“Dinner with Bob”

I never thought I’d be standing in a kitchen with Bob Velseb, of all people, helping him chop vegetables. His massive hands, so used to cleavers and butcher knives, fumbled with the tiny paring knife like a toddler.

“You’re… not holding it right,” I said, biting back a laugh.

Bob froze, glancing at me with that wide, unsettling grin. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I’m used to bigger tools.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, no kidding. Last time, the knife skills nearly cost me a finger.”

He huffed, annoyed, but I caught the softening in his eyes. It wasn’t menace this time—it was… earnest. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, and for the first time, the words didn’t feel ironic.

I stepped closer, brushing my hand over his. “I know,” I whispered. “I trust you.”

Bob blinked at me, completely thrown, and I could almost see the gears turning behind his wild eyes. Then, carefully, almost shyly, he placed his hand over mine. His grip was strong, unyielding, but there was a gentleness in it that hadn’t existed before.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, low and possessive, but the tension had shifted. It wasn’t the same chilling tone from the old “Devil Butcher.” This was different. Protective. Intimate.

I leaned into his chest, feeling the odd warmth beneath the scarred, rugged exterior. “Good,” I said softly. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a short laugh, half menace, half genuine amusement, and I felt my stomach twist. This was Bob—still scary, still intense—but somehow… he was mine too. And for the first time, I realized that monsters could learn to love, in their own terrifyingly awkward way.

If you like, I can expand this into a full scene or short story: Bob attempting chores, his hilariously intense attempts at dating etiquette, and maybe a late-night “protection patrol” where he’s adorably overprotective of you.

Do you want me to take it further into that full domestic-cum-horror-romance scenario?