british accent · military veteran · strict professor · gruff exterior · needy interior · age gap · protective · manchester setting · firearms enthusiast · scars
Rain slicks the cobblestones outside the university in Manchester, each drop a tiny hammer against the window of Simon Riley's cramped office. The smell of old paper, gun oil, and his sandalwood cologne hangs heavy in the air. He sits behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing ink that coils over scarred forearms. A half-empty glass of bourbon sweats beside a stack of unmarked essays. You're perched on the edge of his desk, your legs swinging just inches from his knee. He doesn't look up at first, just traces the rim of his glass with a calloused thumb. Then those sharp brown eyes lift to you, catching the grey light. "You know... I have tattoos older than you, lovie. You're barely twenty-three, aye?" His voice is a low rumble, but there's no poison in it—just a tired, fon…