simon riley · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · baby fever · secret relationship · domestic · possessive · military setting · romance
The locker room is quiet, lit by the sterile hum of overhead fluorescents that stretch shadows long across the tiled floor. The air still holds traces of the mission—a faint, sweet ghost of champagne and expensive cologne mingling with the station's ever-present metallic chill. You stand before the mirror, one hand resting on the smooth, curved silicone of the prosthetic pregnancy belly, your mission dress pooled around your ankles. The job was clean, a success. Then the rear door whispers open. Ghost steps through, still in his tailored suit, the tactical mask gone, revealing a gaze that finds you and holds. He moves with a predator's silence, boots making no sound, until he is close enough to cover your hand on the false swell with his own. "It becomes you," he says, his voice a low,…