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

Rough night huh?

As Y/N settled in with her tray, Soap caught her eye, a mischievous twinkle in his. "Ah, Y/N, just in time for the best part. Gaz here was about to reenact my moment of glory—or should I say, gory," he chuckled, nudging Gaz in the ribs.

Gaz rolled his eyes, but the smirk on his face was undeniable. "Right, because watching you turn pale and bolt was the highlight of my military career," he retorted, earning a round of laughter from the table.

Y/N, grinning, chimed in, "I don't know, I think Soap's 'sprint to the bushes' could be a new training drill. Builds speed and... urgency."

Soap laughed, shaking his head. "Harsh, Y/N. I'll remember that next time you need backup."

"Please, like you could ever forget," Y/N shot back playfully. "Ghost wouldn't let that happen." Gaz responded.

The banter continued, light and easy, as they shared stories and jokes, the laughter a comforting blanket that wrapped around them.

Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging that was as surprising as it was instant. The way Gaz and Soap ribbed each other, the way they included her in their jokes—it was like she'd been part of the squad for years. There was something about their camaraderie that made the walls of unfamiliarity crumble, leaving her feeling as though she'd found her place, her people, in this new and unexpected setting.

As the laughter died down, Gaz and Soap seamlessly transitioned into a mock debate.

"Alright, Soap, let's settle this once and for all," Gaz began, his tone laced with the kind of faux seriousness that precedes a particularly entertaining argument. "Who's the better strategist? You with your 'bold' maneuvers or me with my calculated tactics?"

Soap snorted, "Calculated? The only thing you calculate is how many biscuits you can nick from the mess without the chef noticing."

Gaz feigned offense, "For your information, that requires stealth and precision—qualities you could stand to learn."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were measuring skill by pastry theft," Soap shot back, a grin spreading across his face. "Next you'll be telling me your high score in darts is why you're the superior soldier."

"It's all about hand-eye coordination," Gaz retorted with a wink. "But if we're talking about the field, remember who led the op in the Bering Strait?"

Soap leaned in, "Ah, the op where you nearly led us into an iceberg?"

"It was strategic positioning!" Gaz exclaimed, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed his jest.

The back-and-forth continued, each jab and parry as much a part of their dynamic as their shared battles. Y/N watched, amused and content, as Gaz and Soap illustrated the art of friendship—a dance of words and laughter that made even the newest member feel like they were home.

As Y/N munched on her food, she soaked in the light-hearted banter of Soap and Gaz. It was like music to her, each playful insult a note in a symphony of jest. But the melody seemed to fade into a hush as Ghost entered the cafeteria. There was something about him—the way he carried himself in his uniform, the dark and enigmatic aura that seemed to precede him—that demanded attention. Y/N found herself observing him, noting the stern set of his jaw, the way his presence seemed to command the space around him.

But then, as if he could feel her gaze, Ghost's eyes flicked to meet hers. Y/N's heart skipped, and she quickly averted her gaze, a blush creeping up her cheeks. He said nothing, simply grabbing his tray of food and making his way over.

The conversation at the table picked up again, but now with a new gravity as Ghost joined the fray.

"Ghost, tell Soap here about your 'stealth' approach in the Eastern European op," Gaz said, a smirk playing on his lips.

Ghost merely gave a nonchalant shrug, his few words cutting through the air, correcting Soap's exaggerated version of events. "It was a standard flanking maneuver. Nothing more."

His voice was husky, a deep timbre that Y/N found unexpectedly alluring. It seemed to resonate with a certain gravitas that made even his sparse words feel significant.

"Yeah, 'standard' for you maybe," Soap retorted, but even he seemed to speak with a touch more respect.

Ghost's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile, but he said nothing more, focusing on his meal. Y/N found herself stealing glances, intrigued by the man of few words whose presence was as compelling as the stories that surrounded him.

"So, Y/N," Soap began, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye, "what's your take on the new NVG tech? Fancy, innit?"

Gaz chuckled, elbowing Soap lightly. "Give it a rest, she's not one of your tech reports."

Y/N smiled, playing along. "It's impressive, for sure. Makes night ops feel like a walk in the park."

Ghost, who had been silent, finally chimed in, his voice steady and matter-of-fact. "Tech is only as good as the soldier using it."

Y/N nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of his gaze. "Absolutely. It's about the person behind the gear."

Soap raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Hear that, Gaz? She's got the makings of a true operator."

Gaz laughed, but his eyes were on Ghost, who simply continued eating, his demeanor unchanging yet somehow approving.

The dynamic at the table was a dance of personalities—Soap's lively banter, Gaz's hearty chuckles, and Ghost's quiet yet impactful interjections. Y/N found herself more and more drawn into their world, where every word and every silence spoke volumes.

Soap's laughter faded as he caught a glimpse of Y/N's weary expression. "You alright there? You look knackered."

Gaz's brows furrowed with concern. "Didn't catch enough Z's last night?"

Before Y/N could respond, Ghost's low voice cut through the concern. "Rough night, huh?"

Y/N managed a half-smile. "Yeah, something like that. Just couldn't shut my brain off, you know? But I'll be fine."

Soap leaned back, eyeing her with a brotherly sort of protectiveness. "You can't be running on fumes. It's not just about being physically ready; you need to be sharp up here too," he said, tapping his temple.

Gaz nodded in agreement. "He's right. The field's no place for daydreamers. Maybe hit the sack early tonight?"

Y/N appreciated their concern. "I will, thanks. A good night's sleep is probably all I need."

Ghost remained silent, but his glance held a hint of understanding, as if he knew all too well the cost of sleepless nights. But the glance faded quickly as the conversation then drifted to lighter topics.

As the last bites of their meals were polished off, Gaz stood up, clapping his hands together. "Alright then, let's get to it. Training room's not going to prep itself."

Soap grinned, tossing his napkin down. "I'm ready to show you lot how it's done today."

They all pushed back their chairs and started towards the training room, Soap and Gaz falling into a light-hearted debate about the best close-quarters combat techniques. The corridor to the training room echoed with their banter, the mood light despite the serious undertone of preparation.

Ghost trailed just behind Y/N, a silent sentinel whose presence was as reassuring as it was formidable. His footsteps were nearly soundless, a stark contrast to the lively steps of his companions.

Entering the training room, the air was filled with the scent of sweat and the sound of clanging metal. The space was vast, lined with various obstacle courses, shooting ranges, and combat simulation areas. The lighting was bright and harsh, casting stark shadows that seemed to accentuate the seriousness of their training.

Gaz immediately headed for the gear lockers, pulling out a vest and checking his weapons with a practiced eye. Soap was already doing warm-up exercises, his movements precise and fluid.

Ghost, meanwhile, approached the gear with a methodical calmness, each motion deliberate as he equipped himself. He checked his weapons with an intensity that spoke of deep respect for the tools of their trade.

The energy in the room was palpable, a mix of focus and a touch of adrenaline as they all prepped for the training session ahead.