"What are you made of?" a Ghost x reader fanfic.

Come on hit me.

Soap turned to Y/N with a competitive glint in his eyes. "Ready to get your hands dirty? We're starting with hand-to-hand."

He bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action. "Fancy a spar with me first?"

Before Y/N could respond, Ghost's voice, cool and steady, cut across the room. "Spar with me. I won't hold back."

Y/N met his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the challenge, and stepped towards him, ready to absorb the lessons his movements and tactics would teach.

The air in the training room seemed to crackle with tension as Y/N squared off with Ghost. His stance was predatory, a coiled spring ready to release. Y/N, on the other hand, kept light on her feet, a dancer amidst the storm, her eyes locked on Ghost's every move.

With a sudden lunge, Ghost initiated the spar, his fists cutting through the air with the precision of a blade. Y/N's reflexes were sharp, and she pivoted, dodging a strike that whistled past her ear. He was relentless, each hit thrown with the intent of an experienced warrior, his movements a blur of efficiency and power.

Y/N, absorbing the rhythm, played mostly defensive, her body swaying and ducking under Ghost's aggressive onslaught. She blocked a jab, the impact reverberating up her arms, and spun away from a follow-up cross that would have caught a less vigilant opponent.

Ghost's expression was a mask of focus, his eyes never wavering from his target. Sweat beaded on Y/N's brow as she matched his intensity, her own breaths measured and controlled even as she was forced to retreat step by step.

The training room echoed with the sound of their exertion, the smack of fist against palm, the shuffle of feet on the mat. It was a dance as much as a fight, a test of skill where both participants were fully engaged in the moment.

Ghost's attacks were a lesson in themselves, each one teaching Y/N something new about anticipation and reaction. She took a glancing blow to the shoulder, the sting a sharp reminder to stay focused. But she also found her moments, her defense turning into a quick counter that made Ghost acknowledge her skill with a nod.

The spar continued, neither yielding, both pushing the other to their limits. It was a display of mutual respect through combat, a conversation where each punch and block was a word spoken in the language of warriors.

The intensity ratcheted up as Ghost shifted tactics, his hands snaking out to grab Y/N. "Come on, hit me!" he growled, the challenge clear in his voice. With a swift motion, he used her momentum to bring her crashing to the ground, a maneuver that left her momentarily dazed but quickly reigniting her fighting spirit.

Forced to adapt, Y/N's survival instincts kicked in. She rolled away from another of Ghost's advances, pushing herself off the ground with a grunt. This time, she went on the offensive, her fists finally flying towards him with a newfound determination.

Her punches, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through her veins, started to land, forcing Ghost to take a defensive stance. He parried and dodged, his breaths coming out in controlled bursts. "Concentrate," he barked when a punch came too wide, "Your moves are sloppy."

Y/N tightened her form, her strikes becoming more calculated. Ghost's coaching, though sparse, was pointed. "Focus on my movements," he instructed, as she narrowly missed a kick that he deftly sidestepped.

The spar grew more aggressive, both fighters pushing their limits. Ghost's experience gave him the edge, his movements a beat ahead, his counters a testament to his skill. The final exchange was a blur, ending with Ghost executing a precise maneuver that once again sent Y/N to the mat.

Exhausted and in pain, Y/N lay there, groaning as bruises began to form. She could feel the heat of the workout, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps. Ghost stood over her, his own chest heaving, sweat dripping from his brow. Despite the exhaustion, there was mutual respect in the space between their labored breaths.

The training room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, a testament to the ferocity of their spar. As Y/N lay on the ground, the pain was a sharp reminder of the lesson learned and the respect earned in this grueling session with Ghost.

As Y/N collected herself on the ground, Soap approached Ghost with a wry smile. "Ease up a bit, mate," he chided, clapping Ghost on the shoulder. Ghost simply nodded, a silent understanding passing between the two seasoned soldiers.

Soap then turned to Y/N, offering a hand to help her up. "You did good," he said, a note of sincerity in his voice. Together, they made their way to the bench, Y/N's steps unsteady but determined.

With Y/N now seated and tending to her bruises, Soap stepped onto the mat, facing off against Gaz. The air was thick with anticipation; this was a clash of titans, each with their own reputation.

"Ready to eat dirt, Soap?" Gaz taunted, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, a smirk playing on his lips.

"In your dreams, Gaz," Soap shot back, the corner of his mouth ticking up in amusement.

The bout began with a fast pace, Soap launching a series of jabs that Gaz deflected with ease. Gaz responded with a feint, trying to throw Soap off balance, but Soap was quick to adapt, side-stepping and throwing a hook that grazed Gaz's cheek.

"You're going to have to do better than that," Gaz snorted, wiping his face and lunging forward with a powerful uppercut that Soap narrowly avoided.

The room echoed with the sound of their grunts and the slap of skin on skin as they exchanged blows. Soap's style was fluid, his movements like water, while Gaz was a force to be reckoned with, each strike like a hammer against stone.

"Come on, Gaz, you're slowing down!" Soap teased, ducking under a sweeping right hand and countering with a swift kick to Gaz's side.

"Not a chance," Gaz retorted, catching Soap's leg and pushing him back, using the moment to regain his stance.

They were evenly matched, each finding and exploiting the other's weaknesses, neither giving an inch. As the spar continued, their competitive banter became less frequent, replaced by the focus and intensity of the fight.

Soap managed to land a solid punch to Gaz's midsection, but Gaz absorbed the blow, grabbing Soap's arm and twisting it behind his back. Soap grunted, pivoting to release the hold and stepping back to reassess.

They circled each other, sweat dripping, breaths heavy. Gaz made the next move, a combination that had Soap on the defensive. Gaz, with his keen instincts, capitalized on Soap's momentary lapse in focus, executing a swift maneuver that caught Soap off-guard. It was a classic move, one that would make even Ghost nod in respect. With a deft combination of skill and timing, Gaz emerged victorious from the spar, though both knew it could have gone either way on a different day.

Soap, recognizing the intensity of their training, suggested a well-deserved break. He reached down to Y/N with a firm grip, pulling her up from the mat with ease. There was mutual respect in the gesture, a silent acknowledgment of their shared dedication. As he escorted Y/N to her room, his steps were deliberate, ensuring she was comfortable and steady. Once at the door, he offered a small, knowing nod. "Take some time," he said. "We'll regroup after." With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps a quiet assurance of the bond between soldiers.

Exhaustion etched into every line of Y/N's body as she entered her room, the door closing with a soft click behind her. With a heavy sigh, she flopped onto the bed, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her tired muscles, coaxing a groan from her lips. For a moment, she lay there, the stillness of the room enveloping her like a cocoon.

Slowly, Y/N turned, her movements deliberate, reaching for the small locket that lay on the nightstand—a precious memento from her mother. Her fingers traced the intricate patterns etched into the metal before she carefully opened it, revealing the cherished faces inside. A wave of longing washed over her, a stark reminder of the distance between her and her family. In the quiet of her room, surrounded by the remnants of battle, the locket was a tangible connection to the world she fought to protect, a world that felt both infinitely close and hopelessly far away.