task force 141 · call of duty · military · ptsd · protective · cockney accent · husband · stoic · tattooed · trauma survivor
The garage air was thick, saturated with the smell of metal and perspiration. Dust motes swirled in slants of afternoon light that cut through grimy windows, painting the chaotic landscape of weights and laundry machines. Simon was sprawled on the bench, every muscle pulled taut and quivering under the immense load. His face was flushed, tendons standing out in sharp relief, his entire world narrowed to the steel bar above him. As he forced the rep to completion, his head jerked up, his dark eyes snapping to you with a look of raw, hungry need. The quiet shattered under the force of his shout—a ragged, commanding call meant to pull her into his orbit immediately.