time because the swish of your bedroom door announced Fox’s presence. He seated himself beside you: one leg bent; forearm stretched across his knee.

“I want you to listen to me,” Fox said quietly. 

Gaze trained on the cityscape, you gave a short nod. 

“I know that you have things to work through.” His biceps pressed against yours. “I’m not gonna rush you. And I don’t expect you to be where I’m at. But…” He hesitated. “I feel a lot of fucking things for you. Both emotional and physical. And you don’t get to question those feelings.”

“I’m sorry.” You felt weary, defeated. “I didn’t mean to question your feelings. I didn’t…” You exhaled a sharp breath and then closed your eyes. “I just…I like you so much. And I don’t want to be a disappointment to you.”

A solid arm rounded your shoulders, encouraging your head to find his chest. “I know.”

18 Selona, Taungsday

The first time you invited Fox to spend the night he looked rough. 

After a classified raid capturing seven leaders of a terrorist cell (including the Weequays who’d visited your gallery), the last few weeks had kept Fox busy: late hours, early mornings, long meetings with other departments. There were days you didn’t see him; nights you knew he spent sleeping on the uncomfortable couch in his office. 

So, when he collapsed into a chair in the backroom of the gallery, the offer was out of your mouth before you could reconsider. It was a testament to how tired Fox was: He merely blinked. You patted his shoulder, and when he frowned, as if still processing the words, you kissed his cheek. “It’s an open offer,” you told him. “Whenever you want to take it.”

Late that night, Fox appeared on your doorstep, freshly showered and a bag slung across his shoulders. Half-asleep, you led him into your room. 

Bag dropped beside the bed, he didn’t hesitate to remove his shirt. Black tattoos, solid lines bracketing curved spirals and sweeping arrowheads, decorated each arm from wrist to shoulder. Subtler details hid among the swaths of ink: a sun; the small, angular head of a wolf; a split teardrop.  

Fox removed his trousers and socks; he folded each piece of clothing, placing them inside his bag. Black boxer briefs were all he wore as he climbed onto your bed. 

While he perused the black satin two-piece of your pajamas, you surveyed his body. 

A dark trail of hair dusted his lower stomach and disappeared beneath his briefs. A fresh bruise purpled his right ribs. But it was the jagged, white scar flexing from the edge of his left collarbone to the tip of his shoulder that demanded your attention. A slash longer in length than your hand.

Tentatively, you stretched your hand toward him. He held still while your finger mapped the white curve. 

Large hands settled on your waist. His voice was low, rough as he murmured, “What are you thinking?” 

“That you are a very attractive man, and that it’s intimidating being around you.” You skimmed your knuckles down the center of his chest. “That I’m so grateful it was you who visited my gallery that day and not someone else.” You traced the curve of his stomach. “That I think I’m falling in love with you, and that’s actually a lie because I fell in love with you a long time ago but I was too scared to admit it, and even admitting it now feels…too vulnerable. Like it’ll all disappear.”

Fox brought his hands to your jaw; he rested his forehead against yours. “I’m not disappearing.”

The next morning, you woke naturally, the faint pink of dawn sifting through Coruscant’s buildings. You made to slip from your bed—

A warm hand reached for your elbow. It tugged you back into the mattress.

“What are you doing?” 

The raspy question was hoarse with sleep, and Fox yawned. 

The sheets were tangled at his feet, and his curls were sleepily mussed, and his half-hard cock was pressing against his boxer briefs.

You frowned at the bleary-eyed man. “It’s time to wake up.”

“It’s oh-five-hundred.” Fox rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes; he squinted at you. “It’s too fucking early.”

“I have a routine.” You pinned him with an exasperated look. “And I don’t like being late.”

“Fucking hell.” Dramatically sighing, he rested an arm over his eyes. “What’s there to do at oh-five-fucking-hundred?”

Your eyes rolled. “I’m going for a run.”

