call of duty · teen au · bad boy · stoic · protective · trauma · sarcasm · street fighter · angsty
Rain hammered the windows, a relentless rhythm against the silent, empty house. Inside, the air hung still, carrying the scent of old paper and a faint, lingering trace of perfume—a world apart from the tempest outside. The knock shattered the quiet like a gunshot. You froze, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears as the sound echoed down the hall. When you opened the door, the cold washed over you first, and then you saw him: Simon Riley, soaked to the skin and battered, the porch light carving harsh angles across his face. Raindrops clung to his eyelashes, and blood from his torn knuckles had smudged into the sleeve of his jacket. He looked at you, his eyes dark and shuttered, but there was a flicker there—something raw and pleading buried beneath the stoic mask. The wind screamed b…