#foxchuu

The shrine steps were ice beneath Chuuya’s feet as he ran, frost flashing like crushed salt under each strike of his stride. He knew—knew—before he saw him. White fur. A lazy flick of tails. And that infuriating smirk. “Dazai,” he hissed, breath steaming. Dazai lounged atop the torii gate like a god gone rotten, ears twitching as his clawed nail scored slow blasphemy into sacred wood—deliberate, elegant, unforgivable. “You guard this place so dutifully,” he purred. “Like it isn’t already mine.” Chuuya’s lip curled, something sharp flickering behind it. Dazai’s grin only widened. “Careful, little fox…” He leaned forward, eyes bright with hunger. “Touch me here and I’ll make this shrine remember your name in blood.”

'let your imagination run wild' these gave me nothing but Kitsunezai and (squint and you'll miss it) Foxchuu vibes. And you know what, I hope that's what you had in mind and I'm very curious to know what it was if not :blob_listening:

Ask Game: Word Drabble Challenge : 119 words Dividers by @cafekitsune

it made it easier to distinguish who he was, what experiment he was, in the lab while submerged in a dark tank

he … is literally this btw

such cute so cute

he’s not wearing pants

The kitsune brushed his knuckles along Chuuya’s cheek. “You’re losing my interest,” Dazai murmured, dragging out the words. Chuuya shuddered violently. The ghost of a smirk blossomed on his lips as he cradled his chin, the gesture was sweet as honey. “And that’s very dangerous, little fox.” Chuuya couldn’t think.

[ao3 link here]

Don’t expect much, but thanks for infecting my brain with more brain worms. Enjoy! :blob_love:

I’ll probably write more before I feel confident enough to outline a longer fic, so... feel free to keep flooding my dms!

🔞 nsfw - not explicit!

His lips were soft and yielding beneath his, yet the touch felt wrong. Something was off. Chuuya broke the kiss, a chill running down his spine. He tangled his fingers in the kitsune’s silky waves, tugging until it was almost painful, and pressed his forehead to his, trying to steady himself.

There was barely any space left between them.

He blinked slowly, savoring the pleasant tingle on his lips and the heat coiling low in his abdomen like tongues of fire. It was too much and not enough at the same time. They were sitting in the shade of a leafy tree, hidden from prying eyes by its branches.

When their gazes locked, when the kitsune’s amber irises devoured him, the fox's heart stopped and desire twisted into something darker and almost sharp. Attracting the attention of a kitsune was dangerous, the old spirits had warned him long ago, but losing it was a death sentence.

Chuuya stiffened.

Run.

Dazai tilted his head, looking almost bored. It was as if having the fox sit astride his lap, beg for his touch, and almost ride him had suddenly lost all its charm. Chuuya held his breath, and the forest fell into expectant silence. But it was the cold indifference that bathed the kitsune’s features that filled his mouth with ash.

RUN.

The kitsune brushed his knuckles along Chuuya’s cheek.

“You’re losing my interest,” Dazai murmured, dragging out the words. Chuuya shuddered violently. The ghost of a smirk blossomed on his lips as he cradled his chin, the gesture was sweet as honey. “And that’s very dangerous, little fox.”

Chuuya couldn’t think.

Fear thrummed through his veins like a warning, and the kitsune’s magic—once no more than a tender caress—now thickened the air, heavy and suffocating. It squeezed his throat like invisible fingers. Dazai loomed above him, breath brushing his skin, but it was the claws—sharp, merciless—that sent his pulse racing as they carved bloody grooves across his cheek.

He was dead.

The hiss that slipped from his lips was unbidden.

The kitsune’s hand moved to the back of his neck and closed the distance to capture his mouth once more. It didn’t happen, neither the kiss—the last one, and that thought made him sick—nor teeth piercing the tender flesh within reach. Fight, damn it. Dazai pressed his tongue against his bruised cheek, and a moan reverberated in his chest.

Helplessness, desire, and rage vibrated beneath his skin.

Dazai drew back just enough to lick the blood from his mouth. His pupils had swallowed almost all of the amber, and the flash of fangs was enough to destabilize him.

Their mouths collided, starving.

Chuuya wanted to resist. He knew he had to before it was too late. But his body betrayed him, aching for Dazai’s devastating touch. Desire fogged his senses, dulling them, while his tongue fought a losing battle for control, tasting only his own blood. The kitsune’s claws traced down his sides, gripping his hips and pulling him closer.

It was too much.

Chuuya tangled his fingers in his dark hair and tore his mouth away again. His lips wandered down—chin, throat, the curve of his neck—just the faintest graze of fangs. A game. A test. Or maybe neither. His heart slammed against his ribs, while the kitsune’s magic coiled tighter around him, intoxicating. He could sink his teeth into the gauze, tear through it—

He could—

A low chuckle rumbled from the kitsune, daring him. Surprise me, silly little fox, he seemed to say. Goosebumps chased down his spine.

“Am I boring you?” Chuuya whispered, echoing his earlier warning as he rolled his hips. Fear twisted in his gut like a thorned vine. But the glint of hunger in those amber eyes, and the blood painting his mouth, was exquisite.

Dazai grinned.

“Rub yourself,” he ordered impassively, with barely a hint of inflection in his voice. There was something buried there, and Chuuya wanted to scrape it raw. “I want to hear you moan my name.”

Chuuya swallowed hard.

Dazai ran his thumb along the seam of his mouth, wiping away traces of blood, and sucked it greedily.

“Delicious,” he purred.

But it sounded perilously like More, I want more.

Moaning for a kitsune, riding him until he lost consciousness, not caring who dared to watch, t was one thing. But bleeding for a predator, flooding the mouth of a playful, insatiable deity with his own lifeblood, was something else entirely.

He was playing with fire, he reminded himself, no more than a fleeting thought, as he rubbed against the brunet. His head tipped back, baring his throat. Dazai’s teeth worried at the tender skin there while his claws raked down Chuuya’s back, shredding fabric and pulling a hiss of pain from his lips.

More, he needed more.

The fire was consuming him, unstoppable. Somehow, he found himself sprawled on the grass, crushing tiny blossoms beneath him, his vision filled with nothing but the darkened amber—almost crimson—of Dazai’s gaze, the curve of his mouth, a wicked invitation he could neither refuse nor resist, and the blinding white of his tails.

Dazai cupped his cheek before claiming his mouth in a fierce kiss.

Death.

His mouth tasted like death.

“Mine,” Dazai groaned, sinking his teeth hard into his lip.

Chuuya arched, and his vision went white.

He was doomed.