He took in your rumpled pajamas. “Do you want me—”

“No.” Gaining your feet, you tossed him an easy smile. “Mornings are my time. So stay here, and go back to sleep, and don’t interrupt my time.”

A small smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. He stretched among the pillows.

“One other thing.” You leaned across the mattress and kissed his cheek. “I don’t have a caf machine.”

After your run, you showered. Skincare soon followed, and then you were getting dressed in your professional attire. While you prepared breakfast—slices of bread toasting, eggs scrambling, fruit thinly sliced—Fox showered. Several minutes later, he ventured into the kitchen. 

A loose pair of gray sweats hung low on his hips; water shimmered in his black hair. The dark skin of his chest and the black ink of his arms glistened with lotion. Setting his flimsibook of math puzzles and the permanent stencil on the table, he joined you at the stove, wrapping his arms around your stomach. You leaned into him; his chin settled atop your head. 

“Guess the first thing I’m gonna buy today.”

You gave it some thought and then grinned. “A caf machine?”

Fox chuckled lowly. “Yeah. A caf machine.”

He stayed with you that night, too.

And the next night.

And the next…

21 Telona, Primeday

The first time you had sex with Fox, you weren’t expecting it.

He was seated on the edge of the bed, callused palms on your hips; you were standing between his legs, your hands on his bare shoulders. Recently showered, only a fluffy towel covered his lower half. 

You were telling him about a client who, that morning, had offered to donate the money necessary to reopen the gallery on Lefaepa. 

You were smiling. You were laughing. And he was sitting there, a soft smile on his face, that rebellious curl caressing his forehead.

Your smile slowly evened, and your laughter fell quiet, and as you took in the happiness crinkling his eyes, that tiny hand inside you flattened itself against your ribcage. 

It reached for him; it burned within you.

And you were burning; you were burning for him.

You turned your back to Fox with a quiet “Unzip me.” 

A heartbeat stuttered, and then he was holding your hip, his other hand tugging down your zipper. A knuckle followed, whispering down the length of your spine.

The straps slid from your shoulders, and the dress pooled at your ankles. 

Large hands spread across your waist; they held you still. 

You let your eyes drift closed. You let your mind wander even as your senses honed into touch: thumbs digging into your lower back; warm palms skimming your ribcage; hands shaking as they gingerly mapped their want along your body; an even shakier exhale heating your spine as Fox pressed his forehead to your lower back.

“Tell me what you want.” A deep, gravelly request. 

“Anything.” The word was quiet, low, as you spun on the spot. “Everything.”

For several, long seconds, you searched one another’s gazes. 

It was dizzying, to stand there with only his hands on your bare skin and desire humming just beneath the surface; to stand there nearly naked as his eyes darkened with a hunger you’d never seen and slowly lowered. 

Fox studied your body with a glazed intensiveness that spiked your arousal: your nipples tightening, your cunt clenching. He took his time; his gaze wandering and his hands following. So, too, did your own wander. A hand cupping the back of his neck, fingers sinking into those soft curls. The other pressing against his chest, seeking the solid yet rapid thump of his heart. 

A skimming of touch to the underswell of your breasts brought you closer. A grazing of thumbs to your nipples inspired a shiver of pleasure. It crawled down your spine, tingly and warm, like a confession of adoration in the dead of night. 

The wet heat of a mouth deprived bit into your breast; you exhaled sharply, fingernails digging into curls, digging into skin.

He was distracted: staring at you with hooded eyes; cupping a breast possessively, a tad forcefully; sucking on the underside of your breast with a gravelly groan of pleasure. There was a flick of a tongue to your nipple, closely followed by slow, circling teases and the tightening of his clutch on your waist, holding you exactly as he wanted. 

Soon, you found yourself in bed, Fox carefully unbuckling your heels, removing your cotton underwear, bringing an ankle to his mouth. Open-mouthed kisses scattered the length of your calf, your inner thigh. Soft lips teased the bare skin so close to your labia; teeth nipped at your hip bones.

