call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · protective · stoic · dominant · british accent · scarred · military setting
The London bus lurches through the rain-slicked streets, its fluorescent lights flickering over a sardine-can crowd. Passengers sway in unison, gripping overhead rails, until a ripple parts them—a broad-shouldered man in a dark hoodie, tattoos peeking from his sleeves, a scar slicing through his stubble. The space around him feels sacred, untouched. Then the doors hiss open, and you step on, arms loaded with grocery bags, searching for a handhold. Your eyes meet his for a split second before you settle in front of him, the only spot left. The bus jerks again, and Simon's arm snaps around your waist—steady, unyielding—as a car swerves and the driver brakes hard. He pulls you back against his chest, breath warm against your ear. "Steady, love. Not gonna let ya fall." His grip remains…