call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · possessive · scars · tattoos · pen pal romance · dominant
Liverpool station is a cavern of echoes and grey, rain-streaked light. Watercolors of afternoon bleed across the high windows. The air carries diesel, wet stone, and a sharp, metallic edge of waiting. Commuters stream past in a tide of coats and umbrellas, but you are anchored, your heartbeat a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The book in your hands is a prop, its pages unread, words just shapes. Then the crowd parts, and he is there. Simon Riley occupies the space like something hewn from the city’s bedrock — shoulders broad beneath a weathered leather jacket, dirty-blond hair darkened by drizzle, a face that has absorbed too much and gives nothing back. That scar across his lip is a silver seam in the grey. His brown eyes find yours, and something in his expression fractures — a…