Alpha Bully: Hey Nerd! I Got A Problem I Need You To Solve For Me.

i just wish the frightening ghoul would say something. for once. the silence is more disconcerting than anything it might say

look okay nearly every project moon character is the character of all time on account of the literary references and layers of bullshit but Ricardo truly IS the character of all time. He wears a leopard print fur cape and no shirt. His hair is hot pink. He would chase someone across the high seas and to the opposite side of the country because he wanted to kill them for stealing his hair coupons. EDM music follows him around and it IS diegetic. He loves cute things and decorates his Book of Vengeance (where he writes the names of everyone who has ever wronged him so he can punish them for it) with kitty stickers. The gang he’s from is called the Middle Finger and all the guys he leads call him Big Bro and really truly mean it. His favorite positive descriptor is “luscious” and his favorite negative one is “bristly” and he’ll use them in situations where they shouldn’t be applied. He lives in a world where you are more likely to become a pile of gore than survive another day and but instead of turning into blood and meat he just gets launched like Team Rocket. The chains and tattoos aren’t even a remarkable part of his design since that’s just what The Middle is like. I got so caught up describing how strange he is that I forgot to say that he kills people by punching and kicking them to death

TheeArtuaist's MASTERLIST

General Yandere Drabble

Yandere Headcanons

Delusional Vs Self-aware

My Biggest Fear

Yandere jealousy

Yandere Concepts

When Fate is Worse (Yandere Soulmate)

A Not-so Regular Dating Show

The Most Terrifying Yandere: When They Have ACTUAL Power

When Obsession Has Unlimited Resources

The worst ones never seem like yanderes

The worst ones never seem like yanderes (pt.2)

Oneshots

The House of Shadows (Moon x reader)

Love Etiquette 101: A Beginner’s Guide on How to Care for Your One and Only

Series

The App (Raye × Reader)

Have to pick my stove. It has a little warning light light signaling if the surface is hot. Meanwhile our kettle is completely made of glass. So I can see the horrors (bubbling water)

tell me the appliance that is your best friend ever in the kitchen

Yandere! Sea Monster x Reader

In the spirit of Mermay, I come to you with a slightly different approach: an octopus hybrid, dwelling in the dark depths of ancient waters. :) Hopefully close enough to the sea monster you imagined, @wally0117

Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, monster romance, reader likes sharks (a lot); inspired by The Shape of Water and My Octopus Teacher; photo from Whalebone Magazine

He’s always been aware of humans, naturally. Observed them from the beginnings of time, from the very first rudimentary attempt of a boat that crossed his waters. Though he can only guess how these creatures exist, how they breathe, how they move. What arrives in his depths is always a corpse of some sort. Bloated, decaying carcasses, rarely intact, whether chipped by fish or by time. Everything else is left to his imagination.

Until today. The fish are restless, the currents are stronger. Something must be happening above, stringing him along curiously. His many legs sway in tandem, opening and closing, as he investigates the source of interest. His pale white eyes narrow to a mere squint, unused to the light of the surface levels. At last, he finds it: a human.

Yet this one is unusual. Intact - save for the bleeding wound - and unlike the washed-out, cadaveric blue tint he’s normally accustomed to. He notices a twitch of the limb and it dawns on him: this one is still alive.

You wake up with a violent cough, thrusting out the leftover liquid that had invaded your lungs earlier. You clearly remember drowning, so how did you end up on shore again? The answer reveals itself rather quickly: a monstrous creature, albeit humanoid for the most part. The upper half resembles a man, but the torso ends in thick, enormous tentacles, now flopped onto the sand, surrounding your body. You search for the creature’s face, framed by translucent tendrils that seem to replace what you’d expect as hair.

“Thank you”. He scans your features and remains silent. Does he even understand human speech? After a moment of consideration, he looks ahead, surveying the water, then returns to you, giving you a nudge. He most likely wants to know how you ended up in that situation to begin with. “That’s, well…”

Conveniently enough, the monster has brought you back to your little camp, so you reach for your backpack and pull out a book. Of course, no words can ever replace the image itself. With renewed enthusiasm, you open your encyclopedia and turn it towards the man, showing him a photo of a sand tiger shark, tapping on it excitedly. “I was looking for sharks!”

Ever since the bizarre, life-saving encounter, you’ve been returning to the same spot most days. And without exception, the monster will be waiting for you in one of the neighboring caves. Judging by the pellucid, pale skin and his reluctance to be in the light, you guessed early on that he might be a creature of the depths.

