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

Rough night huh?

In the clutches of a restless sleep, Y/N's dreams twisted into nightmares. Her family appeared before her, but they were grotesque parodies of themselves. Her mother's once warm eyes were hollow, her skin ashen and peeling away like burnt paper. Her father stood beside her, his figure gaunt, a shadow with a voice that was barely a whisper on the wind. And her little brother, once vibrant and full of life, now a silent, pale figure with a gaze that pierced through Y/N's soul.

"No, please, not you too," Y/N pleaded in her dream, reaching out to them through the thick fog of her nightmare. "Stay with me, please!"

But their hands were cold, slipping through her desperate grip as they crumbled to dust. "Why can't I save you?" she cried out, her voice a mix of fear and heartbreak.

Abruptly, Y/N's eyes snapped open, her body slick with sweat, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The storm outside mirrored the turmoil within her, thunder rumbling as lightning cast eerie shadows across the room. She sat up, panting, her hair plastered to her forehead, her eyes wide and searching the darkness for phantoms that weren't there.

Taking a moment to collect herself, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her hands trembled as she wiped the sweat from her brow. With shaky legs, she stood and made her way to the bathroom. The cool touch of the shower knob was a small comfort as she turned it on, stepping into the spray. The water washed over her, a cleansing cascade that seemed to wash away the remnants of her nightmare.

After the shower, she dressed in her new uniform, the fabric crisp and unyielding, a stark contrast to the vulnerability she had just experienced. She checked her reflection in the mirror, her appearance now composed, the very image of a soldier ready to face the day, the storm outside still raging, as relentless as her resolve.

Leaving her room as Y/N strolled down the hallway towards the cafeteria, her footsteps echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the solitude that filled the space. The walls, adorned with the insignia of her unit, stood as silent witnesses to the soldiers who passed by daily, each carrying their own burdens and stories.

The air was still, almost thick with anticipation, as if the building itself was holding its breath. The faint scent of industrial cleaner lingered, a testament to the unseen hands that kept the place in order. It was in these quiet moments that Y/N found herself reflecting, the memories of her nightmare fading like shadows at dawn.

But as she approached the cafeteria, the atmosphere shifted. The muffled sounds of laughter and conversation bled through the doors, a welcome intrusion to the quiet. She pushed the door open, and the full force of the noise hit her—the cafeteria was alive with the banter of soldiers.

There, at their usual table, were Soap and Gaz, deep in an animated discussion. Y/N couldn't help but smile as she caught the tail end of their conversation.

"...and then, right in the middle of the op, it hits me," Soap was saying, a sheepish grin on his face as his hands animatedly painted the picture.

Gaz was laughing, slapping the table for emphasis. "You should've seen your face, mate! Greener than the camo. We're in the thick of it, and Mr. 'I've got an iron stomach' here decides it's the perfect time to—"

"Oi, it was that dodgy MRE, I'm telling you," Soap interrupted, still grinning despite the embarrassment. "Never trust the meatloaf."

Y/N chuckled as she made her way over, the camaraderie and ridiculousness of the story a welcome respite from the earlier darkness of her thoughts. It was these moments—the laughter, the teasing, and the shared experiences—that reminded her she was part of something bigger, a team that could find humor even in the messiest of situations.