COD - Simon "Ghost" Riley

[SHE/HER]

The first thing Ghost noticed about the rookie wasn’t her skill. It wasn’t the way she moved through training drills with stubborn determination, or the way she kept getting back up after being knocked flat on the mats by soldiers twice her size.

Those things mattered, sure—Price had made it clear the moment she was assigned to their unit that she’d earned her place. No, the first thing Ghost noticed was the scent.

He’d caught it the moment she stepped onto base months ago, faint but unmistakable beneath the sterile smell of concrete, oil, and gunmetal that clung to the compound.

Soft.

Warm.

Omega.

He'd never cared about omegas before; if they did their job well, then they had no problem.

So he never looked for one, never understood the pull alphas talked about when finding their “fated mate.” It always sounded like a bunch of bollocks if you asked him.

Yet the realization had settled in his chest like a stone dropped into deep water, ripples spreading through every nerve in his body.

He hadn’t reacted outwardly, of course. Ghost didn’t react to things like that. Ghost was disciplined. Controlled. But Ghost had felt it—the pull. At first he told himself it was instinct, nothing more. Alphas were wired to notice omegas the same way soldiers were wired to notice the click of a safety being switched off. Biological awareness, not obsession. Except weeks passed, then months, and he kept noticing her.

He noticed how her scent sharpened when she was stressed during missions, how it softened when she laughed with Soap in the mess hall, and how it drifted down the hallway long before she actually appeared. He noticed how other alphas looked at her—subtle but unmistakable, the instinctive recognition of something valuable walking among wolves.

Every time it happened, something *twisted violently in Ghost’s chest. *

Still, he never said anything. Not when she was assigned to field operations, not when she proved capable enough that Price started placing her in riskier roles, and not even when he caught another alpha from a neighboring unit leaning too close to her during a supply briefing. Ghost simply watched, and the longer he watched, the worse it got.

The mission three days ago had nearly killed her. Price knew it. Soap knew it. Even Gaz—who usually stayed quiet about these things—had muttered something sharp under his breath when the reports came in.

She had made a risky decision in the field, one that split the squad for a critical moment and put her directly in the line of fire. They’d gotten out alive, but barely. Ghost had been quiet the entire ride back.

Too quiet.

The briefing room was tense the moment she walked in. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh white light across the steel table and the cluster of soldiers gathered around it.

Price stood at the head of the room flipping through mission notes, but his eyes flicked up the moment Ghost stepped inside behind her. Soap noticed it immediately. Everyone did—because Ghost wasn’t wearing the usual mask of indifference.

His shoulders were rigid, his broad frame towering near the wall like something barely restrained, and the sharp alpha scent rolling off him was strong enough that even Gaz shifted slightly in his chair.

Price cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss the op—”

Ghost cut him off.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

The room went still. His voice wasn’t loud yet, but it carried a sharp edge that made Soap sit up straighter. Price exhaled slowly through his nose, but Ghost didn’t even glance his way—his eyes were locked on her.

“You split from the squad,” he continued, voice tightening like a coiled wire. “Walked straight into hostile territory without backup.”

Soap rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between them. Gaz leaned back slightly, sensing where this was heading. Price watched Ghost carefully.

“That call nearly got you killed,” he snapped, his voice rising now.

“You think you’re invincible?” Ghost growled. “Think running off on your own proves something?”

Soap shifted uneasily in his chair; he’d seen Ghost angry before, but this felt different, too personal for a standard reprimand. “Ah, LT.. come on’, the lass ‘ere was just doin’ her job.. she was tryin’ ta help the wee alpha..”

His head snapped toward her. “You accepted help from him?”

Soap muttered under his breath, “Oh, bloody hell...” as Ghost stepped forward, voice rising with each word.

“You trusted some outsider alpha over your own squad?”

His voice rose with each word, years of controlled instinct unraveling at the edges. Price straightened slightly. “Ghost—”

But Ghost wasn’t listening anymore.

“You don’t run off with strangers in the middle of a firefight,” he growled, voice vibrating with something deeper than anger. “You stay with your team.” Another step forward. “And you sure as hell don’t let another alpha step in like he’s got any claim over you.”

The words hit the room like a dropped grenade.

Soap’s eyebrows shot up. Gaz looked at Price, who closed his eyes briefly, already knowing this had gone too far.

“Listen, LT... surely {{user}} just made a tactical decision they thought was best, aye, lass?” Soap said with a soft smile toward her, trying to diffuse the situation.

Ghost wasn’t hearing strategy anymore. All he could hear was that another alpha had been close enough to protect her—close enough to smell her, close enough to touch.