So many sensations fluttered through your body. Heat burned within your veins as affection melted your muscles into the satin sheets; need ached within your cunt, and throbbed in your clit. 

Those open-mouthed kisses were a mere hint of what was to come. A palate cleanser to the main tasting.

Fox buried his face between your legs. 

His kisses were long and sucking, and when you made a particular noise, he was keen to recreate it. 

His licks were sloppy, unpracticed in such a contradiction to the effortless yet styled demeanor he maintained; yet they were relentless, eager, a desperate demand to taste every centimeter of you. (As if it might be his only chance.)

Your quiet concern that you might take too long was met with a swift, demanding "Please do." And when you suggested switching to something he would find more pleasurable, he merely gripped your thighs harder, opened you wider, murmured, "I want this."

Fox pleasured you with a single-minded focus so intense it was difficult to know whether he was doing this for you or for himself. 

Bliss-filled eyes peered at you from between your legs; long fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, bruising. 

You were his clay, kneaded into pliability, soft and malleable beneath his touch. 

Two fingers tested the receptiveness of your cunt, and when your hips arched in acceptance, in unspoken plea, they sunk within. The fit was snug; they stretched your inner muscles with an odd rhythm of curling maneuvers and massaging techniques. 

You writhed beneath him; panting, shaking, you fisted the sheets.

A large tongue flattened against your clit, and you moaned.

Fingers pressed over and over against that sensitive spot within you, and you spasmed.

A low groan vibrated against your labia, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Everything grew tight. Then, your muscles were shattering, and a warm stream of honey-like relief was slithering down your spine to the tips of your toes. Faint convulsions fluttered in your cunt, pinching the fingers within together. Your legs trembled. Your hands shook as you released the sheets.

Dizzy and boneless, you blinked down at Fox. He was still kneeling on the floor, the towel abandoned and his cock in his hand. His lips were parted; his eyes half-hooded. Slowly, he removed the fingers inside of you, smearing your release along his cock. He started to pump himself—

You stumbled to the floor. A hand on his cheek brought his gaze to yours; the black of his irises dominated his eyes. Your mouth sought his with light, grazing kisses as your hand reached for his cock. 

He burned within your grasp, heavy and swollen. A tight squeeze and tug and twist upwards had him choking on a pained groan. His forehead fell to your shoulder; he jerked into your palm, his hand grabbing the back of your neck. 

With a forearm on his shoulder, you brought his cock to your cunt. He was already leaking; his features were wrought with restraint. Your arousal lubricated his cock, and you lowered yourself onto his tip. 

The girth of him stretched you more than his fingers. A pleasurable stretch, if not a little painful. You dug your fingernails into his shoulder. Measured breaths ensued. 

Beneath you, Fox was shaking, his head tipped back, his jaw clenched tightly. His harsh pants were like whimpers; his grip was trembling yet bruising on your hips. 

Another few centimeters, and you closed your eyes. Unsteadily, you took him in a rocking motion, up and down, until you were sinking onto his lap, his cock reaching somewhere deep enough your cunt naturally clenched around him.

Fingers tipped your chin back, and Fox kissed you. A kiss so deep, bottomless, you lost all sense of autonomy. Where you began, where he ended, it didn’t exist. Different pieces of clay molding together, blending into a single sculpture. 

He didn’t last long, as was to be expected, and with a jerky thrust and ragged moan, he came.  

Much later, the darkness of night swaddling your bedroom, you awoke to Fox kissing your neck. 

A sleepy acquiescence and he was tugging your thigh over his chest, warm hands urging your cunt to his mouth. The cool metal of the wall beneath your palm contrasted the stark heat of his mouth. 

He tasted you until you were coming.

And then he laid back, entwined gentle fingers in your hair, and you were tasting him, left to your own wants and wanderings, palming his cock until he was coming on your chest.

