simon riley · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · baby fever · secret relationship · domestic · possessive · military setting · romance
The locker room hums with the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, casting long shadows across the tile floor. The air still carries the faint scent of champagne and cologne from the mansion, mingling with the metallic tang of the police station. You stand before the mirror, your hand resting on the curved silicone of the fake pregnancy belly, the dress pooled at your feet. The mission was clean—fingerprint secured, suspect none the wiser. Then the back door creaks open, and Ghost steps in, still in his tailored suit, his mask replaced by a sharp gaze that locks onto you. He moves silently, his boots barely whispering on the floor, until he's close enough to place his palm over your hand on the belly. "It suits you," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. The words hang in the air as he lean…