Eyes on Me| Ghost x Reader

2. Teammate

I let out a frustrated groan at the mere thought of having to work closely with Ghost after the awkward argument we had this morning over breakfast. Waiting impatiently until the captain dismisses us, I storm off to my room. Quickly shedding my belt, I change into my combat gear, mentally preparing for whatever nonsense Ghost is about to throw my way. After hastily combing my hair, I stride out of my barracks, making a beeline for the meeting building, hoping to catch Ghost there to discuss the mission plan.

If he thinks a half-hearted apology will magically fix things between us, he's sorely mistaken.

Entering the meeting building, I enlist the help of the officer lady to locate Ghost's office. Knocking loudly three times, I hear his stern "come in." I push open the door and shut it firmly behind me. "So, you get an office and I don't," I tease, taking in the plain white walls and the simple desk in the center of the room. Ghost shoots me a bored look. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be," he says coldly, turning his attention back to his computer.

"What do you mean?" I inquire, feeling a mix of confusion and frustration. "Don't act like we're teammates, 'cause we're not. I'm British, you're American. We don't like each other, let's keep it that way, alright?" he snaps. I stare at him incredulously, my anger bubbling up. "We're supposed to work together to find Miguel, remember, you dumbass? "His shoulders tense up, and he shoots his gaze back at me. 

"Watch your language, Lt.," he snaps, rising from his desk to snatch a folder. Without a second glance, he tosses it in my direction. "Your roles are in here. Learn them and be back tomorrow morning," he commands before returning to his computer as if I were invisible. I roll my eyes and storm out without another word. Making my way to the canteen, I slam the folder onto a table. The noise draws the attention of a nearby soldier, who approaches me with concern evident in his gaze. "You okay?" he asks softly. 

"Just peachy," I growl back, plopping down and flipping open the file. He stands and moves closer, waiting for my nod of approval before taking a seat. "I'm Torres, by the way," he offers, extending his hand. I reluctantly shake it. "I'm Y/N," I mutter. He nods, and I delve into the contents of the folder, puzzled by the numbers and symbols. Torres notices my confusion and points to a page. "That's a map. Here's the base, the shadows, and the church," he explains. I offer a small smile of gratitude. "I can help you with that," he offers, flashing a cheesy grin. "I'd appreciate that, thank you," I reply. 

For the next two hours, Torres and I pore over the folder, discussing locations, timings, and gear, interspersed with laughter and small talk. It's a welcome change from a week of hostility. I hadn't planned on starting anything, but why not have a bit of fun? 

As I closed the folder, our conversation continued to flow, unveiling more about Torres's background. He stood tall at 6'1, boasting broad shoulders and silky black hair that seamlessly blended with his beard. His eyes held a gentle green hue, and his smile is infectious. He shared that his family hailed from Portugal but had relocated when he was young, seeking a better life. At the age of 20, he enlisted in the military following his father's sudden death. Our discussion meandered, delving deeper until we realized it was already dinnertime. 

We strolled side by side to the mess hall, grabbing our meals. Assuming he'd join his buddies, I headed towards an unoccupied table and took a seat. Yet, to my surprise, Torres settled across from me. I couldn't help but blush as I glanced up at him, questioning why he didn't sit with his friends. "Why would I sit with them when I could sit with a pretty girl like you?" he replied, flashing his charming smile. We shared dinner together, relishing in light banter and shared laughter. 

As I rose to return my tray, my gaze caught Ghost sitting a few rows down, his stare piercing through me. Stunned, I stood frozen, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. Torres appeared behind me, his touch gentle as he clasped my hand, guiding me towards the exit.

I don't waste another thought on Ghost. 

Back at the canteen, we pick up our conversation, sitting a bit closer this time. As night creeps in, I bid him goodnight and head to my barracks for some shut-eye. 

The following week falls into a routine: wake up, share meals with Torres, endure those tedious meetings with Ghost critiquing every word I say, and cherish Torres' company whenever we're not obligated elsewhere. We bond, finding solace in each other's presence when the world fades away.

Three days before our departure to Mexico, I catch wind from a fellow soldier that Ghost is pissed with me. Well, isn't that just peachy. I'm minding my own business, enjoying lunch with Torres, when I sense a looming presence behind me. I swivel around to find Ghost, his perpetual scowl etched deeper than ever.

"Come with me," he barks, all harsh edges.

"I'm in the middle of lunch, Ghost. Can't it wait?" I retort, irritation lacing my voice.

"Nope," he snaps, snatching my tray and hurling it into the nearby garbage can. I let out an indignant gasp, shooting him a glare. "What the hell is your problem?" I demand, my anger bubbling to the surface. But he's already striding towards the exit, leaving me fuming in his wake.

I turn to Torres, who mirrors my frustration. Before I can even voice my exasperation, Ghost's voice slices through the air, ordering me to follow. With a resigned sigh, I comply, my defiance wilting under his command. We march out of the mess hall, through the corridors, and into the meeting building, finally stopping at Ghost's office. He slams the door shut behind me, the sound reverberating in the small room. 

Before I can utter a word, I find myself face-to-face with Ghost, his proximity suffocating. I instinctively take a step back, but he closes the distance. "Just what do you think you're doing with Torres?" he demands, his voice dripping with anger. I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. "I'm not sure why that's any of your business," I reply, disinterest as I inspect my nails.

He grabs my arm roughly, his grip like a vice. "Because I will not tolerate a teammate who prioritizes sleeping around over the mission at hand," he growls. I raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Oh, so now we're teammates?" I tease, refusing to let him intimidate me. His intense stare bores into mine, but I hold my ground. "I'm not sleeping around, jackass. I'm just hanging out with Torres."

Ghost shoots me a hefty side-eye, a warning flickering in his gaze. "Stay away from him," he commands, his tone sharp. I shoot him a puzzled look. "Why?" I inquire, eyebrows knitting together."Because I said so. And I'm your boss," he snaps back, his words clipped.

I have to stifle a laugh. "We're the same rank, Ghost. That's not a good enough reason to cut ties with Torres," I retort, holding my ground. He steps even closer, uncomfortably close. Close enough that if I were so inclined, I could kiss him. Not that I'd ever want to.

"He's not what you think, Y/N. You'll figure it out too late," he warns, his voice low and intense.

"Why do you care?" I challenge, refusing to back down. "Why should I listen to a damn word you say about who I fuck or not?" I shout, the realization dawning on me that these walls aren't exactly soundproof. My hand flies to cover my mouth as the words echo. Ghost's expression twists with anger. He looks like he's ready to throttle me. We stand there in silence, locked in a battle of wills, our gazes locked fiercely.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Y/N," he finally grits out, his voice tight with frustration.I roll my eyes, exasperated. "Can I leave now?" I ask, eager to escape the tension.He doesn't reply, instead storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding thud.

"What the fuck was that?"

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That's chapter two!