1 Yelona, Primeday

Nestled atop an itchy blanket.

Surrounded by the sweet scent of asters, honeysuckle, and elderflowers.

The shadowy shapes of wildflowers slowly dancing.

A dark outline of rolling hills.

A canvas of black splattered with silver stars, both arbitrarily scattered and intentionally placed.

Lying on your backs, fingers interlocked, you and Fox watched the stars gradually wink into existence and then eagerly rush to fill the sky with their presence. 

A dark green tinged the outline of the hills to your left; even darker blue sunk into the sky above, deepening into the black of night. 

It was silent. The type of silence only found hundreds of kilometers from the closest civilization, where nature ruled and you were mere visitors, welcomed briefly but expected to leave soon.

The autumnal breeze tousled the curls of Fox’s hair and rustled your comfy sweater. The air was crisp, fresh; you vacillated between the urge to close your eyes and breathe, and the simultaneous desire to observe each star as it came to being.

“This…is a good place to retire,” Fox murmured. 

You twisted your face toward him; his eyes glowed in the darkness. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yeah.” He kissed the tip of your shoulder, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “I do.”

A month ago, late at night when you were sweaty and dazed, Fox holding your trembling body close to his chest as he pressed deep, languid kisses to your mouth, he quietly told you he’d decided to retire. It was a decision he’d deliberated for a long time. 

A deep respect for Commander Thire, and a prevailing trust in the man, convinced Fox his men were in good hands. 

And then there was the quiet, solemn part of Fox—the part of him that wanted to retire and start his own life—that finally convinced him he deserved this.

The retirement ceremony was last week; it was a small, private affair. Exactly as Fox wanted.

His closest brothers—Cody, Wolffe (the Guard with the cybernetic), Bly (he accepted the management position at the gallery), and Neyo (a computer scientist with a hard exterior but soft-ish interior)—along with his men and Commander Thire attended. 

The tiles of his hard-earned rank decorated his dress uniform. A kempt medal shone upon his chest. 

After the ceremony, you found him in his office, staring at the holophoto of him and his brothers—the photo taken the first year of the War. 

A tear had stalled on his cheek; it resisted gravity, sinking into his dark brown skin. 

“I didn’t think—” Emotion hoarsened his voice and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t think I’d get to experience this. Any of it. Life after war. Retirement. You.”

He exhaled a shaky breath and dropped his head. His eyes were squeezed shut. You reached for his hand, guiding him to the sofa, curling your fingers into his hair, wrapping an arm around his back. His face found the crook of your neck. His hands clung to you. More tears warmed your collarbone.

You stayed like that for a long time.

The next day he received a job offer: prototype engineer at an agricultural-mechanical engineering firm on Lefaepa. 

Located in the same city as the gallery, the engineering firm was focused on improving industrial equipment. Their current project: energy-conservative, maximum-efficiency irrigation systems. It was a hands-on project; exactly what Fox was looking for.

The last few evenings, when you returned to the apartment from the Coruscant gallery, you had found Fox studying holodesigns with mathematical equations and 3-D drawings, lost among the complexities of the project he’d be overseeing. 

He was happy. 

And so, too, were you.

A shooting star seared the sky, bringing you back into the present, Fox breathing slowly against your neck. 

“Do you like them?” you asked. “The stars?”

He pressed a kiss beneath your jaw and then returned to his back, observing the sky. “I do.”

You raised a hand, connecting the stars of a constellation. “They’re beautiful.”

“Mm-hmm.” 

The autumn breeze whispered across your bodies and with it came the cedar scent that belonged to Fox. You lowered your gaze to him; he was already staring at you. 

“Thank you,” you murmured.

He raised a brow. “For what?”

“For watching the stars with me.”

You traced his jawline.

“For being patient with me.”

Your finger followed the curve of his cheekbone.

“For letting me be part of your family.”

You swallowed.

“For loving me.”

