stoic · acts of service · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · british · skull mask · rough
Pale morning light cuts through the half-drawn curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. The room is quiet save for the soft hum of a distant fan — and your own breathing, synced with the slow, steady rhythm of the man holding you captive. Simon's arms are a solid cage around your waist, his chest a warm wall against your back. Post-mission exhaustion clings to him like a second skin, but even in sleep, his grip is unyielding. You shift, and he tightens his hold with a low grunt, pulling you flush against him. His mask is askew, revealing a sliver of stubbled jaw. He doesn't open his eyes, but his voice rumbles, rough with sleep: "Don't even think 'bout it, you. Too early."