#fennec fox reader

Ghost, who had been watching the playful exchange with a mix of amusement and curiosity, was caught off guard by your sudden declaration.

His surprise and he paused. “What did you say?” he asked, his deep, velvety voice carrying a hint of scepticism.

You boldly said it so loud, he could have sworn you said it louder on purpose, “Love you, you're the best.”

Soap's eyes widened, and he stumbled over his own paws. “What did you just say?” he asked, his tone a mix of astonishment and confusion.

You said it even louder, your eyes sparkling with joy, “Love you, you're the best!” This time, it was clear as day, and the courtyard fell silent. Soap stared at you, his jaw hanging open in shock.

Kate and Price exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps a flicker of hope that the darkness of your past hadn't completely stolen your capacity to form attachments.

Soap snuck extra snacks to you which he knew you liked, hoping to win your favour.

A gesture that, while small, spoke volumes of his desire to be closer to you. Treats like slow cooked chicken were greatly appreciated, especially after a long day of training.

Soap would often sit by your side, watching you devour them with delight, a soft smile playing on his lips as he listened to your happy munching sounds.

You tried Wagyu once, a rare and exquisite delicacy. The tenderness of the beef, the way it practically melted in your mouth, the 'thank you' with each bite you took of the wagyu beef. As well as, 'this tastes so good.'

Ghost looked at you while you were eating the wagyu beef he gave you as a treat, not expecting you to like it THIS much.

Not as much as you showed him when he cooked it up for you. You looked up at Ghost, your feline eyes wide with pleasure. “This is heavenly,” you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction. The warmth of your smile seemed to light up the shadowed corners of his heart. He had never seen anyone appreciate his cooking quite like this.

Ghost's expression softened, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks. “I'm glad you like it,” he said gruffly, trying to maintain his usual composure but failing miserably.

His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt or mockery, but found only sincerity.

The kitchen grew quiet once again, save for the occasional sizzle of the frying pan and the sound of your happy chewing.

“I lived in a desert. Anything you make for me will be eaten with gusto, as it should be.” You told him. “You could have given me a cicada, and I'd still eat it.”

Ghost was about to satisfy your “heat cycle” when Soap, finishing his cigarette, intrigued, asked, “What's happening here?”

You were on the king bed. Your muffled,” 'm tempted to grab my vibrator.” As you were about to leave for your bedroom in the basement, which consisted of a hanging round bed draped with black cloth.

Ghost's voice grew serious, his eyes locking onto yours, “Wait,” he said, his hand shooting out to gently grab your wrist. He pulled you back to face him, his gaze searching your eyes. “You can't just say something like that and walk away,” he said, his grip tightening slightly. “Do you mean it?”

Face first into his pecs as if god ordained it somehow, as if the lord had come down and said, “This fennec fox hybrid female reader shall know thee by the touch of her cheek to thy chest,” you nodded against him. “Yes,” you murmured, “I mean it.” The words were softer than a whisper, but the gravity of them was palpable in the room. You felt Ghost's body tense, his heart hammering against your ear. For a man who was often the epitome of stoicism, this was a revelation, a crack in the armour that you hadn't expected.

As you prepared to sleep on your hanging mattress, the house's tension grew as palpable as a sea fog. Aware your words had impacted the men, you pondered the atmosphere's shift. Then, descending footsteps reached your ears, your heart pounding from a blend of fear and anticipation.

Ghost's silhouette appeared in the doorway, his posture rigid and unyielding. “Ghost,” you whispered, noticing his eyes were as intense as a moonlit arctic night. “What is it?”

He took a step closer, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. “You said something, earlier.” His voice was a rumble of thunder, low and demanding. “Something important.”

You were wearing a nightie which left little to the imagination, the thin spaghetti straps on your shoulders the only barrier between the fabric and your bare skin. You squinted, half asleep, “I said a lot of things.” You mumble into your pillow, trying to play it cool despite the racing of your heart.

Ghost took another step, his hand reaching out to stroke your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “You said you love us.”

You turned to face him fully, the gravity of the moment weighing on your heart. “I do,” you admitted, the words spilling out of you with surprising ease. “Both of you, in my own way.”

Ghost's hand paused on your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline. “And what way is that?” he asked, his voice softer now, the thunder replaced with a gentle rain.

You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin. “In a way that's fierce and unconditional,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “In a way that makes me want to fight alongside you both, to keep you safe, to… to be a part of your lives.”

Soap, who had been quietly watching from the shadows, emerged into the dim light. He approached the bed, his eyes shimmering with something unreadable. “Is that right?” he asked, his voice gruff. His Scottish accent seemed to thicken in the tension-filled silence.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yes,” you said, your voice stronger now. “I love you both.”

Soap's expression softened, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a rare smile. He reached out to you, his rough hand taking yours in a gentle grip. “And we love you too, lass,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “In our own messed up way.”

Soap's eyes drifted to the vibrator underneath the layer of faux fur pillows filled with goose feathers.

He smirked, “Looks like we might have some competition.”

Ghost chuckled, the tension in his posture easing a fraction. “Looks like it,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I think we can manage.”

The three of you fell into a fervent embrace, a bond only forged through shared hellish ordeals. Ghost lifted you effortlessly as Soap drew your head to his for a kiss, a blend of tenderness and roughness. Their scents—Ghost's musky smoke and Soap's faint gunpowder—overwhelmed you, and you melded into their comforting warmth.

They laid you on the king-sized bed as Ghost hovered, eyes ablaze with desire mirroring yours. He seized your face, kissing you urgently with a passion built over years. His tongue explored your mouth as if new, while Soap's gentle hands roamed your body through your thin nightie, tenderly committing every curve to memory.

Their touch was like a delicate symphony playing across your skin, each caress a note resonating deep within your core.

The fabric of your nightie was peeled away, revealing your nakedness to the cool air, and their heated gazes.

Your breasts were swollen and sensitive, begging for attention, and Soap's mouth found its way to one, suckling gently, making you gasp against Ghost's insistent kiss.

This would continue on until morning. Where you are asleep in the middle of the two burly men who changed your life forever.