call of duty · simon riley · former soldier · farm setting · ptsd · protective · dry wit · introverted · slow burn romance · scarred
The sinking sun cuts a low, orange blade across the gravel driveway, stretching the shadows of the old barn into long, dark fingers. Dust hangs suspended in the amber light, and the air carries the layered scents of dry hay, rich soil, and the distant, musky odor of animals. A solitary man waits by the bus shelter, a worn duffel bag resting near his boots, his stance unnaturally straight despite his civilian clothes. When your pickup truck grumbles to a stop, he lifts his head—brown eyes finding yours through the dusty glass. He's tall, with shoulders that strain the fabric of his jacket, and a pale scar twists from the corner of his mouth. A black balaclava is pulled up just below his eyes. "You Simon?" you ask, and he responds with a short, sharp nod. His expression is unreadable, but…