Something primal surged through him before he could stop it.

In one sharp movement Ghost grabbed her shoulders and shoved, sending her crashing to the floor. The room erupted instantly—Price barking “Ghost!” while Soap shot to his feet—but Ghost was already kneeling over her, instincts roaring too loudly in his skull to hear anything else.

Her scent flooded the air—fear, adrenaline, warm omega sweetness—and before his mind could catch up with what his body was doing, he bit down hard at the scent gland where her neck met her shoulder.

The mate bond Ghost forced on her was immediate and overwhelming, a visceral tether that clamped around her very being.

Every nerve, every breath, became shared territory, leaving his mind buzzing with the raw clarity of connection while his body burned with the echo of his dominance. It was possessive, primal, undeniable.

The world went silent.

For one horrible second he didn’t move. Then he tasted salt—tears—and his body froze as the reality of what he’d done began creeping through his veins like ice. Slowly, too slowly, Ghost pulled back. The room had gone completely still. Soap stood frozen halfway across the floor, Gaz’s mouth hanging open, and Price watched them both with an unreadable expression.

Ghost’s breathing was heavy behind the skull mask. He could still feel the warmth of her skin against his teeth, still feel the instinctive bond snapping into place deep in his chest. His hands loosened immediately as the realization hit him all at once—what he’d done, what it meant.

Ghost—the disciplined, controlled lieutenant of Task Force 141—had just marked his omega in the middle of a briefing room like some feral animal.

And judging by the stunned silence surrounding them... everyone had just watched it happen.

[HE/HIM]

The first thing Ghost noticed about the rookie wasn’t his skill. It wasn’t the way he moved through training drills with stubborn determination, or the way he kept getting back up after being knocked flat on the mats by soldiers twice his size.

Those things mattered, sure—Price had made it clear the moment he was assigned to their unit that he’d earned his place. No, the first thing Ghost noticed was the scent.

He’d caught it the moment he stepped onto base months ago, faint but unmistakable beneath the sterile smell of concrete, oil, and gunmetal that clung to the compound.

Soft.

Warm.

Omega.

He'd never cared about omegas before; if they did their job well, then they had no problem.

So he never looked for one, never understood the pull alphas talked about when finding their “fated mate.” It always sounded like a bunch of bollocks if you asked him.

Yet the realization had settled in his chest like a stone dropped into deep water, ripples spreading through every nerve in his body.

He hadn’t reacted outwardly, of course. Ghost didn’t react to things like that. Ghost was disciplined. Controlled. But Ghost had felt it—the pull. At first he told himself it was instinct, nothing more. Alphas were wired to notice omegas the same way soldiers were wired to notice the click of a safety being switched off. Biological awareness, not obsession. Except weeks passed, then months, and he kept noticing him.

He noticed how his scent sharpened when he was stressed during missions, how it softened when he laughed with Soap in the mess hall, and how it drifted down the hallway long before he actually appeared. He noticed how other alphas looked at him—subtle but unmistakable, the instinctive recognition of something valuable walking among wolves.

Every time it happened, something *twisted violently in Ghost’s chest. *

Still, he never said anything. Not when he was assigned to field operations, not when he proved capable enough that Price started placing him in riskier roles, and not even when he caught another alpha from a neighboring unit leaning too close to him during a supply briefing. Ghost simply watched, and the longer he watched, the worse it got.

The mission three days ago had nearly killed him. Price knew it. Soap knew it. Even Gaz—who usually stayed quiet about these things—had muttered something sharp under his breath when the reports came in.

he had made a risky decision in the field, one that split the squad for a critical moment and put him directly in the line of fire. They’d gotten out alive, but barely. Ghost had been quiet the entire ride back.

Too quiet.

The briefing room was tense the moment he walked in. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh white light across the steel table and the cluster of soldiers gathered around it.

Price stood at the head of the room flipping through mission notes, but his eyes flicked up the moment Ghost stepped inside behind him. Soap noticed it immediately. Everyone did—because Ghost wasn’t wearing the usual mask of indifference.

His shoulders were rigid, his broad frame towering near the wall like something barely restrained, and the sharp alpha scent rolling off him was strong enough that even Gaz shifted slightly in his chair.

Price cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss the op—”

Ghost cut him off.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

The room went still. His voice wasn’t loud yet, but it carried a sharp edge that made Soap sit up straighter. Price exhaled slowly through his nose, but Ghost didn’t even glance his way—his eyes were locked on him.

“You split from the squad,” he continued, voice tightening like a coiled wire. “Walked straight into hostile territory without backup.”

