Foxgirl Smackdown
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 1
The bar smelled of scorched cinnamon. It was a good place to get drunk, but not a good place to start trouble. Naturally, I was doing both.
“Humans,” one of the fox-faced locals muttered as I lifted my glass. “Always tinkering, always talking. No bite.”
I wasn’t planning to bite. I was planning to drink until the floor felt friendly. But then she walked in—the Alpha. Ears high, tail sweeping like a banner, armor glinting with smugness. She didn’t even look at me. She didn’t have to. The whole room bent around her like she was gravity with fur.
I muttered too loud, “Bet she polishes that tail more than her blade.”
The chuckle that followed was mine alone. The silence after it belonged to everyone else. Her golden eyes pinned me like a wrench to a magnet.
“You,” she said, her voice smooth as claws across metal. “Say it again.”
I should have shut up. I should have ducked. Instead, I lifted my wrench. Not a sword, not a blaster. A wrench. Steel, grease-stained, my pride.
I slurred, “You strut too much. Let’s see how you fight.”
The bar erupted in gasps. Tails fluffed, ears twitched. Someone dropped a mug, and another whispered, “He just proposed.”
My gut tightened. “Proposed? No, no, I challenged her!”
The bartender shook his head, eyes wide. “Human, same thing here. Fight an alpha, you fight for her hand. And her tail.”
Her smirk widened. She stepped closer, boots echoing. “Bold. You want my hand, little human? My tail?”
I opened my mouth, ready to deny it, but the words that came out were, “I’ve handled bigger tools!”
The crowd howled. Not with laughter—agreement. Vulpines nodded, murmuring, “Ah, he boasts of stamina. He’s serious.”
“No, no!” I raised my hands, wrench still clutched tight. “I just mean—”
“You mean to claim me?” she purred, circling like I was prey. “You’ve swung your tool in front of everyone. Now you can’t take it back.”
More laughter, and I realized every single phrase I said was turning filthier by the second. My mechanic’s mouth and my grease-borne metaphors were translating into foreplay. I only wanted a quick bout.
“Whistles!” someone cheered. “A quick bout? He wants her fast!”
“I wasn’t trying to get inside!” I yelled.
The room erupted. Someone nearly choked on their drink. Another shouted, “Inside her guard, inside her den, same thing!”
She closed the distance, her tail brushing my thigh. “Inside, outside, doesn’t matter. You struck first. You started it. Now finish it.” She leaned in, whispering so close her whiskers tickled my ear. “Proposal accepted.”
The wrench slipped in my sweaty hand. “Wait, what?”
The tavern cheered like we’d announced the birth of a litter. Tankards clashed, tails thumped, bets were exchanged. Someone shouted, “About time an alpha found a mate!”
I stumbled back, hitting a chair, still clutching my damn wrench like it could fix this mess. “Hold up, I didn’t mean...”
“You didn’t mean to challenge me?” she asked, tilting her head, ears flicking.
“I meant challenge, not marriage!”
The words bounced uselessly. The crowd only heard what they wanted.
“Ah, listen!” a vulpine female sighed. “He’s shy. Humans are modest in love.”
“Modest?” I barked. “I’m the least modest man here!”
That got more cheers. Someone yelled, “He’ll take her right here on the table!”
I nearly swallowed my tongue. “That’s not what I meant!”
Her hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, wrench and all. Her grip was iron, claws pricking just enough to remind me she could shred me in a heartbeat. But her smile was softer now, almost playful.
“Then prove it,” she said. “Prove that your bite matches your bark. You fought me before witnesses. You asked me to be yours. Don’t shame yourself by denying.”
I looked around. Every pair of amber, silver, and emerald eyes glowed with expectation. No one doubted her version. No one believed mine. In one drunken swing, I’d gone from mechanic to fiancé.
I muttered, “This is the stupidest misunderstanding in history.”
She squeezed my wrist tighter. “Not misunderstanding. Tradition. You challenged. You dared. No one dares. You’re mine now.”
A nervous laugh slipped out. “You move fast.”
She leaned in, sharp teeth flashing. “You started fast. You finish fast?”
The tavern roared. Someone banged the table. “He can’t finish fast! He’s human!”
I groaned. Every word was a trap, every protest proof of guilt. My wrench, once just a tool, had become a symbol of something a lot more personal. And the alpha, towering, gleaming, tail swishing, clearly liked it that way.
She tugged me toward the door. The crowd parted, whistling, chanting, drunk on drama. I dug my heels in, voice cracking. “I didn’t propose!”
But my feet moved anyway, dragged in her wake.
“You did,” she said, calm and certain. “You fought me. You pinned me with your eyes. You lifted your tool. You showed the pack your strength. You proposed.”