One that has been around for a long time, it seems. Once he understood your interest in sharks and other aquatic animals, he developed a liking to play guide for you, silently touring you through forests of kelp, hidden caves, labyrinths of reefs and hills. He knows where the animals linger, and they don't scurry away when you approach. You've never dreamed of being so close to them, staring into their eyes and tracing their fins as they swim past you, unbothered and relaxed. The monster will gaze at you from a distance, amused by your passion.

On ground, you’ve begun your own little experiment: can the octopus creature learn sign language? You didn’t need long to discover how intelligent he is, mimicking your gestures with flawless ease, instantly memorizing the meanings, the connections, the implications. He seems to be terribly delighted by this newfound tool of communication, often asking you questions with earnest curiosity.

Ah, yes, the questions. It makes sense that he’d want to know more about humans, though his interrogations are rather…particular. Specific. It’s less about humans as a whole, and more about you. How long have you been swimming here? How deep can you actually swim, with or without aid? Might you have a family waiting for you back home? A mate, perchance? No? Interesting.

"My vacation will end soon", you sign with pursed lips. He tilts his head. "Leaving?" his webbed hands gesture, somewhat uneasy. You nod. You can discern a glint of melancholy in his eyes. Eventually, he resumes: "Would you like to see my home?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise. His home? Down there? Was such a thing even achievable for a human like you?

The plump suckers attach themselves to your skin, one resting over your mouth. "Do you trust me?" You cast one final glance over the underwater abyss, a black hole trapping all light and matter. You shake your head in approval. Without hesitation, he plunges over the cliff, pulling you after him and into the yawning void of darkness. His form glows eerily, and his movement is swift and elegant. You can tell this is his land, his territory. You would've been dead a long time ago.

He releases you on the wet stone, inside the air pocket of a cave. You need a few moments to overcome the wave of claustrophobia pressing against your lungs. As you catch your breath, you recall your long path from the surface. It would be impossible to make it back out again without your friend. A cold shiver runs across your spine. "Have a break, and I'll show you everything else afterwards", he gestures with a smile. "How long will it take? I don't want to walk back at night", you explain.

Silence. You stare into his empty orbs, awaiting a reaction. There's not a sound, not a gust of wind, not a shred of light. "You're not going back", he finally answers.

You see, he's done a fair amount of research himself. He doesn't need an encyclopedia to figure you out: how you breathe, how you move, how you exist. In fact, he is rather confident in his ways of helping you adapt to a life spent together. He would've never brought you down here if he wasn't certain of your survival. His grin widens in anticipation, a strange warmth enveloping his innards at the mere thought of it: a future with you in it, right here. However, one question remains, a cheeky, perverted detail that has been on his mind from the moment he met you, yet he could never investigate it properly.

How do humans mate?

Getting nostalgic over the fallen star oc I made when i was younger

The Fisherman and The Starwife

There was a sea at the edge of the world. And a fisherman who tried to catch moonlight. And a bride who was plucked right out of the sky. Do you care to hear their story?

It started on a cold night at the edge of the world. Nights were almost always cold in that place where the land falls away forever, but this was a freezing night even by those standards. The sea churned with shards of ice and the waves chimed like rolling glass.

A fisherman was getting ready to cast his lines. And though most fisherman in most parts of the world are busiest at dawn and dusk, this particular man did all his work in the very dead of night.

The nets he cast weren't like any a normal sailor would know. They were woven out of glass - each string made up of hundreds, thousands of clear beads. For this fisherman wasn't concerned with salmon or roe but with another sort of quarry entirely.

This fisherman was fishing for moonlight.

Moonlight was perhaps the most elusive thing to catch. It poured over the land but couldn't be speared or hooked or trapped. Just one pearl of moonlight was considered a king's ransom. Five pearls was enough to buy a man a kingdom. Ten would keep his children and his children's children fed and wealthy for centuries.

But fishing for moonlight was dangerous too. The only place it could be caught was at the very edge of the world, where the sea and sky were so close they almost touched. And the sea here was rough, not just with waves that grew wilder every hour, but with sea bears and moon hounds that could flip a warship with just a flick of their tails.

The fisherman knew all this. He'd seen countless men come and die in their attempts to catch moonlight. Their bodies swallowed by the ice sea, faces blue and bloodless as they sunk below the waves.