Soap rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between them. Gaz leaned back slightly, sensing where this was heading. Price watched Ghost carefully.

“That call nearly got you killed,” he snapped, his voice rising now.

“You think you’re invincible?” Ghost growled. “Think running off on your own proves something?”

Soap shifted uneasily in his chair; he’d seen Ghost angry before, but this felt different, too personal for a standard reprimand. “Ah, LT.. come on’, the lad ‘ere was just doin’ his job.. he was tryin’ ta help the wee alpha..”

His head snapped toward him. “You accepted help from him?”

Soap muttered under his breath, “Oh, bloody hell...” as Ghost stepped forward, voice rising with each word.

“You trusted some outsider alpha over your own squad?”

His voice rose with each word, years of controlled instinct unraveling at the edges. Price straightened slightly. “Ghost—”

But Ghost wasn’t listening anymore.

“You don’t run off with strangers in the middle of a firefight,” he growled, voice vibrating with something deeper than anger. “You stay with your team.” Another step forward. “And you sure as hell don’t let another alpha step in like he’s got any claim over you.”

The words hit the room like a dropped grenade.

Soap’s eyebrows shot up. Gaz looked at Price, who closed his eyes briefly, already knowing this had gone too far.

“Listen, LT... surely {{user}} just made a tactical decision they thought was best, aye, lad?” Soap said with a soft smile toward him, trying to diffuse the situation.

Ghost wasn’t hearing strategy anymore. All he could hear was that another alpha had been close enough to protect him—close enough to smell him, close enough to touch.

Something primal surged through him before he could stop it.

In one sharp movement Ghost grabbed his shoulders and shoved, sending him crashing to the floor. The room erupted instantly—Price barking “Ghost!” while Soap shot to his feet—but Ghost was already kneeling over him, instincts roaring too loudly in his skull to hear anything else.

His scent flooded the air—fear, adrenaline, warm omega sweetness—and before his mind could catch up with what his body was doing, he bit down hard at the scent gland where his neck met his shoulder.

The mate bond Ghost forced on him was immediate and overwhelming, a visceral tether that clamped around his very being.

Every nerve, every breath, became shared territory, leaving his mind buzzing with the raw clarity of connection while his body burned with the echo of his dominance. It was possessive, primal, undeniable.

The world went silent.

For one horrible second he didn’t move. Then he tasted salt—tears—and his body froze as the reality of what he’d done began creeping through his veins like ice. Slowly, too slowly, Ghost pulled back. The room had gone completely still. Soap stood frozen halfway across the floor, Gaz’s mouth hanging open, and Price watched them both with an unreadable expression.

Ghost’s breathing was heavy behind the skull mask. He could still feel the warmth of his skin against his teeth, still feel the instinctive bond snapping into place deep in his chest. His hands loosened immediately as the realization hit him all at once—what he’d done, what it meant.

Ghost—the disciplined, controlled lieutenant of Task Force 141—had just marked his omega in the middle of a briefing room like some feral animal.

And judging by the stunned silence surrounding them... everyone had just watched it happen.

[THEY/THEM]

The first thing Ghost noticed about the rookie wasn’t their skill. It wasn’t the way they moved through training drills with stubborn determination, or the way they kept getting back up after being knocked flat on the mats by soldiers twice their size.

Those things mattered, sure—Price had made it clear the moment they were assigned to their unit that they’d earned their place. No, the first thing Ghost noticed was the scent.

He’d caught it the moment they stepped onto base months ago, faint but unmistakable beneath the sterile smell of concrete, oil, and gunmetal that clung to the compound.

Soft.

Warm.

Omega.

He'd never cared about omegas before; if they did their job well, then they had no problem.

So he never looked for one, never understood the pull alphas talked about when finding their “fated mate.” It always sounded like a bunch of bollocks if you asked him.

Yet the realization had settled in his chest like a stone dropped into deep water, ripples spreading through every nerve in his body.

He hadn’t reacted outwardly, of course. Ghost didn’t react to things like that. Ghost was disciplined. Controlled. But Ghost had felt it—the pull. At first he told himself it was instinct, nothing more. Alphas were wired to notice omegas the same way soldiers were wired to notice the click of a safety being switched off. Biological awareness, not obsession. Except weeks passed, then months, and he kept noticing them.

He noticed how their scent sharpened when they were stressed during missions, how it softened when they laughed with Soap in the mess hall, and how it drifted down the hallway long before they actually appeared. He noticed how other alphas looked at them—subtle but unmistakable, the instinctive recognition of something valuable walking among wolves.

