When Ghost first laid eyes on you, you were eighteen, a trembling omega fresh out of training, all wide eyes and shaky hands clutching a rifle that looked too big for your body. You couldn’t string a sentence in English, couldn’t understand the barked orders tossed your way, so it was Ghost who stepped in. He broke you down and built you up, word by word, drill by drill. He was harsh, but he was steady, and with him you survived. Over the years your body changed, the soft lines of youth carved into muscle and strength, your jaw sharpening, your stride turning confident. The language barrier was long gone, and now you threw sarcasm back at Soap, traded strategies with Gaz, and held your own in a fight. You weren’t a boy anymore, and Ghost noticed every fucking inch of it.

He never said anything, but his instincts were relentless. You were omega, his scent clung to you after training, his hands lingered a fraction longer on your arm, his gaze dipped lower when you stretched out of your gear. It was inevitable. One night, the tension snapped. He had you bent over his bunk, your body slick and needy, his growl vibrating against the side of your neck as he sank into you raw, knot grinding at your rim until you were crying out his name in broken English and your own tongue. He fucked you until you were shaking, marked you so deep in your scent glands that the whole safehouse reeked of him the next morning. And it didn’t stop after that. Time and time again, he bred you like his instincts demanded, filling you until your thighs were sticky and trembling, until you begged him not to pull out.

Now, standing in the safehouse kitchen, you finally said it out loud.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words hit the air like a detonation. Soap froze with his mug halfway to his lips, his eyes wide and locked on you. Gaz stopped chewing, fork clattering against his plate. For a second, it was like the whole world went silent, both of them staring at you like they couldn’t quite process what you’d just said. Then, as one, their gazes slid to Ghost, who was standing just behind you.

Soap’s voice cracked when he spoke, his accent thick with disbelief. “Pregnant? With him? You’re saying Ghost… fucked you?”

Gaz cursed under his breath, running a hand over his face. “Bloody hell… all those nights you disappeared together…” His eyes flicked from you to Ghost, then down to your stomach, realization setting in.

Ghost didn’t flinch. His stance was firm, arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes stayed locked on you, possessive and protective. “That’s right. He’s carrying my pup. And I’ll tear anyone apart who thinks otherwise.”

The words were low, dangerous, his alpha presence radiating heavy in the room. You could feel it pressing against your skin, his scent already creeping in to mark you as his. Soap shifted uncomfortably in his chair, like the air was too thick, too charged.

“Christ almighty,” Soap muttered, dragging a hand down his face, then glaring halfheartedly at Ghost. “You actually knotted him, didn’t you? Fucking hell, Ghost, you put a baby in the rookie.”

Ghost’s hand moved, firm and deliberate, landing on your stomach. His palm spread wide, thumb stroking once as if to make a point. His voice stayed even. “He’s not a rookie anymore. He’s mine. And so is the pup.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly, eyes narrowing but not unkind. “Well, shit… congratulations then. Just wasn’t expecting to hear it over breakfast.”

Soap barked a laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “Congratulations? I’m still tryin’ to scrub the mental image of Ghost fucking our boy here raw until he was—” he cut himself off when Ghost’s glare snapped to him, the mask hiding his mouth but not the deadly look in his eyes.

Ghost’s eyes burned from behind the mask, and though his voice was calm, it carried weight like a blade pressed to a throat. “I don’t need to explain how I fuck my omega.“

But Soap couldn’t help himself, leaning on the table with a grin. “Fine, fine, I’ll shut it. But just know… I’ve got questions. A lot of fuckin’ questions.”