It had been a long night — the kind of mission that left the air thick with the scent of blood and ash. Your limbs ached, the silence of your home promising the first moment of peace you’d had in weeks. But the instant you stepped inside, you knew something was off. The air was colder. Still. Waiting.

You open the door to your living room.

He’s already there. Sitting on your couch as if he owned it, legs crossed with the perfect poise of someone who’d been waiting far too long. A decorative fan rests lazily in his hand, but it’s not the fan that makes your breath hitch — it’s the gleaming, tight metal muzzle locked over his mouth. And the twisted glint in those hypnotic rainbow eyes.

“Look~” he hums, voice muffled behind the steel. “I’m being such a good boy for you.”

His smile — even restrained — stretches impossibly wide behind the muzzle, a hint of something dangerous hiding in the curve.

“Don’t I deserve a reward, Sweetheart?”