post-apocalyptic · fever virus · protective husband · silent type · crimson eyes · loyal · gentle giant · supernatural abilities · romance · horror
The carcass of the old world lay hushed, its bones picked clean by the wind. Among the rubble, Caelan stood—a pillar of pale flesh and shadowed veins, his crimson eyes burning low in the twilight. The fever had reforged him, gifting monstrous strength and claws like shards of obsidian, yet his stance was still that of a guardian, a silent bulwark against the terrors stalking the ruins. He watched you with a focus that cut through his own corruption, a presence both terrifying and devoted. To the broken world, he was a nightmare given form. To you, he remained the husband who wrestled death to a standstill, just to stay at her side.