Beneath the twinkling stars, lying among a field of wildflowers, witnessed only by autumn’s ephemeral embrace, Fox brought your mouth to his. 

He kissed you, and he smiled against your lips, and he cupped your face in that gentle manner of his that promised infinite patience and affection, and then, leaning back just enough to look you in the eyes, he quietly said, “In any lifetime, I’d do it all again.”

Masterlist | Part IV

A/N: The Reader's gallery was inspired by Luthen's gallery in Andor, and I recently came across closeups of it. You can see them here.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Tagged by @onyxsboxes

🎧 last song: Ohh La La by Rod Stewart

🖍️ favorite color: All the blues, but recently I've been into like light pastel green?

📚 last book: Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo (also Origin of Species by Charles Darwin)

🎥 last movie: Had a girls night to see Sonic 3 in theaters over the weekend 😂

🍜 sweet/spicy/savory: sweet!

💕 relationship status: Committed relationship ❤️

🌐 last thing i googled: "slug unit of measurement" (it's about 32 pounds, or the mass that can accelerate by 1ft/s/s when subjected to a one pound force)

💓 current obsession: Epic the musical concept album; astronaut AU; and my thesis research

🔮 looking forward to: my colleagues and I have started a weekly journal club/happy hour type thing so that's my afternoon tomorrow

tagging @swifty-fox and @c-goldthorn if you want

[thewisaaaaad]

HAHAHA THE CLIFFHANGER SHALL... hang... some more i guess.

idk where i was going with that

anyway remember when I said that the lamb couldn't be around anyone but Narinder, and how they vanished whenever someone else would have seen them?

well I might have fibbed A LITTLE.

when the lamb ceased to be because of narinder having company, they ended up in the void, a realm of shadows. the very same shadows that the Teeth in the Darkness retreats to during the day. Even though the void is vast, fate saw it fit that they would meet sooner rather than later.

At first the Fox held no faith in the lamb. no one else, besides the teeth himself, should have access to their domain. and this lamb was FAR too exited to fit with the tale they spun, the dammed lamb had to have found a way to pierce their defenses and aim to take something from them.

Hypnos, for their part, was ECSTATIC about having someone other than Nari to talk to. especially when they couldn't talk for a while due to his "god duties". (hypnos still didn't understand why he insisted on doing sermons and aiding his followers if it was so stressful for him.)

the best part was when hypnos grabbed the foxes cloak to stop him from leaving.

it was the first time they felt something besides their own cloak. they had reached out without the expectation of grabbing anything, as they had never done it successfully before, but it had stopped narinder in the past.

but then hypnos felt it slip through their fingers. the coarse fabric of the tattered cloak burning their fingers slightly as it slipped away.

The fox hissed at the small tug at their robes, turning around to face the lamb, rage infusing their entire being, that some lesser being had dared to lay a finger on their person, and was met with the stunned expression of the lamb.

“I touched you.”

“How astute of you, meat. You should let me tear you apart for the honor.”

Hypnos, completely unperturbed by the threat, looked at them with shining eyes that seemed to reflect a light that didn’t exist in the void, and began to babble about their entire life story, about WHY their touch was so important.

The Teeth, naturally, were taken aback by this complete lack of fear, and the implicit trust that this creature seemed to put on them.

Needless to say, he was FASCINATED by the gall that this lamb showed to the king of the shadows.

Lamb made a promise to never tell Nari about this little meeting, and the lamb kept all further rendezvous clandestine to their partner. Hypnos could keep one secret, right? What's the harm?

After that, they would stay and chat whenever the night and the gods' ceremonies intersected.

The fox was a bad influence on the lamb, teaching them to hold onto grudges and to disregard the worth of lives deemed lesser, and tempted them with descriptions of the savory flavors of raw sentient flesh. 

One good trait that the lamb learned from the fox was that one should ALWAYS keep their promises. The fox was a demon, and so was bound to the word of their oaths. But the fox went further, and always honored the SPIRIT of the agreement, and despised those who tried to wiggle their way out of a promise, like ratau. 