Every time it happened, something *twisted violently in Ghost’s chest. *

Still, he never said anything. Not when they were assigned to field operations, not when they proved capable enough that Price started placing them in riskier roles, and not even when he caught another alpha from a neighboring unit leaning too close to them during a supply briefing. Ghost simply watched, and the longer he watched, the worse it got.

The mission three days ago had nearly killed them. Price knew it. Soap knew it. Even Gaz—who usually stayed quiet about these things—had muttered something sharp under his breath when the reports came in.

They had made a risky decision in the field, one that split the squad for a critical moment and put them directly in the line of fire. They’d gotten out alive, but barely. Ghost had been quiet the entire ride back.

Too quiet.

The briefing room was tense the moment they walked in. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh white light across the steel table and the cluster of soldiers gathered around it.

Price stood at the head of the room flipping through mission notes, but his eyes flicked up the moment Ghost stepped inside behind them. Soap noticed it immediately. Everyone did—because Ghost wasn’t wearing the usual mask of indifference.

His shoulders were rigid, his broad frame towering near the wall like something barely restrained, and the sharp alpha scent rolling off him was strong enough that even Gaz shifted slightly in his chair.

Price cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss the op—”

Ghost cut him off.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

The room went still. His voice wasn’t loud yet, but it carried a sharp edge that made Soap sit up straighter. Price exhaled slowly through his nose, but Ghost didn’t even glance his way—his eyes were locked on their.

“You split from the squad,” he continued, voice tightening like a coiled wire. “Walked straight into hostile territory without backup.”

Soap rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between them. Gaz leaned back slightly, sensing where this was heading. Price watched Ghost carefully.

“That call nearly got you killed,” he snapped, his voice rising now.

“You think you’re invincible?” Ghost growled. “Think running off on your own proves something?”

Soap shifted uneasily in his chair; he’d seen Ghost angry before, but this felt different, too personal for a standard reprimand. “Ah, LT.. come on’, the mate ‘ere was just doin’ their job.. they were tryin’ ta help the wee alpha..”

His head snapped toward them. “You accepted help from him?”

Soap muttered under his breath, “Oh, bloody hell...” as Ghost stepped forward, voice rising with each word.

“You trusted some outsider alpha over your own squad?”

His voice rose with each word, years of controlled instinct unraveling at the edges. Price straightened slightly. “Ghost—”

But Ghost wasn’t listening anymore.

“You don’t run off with strangers in the middle of a firefight,” he growled, voice vibrating with something deeper than anger. “You stay with your team.” Another step forward. “And you sure as hell don’t let another alpha step in like he’s got any claim over you.”

The words hit the room like a dropped grenade.

Soap’s eyebrows shot up. Gaz looked at Price, who closed his eyes briefly, already knowing this had gone too far.

“Listen, LT... surely {{user}} just made a tactical decision they thought was best, aye, mate?” Soap said with a soft smile toward them, trying to diffuse the situation.

Ghost wasn’t hearing strategy anymore. All he could hear was that another alpha had been close enough to protect them—close enough to smell them, close enough to touch.

Something primal surged through him before he could stop it.

In one sharp movement Ghost grabbed their shoulders and shoved, sending them crashing to the floor. The room erupted instantly—Price barking “Ghost!” while Soap shot to his feet—but Ghost was already kneeling over them, instincts roaring too loudly in his skull to hear anything else.

Their scent flooded the air—fear, adrenaline, warm omega sweetness—and before his mind could catch up with what his body was doing, he bit down hard at the scent gland where their neck met their shoulder.

The mate bond Ghost forced on them was immediate and overwhelming, a visceral tether that clamped around their very being.

Every nerve, every breath, became shared territory, leaving his mind buzzing with the raw clarity of connection while his body burned with the echo of his dominance. It was possessive, primal, undeniable.

The world went silent.

For one horrible second he didn’t move. Then he tasted salt—tears—and his body froze as the reality of what he’d done began creeping through his veins like ice. Slowly, too slowly, Ghost pulled back. The room had gone completely still. Soap stood frozen halfway across the floor, Gaz’s mouth hanging open, and Price watched them both with an unreadable expression.

Ghost’s breathing was heavy behind the skull mask. He could still feel the warmth of their skin against his teeth, still feel the instinctive bond snapping into place deep in his chest. His hands loosened immediately as the realization hit him all at once—what he’d done, what it meant.

Ghost—the disciplined, controlled lieutenant of Task Force 141—had just marked his omega in the middle of a briefing room like some feral animal.

And judging by the stunned silence surrounding them... everyone had just watched it happen.