“I was drunk!” I argued.
“All the better,” she purred, dragging me outside under the twin moons. “Honest words come from drunken mouths.”
The moons bathed her fur in silver fire. Her eyes were molten gold. My stomach sank. My pride bristled. My wrench felt heavier than ever. And my night had just been upgraded from a bad bar decision to an accidental engagement. They marched me through the colony square like I was some prize stag caught in the hunt.
Her hand never left my wrist, claws just kissing the skin—a reminder that escape wasn’t an option. Every tail in sight swished, every muzzle grinned, and every whisper carried the same word: Fiancé. I hissed under my breath, “This is a mistake. I didn’t propose, I just swung a wrench.”
“You swung first,” she answered smoothly. “In my people’s law, that means intent. Intention is binding. You cannot swing and then pretend it was meaningless.”
“It was meaningless!”
She tilted her head, ears flicking like she’d heard a joke. “Meaningless? You put your body on the line before witnesses. You bared your strength. That is never meaningless.”
The crowd murmured agreement. Someone shouted, “A human finally dares!” Another added, “Bold mate, bold future!”
I tried again. “Look, in human culture, fighting isn’t romance. A duel is a duel. A proposal is...” I faltered, realizing what came next. “Flowers, rings, dinners. Not weapons.”
Her smirk was lethal. “So you court with fragile things? Rings? Dinner? We court with flesh and blood. We fight because love is a battle. You fought, therefore you love.”
Groans of approval rose all around. A fox male leaned to his friend. “Humans must be strange in bed. So careful.”
My face burned. “I’m not careful!”
That got laughter, whistles, and applause. Someone shouted, “Then show her! Prove you’re not!”
I buried my face in my palm. Every denial was ammunition. She pulled me onto a raised platform, where a carved stone marked the center of the square. The ceremonial circle, I realized with horror. I’d wandered straight into the heart of tradition.
“Here,” she announced, her voice carrying like thunder. “Before the pack, I accept his challenge. I accept his proposal.”
The crowd erupted in howls and tail thumps. She raised my hand high like I’d already won a battle I hadn’t agreed to fight.
“Wait, wait!” I yanked my hand down. “No. I didn’t propose. I just...”
“You keep saying no,” she interrupted, lips curling. “Yet your body follows me. Your hand stays in mine. Your eyes lock on me.”
“My body follows because you’re dragging me! And my eyes ... of course they’re locked. You’re terrifying!”
The pack chuckled. Someone muttered, “He adores her already. Look at the way he stares.”
“Stare?” I sputtered. “I’m glaring, not staring!”
“Glaring is staring with fire,” she countered. “It means passion. You glare, therefore you burn.”
Cheers, whistles, agreement. My shoulders slumped. Logic had no chance here. She circled me, her tail brushing my back, her voice low enough for me but loud enough for the crowd to hear.
“You even touched my tail.”
I blanched. “It was an accident!”
The square gasped as if I’d declared blasphemy. She leaned close, whispering, “You don’t touch a tail by accident. Tail touching is claiming. You brushed it, you branded me.”
My brain shorted. “I didn’t brand you, I bumped you!”
The crowd cheered louder. “He brands her with his love!”
What a poet. I wanted to scream. Instead, I stammered, “Humans don’t—we don’t brand people!”
“Then you are different,” she said, eyes gleaming. “But I like it. A man who fights with tools, who brands with touch, who denies with fire. He is worthy.”
Another round of howls. I wanted the ground to swallow me. She pulled me close, practically chest to chest, her voice silken and sharp. “Now, we seal the bond.”
My blood froze. “Seal? You mean ... oh no. Not here. Not now.”
The crowd erupted into laughter, catching my panic instantly. “He’s shy! Look how red he is!”
I tried to explain, words tumbling out like a death sentence. “In my world, sealing the bond means, uh, physical intimacy. Private!”
The gasps were deafening. Someone in the crowd shouted, “For humans, the vow is consummation itself!”
The alpha’s smirk widened. “So, humans seal with flesh, not with oaths?”
I groaned. “That’s not what I—”
“Then I am honored,” she cut me off. “You mean to give yourself fully tonight?”
The square howled, stamping paws, tails beating like drums. My lungs gave up on air. Every attempt to correct just dug me deeper.
“No, no, we don’t just—”
“You do,” she insisted, pinning me with her gaze. “Your words are clear. Your blush is proof. You want to seal it with me. Not tomorrow. Not later. Tonight.”
I was sweating bullets, the wrench still clutched uselessly in my fist. I tried to hide it behind my back. Too late. Her eyes flicked down.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.