Ratau only still lived because the lamb had told him that The One Who Waits favored the rat, so they got off with a lighter sentence of having their family torn apart. No additional harm was done to ratau, so therefore, no ire was to be gained from TOWW.

Totally not because he found the rat fascinating. He wanted to feast on his corpse, and was only sparing him to spare himself from the ire of a god. That was all. really.

[foxboyclit]

TEA ASKS! of course i have to send you tea asks!

English Breakfast for Howl, Matcha for Minnistra, and Lemon Balm for Fae

TEA ASKS!

English Breakfast: What is your OC’s morning routine?

Howl's typical routine i think is get up stupid early, dress, make tea to sip as they fix breakfast for their kid & cats, i think they pray before meals, then kiss said kid and cats goodbye, and theyre off to work. its slower on their days off, mostly just them reading with a cup of tea in their pjs. when they do get ready its to work on their garden

Matcha: What is your OC’s preferred little treat?

ooh this is a fun one, her and Iphis will occasionally go for tea and little cakes/cookies over gossip but i cant see her having a huge sweet tooth. maybe the pastries are more savory, but i can also see her going for wine and like. drow charcuterie. just a vibe im getting.

that does remind me of the mushroom tea recipe from the heroes' feast cookbook, that's a broth of simmered mushrooms thats poured into mugs and the mushrooms are eaten with fine skewers. i think thats her favorite actually. her and her dainty little teacup and feeding Iphis mushroom slices.

Lemon Balm: Does your OC have any bedtime habits or rituals?

specifically, hmm. i think they put their hair up in a braid as they get ready for bed, leave a curtain open so they can see the moon (probably part of an Elistraeen ritual), them and Arlen put the kid to bed, and i think they stay up together for a little bit.

[ghostymarni]

ask game! give 5 boring facts about yourself and pass it on (no pressure!)

1. 99% of my closet is all black, 1% is associated colors with clone battalions

2. I have to start my mornings with caf or a banned energy drink, or else I can’t function. 5 caf + 2 energy is my max (so far. kark fox, I’ll catch up eventually to your intake standards)

3. I prefer savory over sweet. but during the cold seasons, I’m weak for peppermint mocha caf or sweets

4. while I find chaotic confidence in groups of safe mutuals, I find comfort in solitude, people watching. I notice how people move, how they react, how their arms shift or how their hands hold things + I actually utilize that for when I draw. I’m overly observant but for literal admiration of people and art.

5. I forget to eat often because I’m always doing overtime, but I love to indulge in pabu’s sushi, corellian spicy seafood noodles, or glazed porg

6. Bonus! I have a black tooka cat, she’s 11.

[kingofthe-egirls]

SEAGULLS: LUFFY x Y/N (sfw)

(cw: kissing, est relationship, kitsune self-insert, snackies, sillyness, tickling)

(a/n: @stargirldelight @zwhoreo @anemptypuddingcup @jessysapphireblue hi i made a sfw fic about luffy aka my adhd boyfriend)

****

Luffy loves holding your hand.

“Hey!” Luffy sings, hopping up beside you on the ship’s railing. You’re sketching: hunched over your sketchbook as you chew your cheek.

“Hi, baby!” You chirp happily, ears pointed forward as you greet him.

“Seagulls!!” Luffy says, swiping your sketchbook to hold in front of his face. He grins, proudly. “My girlfriend is so cool!”

You’ve dotted some water color along the page: blue and turquoise, with orangey-yellow spotted in the middle. You’ve sketched a flock of seagulls flying overhead, inking them in with the black calligraphy pen Sanji uses for recipes. (He’d let you borrow it for sketching—after he caught you stealing it…twice).

Captain Luffy pokes your cheek. “What about me, kitty? How’s your boyfriend?”

