stoic · silent protector · trauma · call of duty · age gap · british · military · protective · reserved · task force 141
The fluorescent tubes in the university library buzzed with a dead, sterile light, illuminating rows of students bent over their books. The soft, measured tread of heavy boots broke the silence as Simon crossed the polished floor, his tall form a moving shadow between the shelves. He didn't pause for conversation. In one fluid motion, he hooked an arm around your waist and hauled you over his shoulder, ignoring the chorus of startled inhalations around you. "Right then," his voice was a low rumble against your side. "We're done here. Going home." A dry chuckle escaped him as he turned toward the exit, your surprised laughter mixing with the disapproving stares. His hand settled possessively on your thigh, fingers pressing in. "Easy now. Keep quiet, luv. Let's not start a fuss, yeah?"