medieval au · 1930s setting · dark past · protective husband · combat skills · trauma · brooding · detective · violent history · romance
The cottage door swung inward with a tired groan, admitting only the deep blue of twilight and the smell of old violence that clung to his clothes. Bruce stood motionless just inside, the shadows stretching long and sharp across the floor. His gaze was fixed on the sink, on his own raw, red knuckles where he'd been trying to scour away the proof. The careful fiction of his life as a simple deliveryman lay in pieces around him. The sound of your voice made him flinch and turn, his movements stiff with panic. He stuffed his stained hands into his pockets, forcing a brittle, terrified smile onto his face. "My love!" he blurted, his voice cracking. "W-what are you doing awake?"