“So fucking cool!!” You squeal, jumping up with your sketchbook clutched to your chest. “You’re so cute!!!” You squirm, fidgeting in place, before you spring up to wrap your arms around his neck. He lets you swing with your feet off the ground. “Hehehe!” You scrunch your eyes up as he snickers, too.

He rubs his nose against your face.

“Sanji said it’s meatballs tonight,” Luffy informs you seriously, “We have to steal some before bed mkay? So make sure you’re sneaky!!” He stage whispers to you, sniffing at your hair. He scratches a hand into your scalp, thumbing at the base of your fox ears. “Hm, kitty? Sounds fun to you?” He stares at you with sparkly eyes, and you nod eagerly.

“Mhmm!!”

He snickers, stretching his neck down so your feet touch the ground. You let him go so he can snap down from his spot on the railing. His sandals thwack against the deck.

“Let’s go see if he’s made any snacks yet,” you suggest, swiping Luffy’s hand into yours. You squeeze his rough, calloused palm, and he grins. He stretches his other arm all the way out to the door of the kitchen, and you barely have time to gasp before you’re gum-gum rocketing across the ship. You both slam into the closed door with a bang!

“Shit!”

You swear, standing up to shove Luffy over in revenge. He snickers, so you open a portal beneath the sea to open over his head. Luffy screeches as a bucket of seawater gets dumped on his head.

You snap the portal shut.

“Hey, sea water’s no fair!!!”

You snort, but once you see his expression you turn tail(s) to run.

“Bad kitty!!!”

He shouts as he chases you around the ship, both of you screaming and laughing as you go. You portal to his cabin, slamming the door shut. He barges in seconds after, knocking you down onto the floor. He’s soaking wet and snickering, and he gets at your stomach to tickle you in revenge.

“S-stop—ahhahaha!” You giggle and gasp as he scritches your belly, your sides, your arm pits. You squirm helplessly around on the floor, as Luffy leers over you with a monkey’s grin.

“Say you’re sorry!!”

“Sorr—haha—sorry!!!”

He lets you go, and you both sit up. You’re all sweaty. Luffy snickers, leaning back on his hands. He knocks his sandals together.

“Snacks!!” You cry, suddenly remembering. Luffy springs up, grabbing you by the waist to wrap your limbs around him. Like a koala.

He kisses your nose.

And then he’s rocketing across the ship like nothing happened in the first place.

Snackies turn out to be buttered popcorn with savory spices and asiago cheese. Sanji hands you the bowl delicately, bowing deeply. He throws Luffy’s bowl as hard as he can at Luffy’s face.

[redbelles]

tagged by: @unseemingowl and @withered-rose-with-thorns; thanks bbs 💖

last song: lucky town by bruce springsteen

last book: the fox wife by yangsze choo

last movie: the northman

last tv show: the punisher

last thing i googled: kirill kaprizov injury update

favorite color: blue/purple/silver

sweet/savory/spicy: yes

looking forward to: finally being done with this goddamn move

current obsession: still in the throes of the elden ring brainrot, but also berserk, hockey, and [checks notes] dune

tagging: @sluttyhenley @ladywaffles @meyerlansky @pennywises @ronsenthal and anyone else who wants a go ✨

[pippipoffin]

tagged by @welcomeeggsbenedict to do this lil game :3 meow

Last song: I Kissed a Girl by Katy Perry GFHJDGHFJ i was listening to a 2000's pop song playlist ok...

Favorite color: Pink and orange

Last Book: I think it was either Into the Pit or Dittophobia

Last Movie: The Fox and the Hound

Last tv show: Creep Tapes

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Spicy

Relationship Status: 💜

Last thing I googled: "In a tizzy meaning" GYFHDGHJFF i was writing something and wanted to make sure I was using it right

Current obsession: Unfortunately it is Fnaf. also been getting back into CotL

Looking Forward to: Moving the hell out of here in July goddddddd its the only thing thats keeping me going right now

---

If you see this post, consider yourself tagged!!