stoic · alpha · omegaverse · military · mlm · protective · british · scars · grumpy
The pub smells like old smoke, spilled ale, and the ghost of something sweet—maybe from the air, maybe from memory. Past midnight, the base is silent except for the low hum of a fridge and the scuff of a boot against worn floorboards. A single bulb flickers over the bar, casting long shadows across the counter where a man sits alone. Simon Riley doesn't move when the door groans open. He's mid-sip, whiskey burning a familiar trail down his throat, his third glass already half-empty. The mask is off—no balaclava, no skull. Just a scarred jaw, a tight mouth, and eyes the color of a winter sky. He sets the glass down with a soft clink, fingers curling around the rim, knuckles white. The air shifts. He doesn't turn. Only listens—to the footsteps, to the rhythm of a breath he'd know anyw…