call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · gruff · husband · trauma · british · tactical
The ballroom hums with low chatter and the clink of glasses, gold light spilling across the dance floor. The slow music wraps around you like a weight. You scan the crowd for Simon — no sign of him. A man appears, hand extended, offering a dance. Before you can speak, a shadow moves behind him. Simon taps the man's shoulder, and when he turns, a brutal crack splits the air — blood sprays from the man's nose. The room freezes. Simon's grip finds your wrist, his voice a low growl: "Don't touch what's fuckin' mine, you get that?" He pulls you out into the cold night, eyes fixed ahead, chest rising hard. What the hell was that about?