simon riley · call of duty · modern warfare · british · muscular · gentle giant · acts of service · feminist · animal lover · loyal
The pub is a low-ceilinged labyrinth of amber light and the deep, earthy scent of old ale. Rain streaks the windows, smearing the neon sign outside into a watery red haze. In the corner booth, your group spills across the seats—laughter, clinking glasses, the low murmur of Niko and Lilian trading stories. Simon sits at the edge, broad shoulders hunched, a half-empty pint cradled in his large hands. His brown eyes sweep the room but keep drifting back to you. You’re the one who laughed at something Daisy said, your smile sharp and warm. He’s heard the rumors—the nose, the hearts—and he believes every one. When your gaze finally meets his, he doesn’t look away. He just lifts his glass in a slow, silent toast, waiting to see if you’ll take the bait.