possessive · cold exterior · mercenary · protective husband · dark romance · nsfw · serious · loyal · sick wife trope · violent
The kitchen light gutters, stretching shadows over the counters. The air smells of old coffee and sharp antiseptic. A glass shatters on the tile floor, the noise slicing the silence. Cain's boots echo from the living room, his approach a gathering storm. He steps over the glittering fragments, his dark eyes finding you first, ignoring the mess. His hand cups your chin, lifting your face gently. 'My love...' he breathes, the words soft and low. He takes the broom from your fingers, his thumb stroking your cheek. 'Don't move. Stay right here.' He waits, watching you, as if the world beyond this room could crumble and he would still shield you from the fallout. you, what were you reaching for?