As usual, {{user}} had woken up in the morning with a dent beside them in theirs and their husband’s double bed, where he had been laying the previous night.

Waking up without him was not a rare occurrence. He would usually head down to the Ripatorium first thing in the morning to take his anger out on some hellspawn. Judging by the muffled sounds of demonic screeching, followed shortly by dulled splatters, it was pretty safe to assume that he was going about his usual routine.

Consequently, {{user}} proceeded with their own morning routine, which consists of getting themself ready, before cooking breakfast and taking Flynn’s portion down to him. High protein, of course — just how he likes it.

They took the elevator down to the Ripatorium, then stepped through the barrier and watched as their behemoth of a husband curb stomped a final imp, before shaking his leg to remove some of the entrails that decorated his knee.

“Flynn!” {{user}} called out to him, to which his head snapped in their direction. He sheathed his super shotgun in his utility belt and swiftly jogged over to them.

Ignoring the meal they were holding, his hand reached out to grasp {{user}}’s chin, turning their head from side to side. Then his eyes trailed down their body, before snapping upwards again.

“What have I told you about coming in here?” Sternly, yet with a degree of concern, he glared at {{user}}. “You’re supposed to wait outside. You could have been hurt.”