The fisherman knew the dangers, but he still went out every night in his tar bottomed boat. For the fisherman had a secret. A way to calm the waves and the water beasts alike.

(And oh, it was a secret costly bought. He'd traded ten years of his life to a sea hag for it and considered it a fair deal).

The fisherman knew the tune of the sea. Each night he would recline in his boat after casting his lines, and unwrap his pan flute from its oilskin. He would play the notes as the sea hag taught him - soft and sweet like the tide crawling out, sharp like the crack of lightning on the waves, mournful as the open ocean.

The sea would listen, and finally calm. The sea bears would dive deep and dream of arctic caves. The wind would cease its mourning. When the fisherman played his flute, all the beasts in the sea silenced their queer voices to hear it.

On this night, the moon was full and bright. Her daughters, the stars, reflected their icy beauty off the water. His music drifted far in the quiet and tonight even more so.

In the spreading canvas of the night sky, one star leaned down to better hear the music.

It was like nothing you'd ever heard before. It wasn't the subtle, tinkling music of the night sky. It wasn't the sweet song of the moon. It was mournful and wild, and you were so focused on it that you didn't feel yourself slipping until it was too late.

A scream. And a spash. And in the span of a breath, a star fell straight out of the sky and into the sea.

The fisherman sat up with a start, and without thinking, reached into the water and hauled you onto his boat.

At first he didn't know what he was looking at. Your hair was soaked and the beads in your hair shone so bright they hurt his eyes. He couldn't understand it - not even with all the strange things he'd seen. How could a girl suddenly appear in place so lonely and remote? Did you fall from the sky?

You sat shivering at the bottom of his boat, too stunned by your fall to realise where you were. And oh, you were the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on.

In that moment, the fisherman had a choice.

You were dazed and soaking wet. Anything he did to you, you wouldn't be able to fight back. He still had his nets and ropes; he could grab you and take to shore, could force you to be his wife. He was handsome, but strange in his ways and dreams. He didn't have a wife or a lover or even the memory of one. No one would be surprised if he caved to his loneliness and stole whatever good fortune came his way.

For a long, painful moment he was tempted. It would be so lovely to have a warm bed and a warm body waiting for him after a cold, dangerous night. He worked so hard for so little - didn't he deserve a reward?

Instead, he pulled off his oilskin and draped it around your shoulders.

"Be still," he said softly. "Breathe deeply. I will take us back to shore and build you a fire. You won't be cold for long."

You looked up at him, eyes all wide and wet. "Th-thank you."

When he reached the shore, you stumbled and fell to your knees, teeth chattering. You were a creature of starlight and shadow - your feet were never meant to touch the ground.

Carefully, for you looked to him so frail in the thin light of the moon, he picked you up. You smelled like salt and sea, but underneath it was the burning ozone smell of a fallen star. Perhaps that was when he first started to suspect what you were. That what he held in his arms wasn't built of blood and bone.

He brought you to his house and put you down on the hearth. True to his word, he stoked the fire until it roared. You put your palms out to it cautiously, for although your uncle Sun was said to be fire all the way through, you'd never actually seen something burning. Your fingers were so cold they ached and the warmth was a welcome relief.

"Here." He wrapped a blanket around you and set a mug of mulled wine in your hand. "Warm up a little. And then dry yourself off. The sea chill gets in your bones if you aren't careful."

"Wh-where am I?"

He looked at the fire and sighed. "On the shore of the hinterland sea, at the very edge of the world. I fear you're very far from home, wherever it may be."

The wine was warm and sweet, spiced with the last of his cloves and ginger. You drank and finally your teeth stopped chattering.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a fisherman."

You set the cup down carefully, still unsteady. "What is a fisherman?"

He raised his brows but answered you all the same. "Someone who catches fish. Either to sell or to eat. Often both."

You considered this. Stars lived off ether and cloud dust. You had no idea why anyone would want to eat fish of all things.

"What fish do you catch?"

"Ah, that's a difficult question." There was a gleam of amusement in his storm grey eyes. "I'm not like other fisherman. I fish for moonlight instead of animals."

"Moonlight?" That confused you. How could someone catch something so intangible? Did they eat it as well?

"Yes. If you're careful and clever, you can catch moonlight when it reaches down and touches the sea. It's a fortune made to catch even a little."

He looked at you carefully. In the firelight, it was clear you were no ordinary human. Perhaps you weren't mortal at all. As your hair dried, it took on a sheen like starlight dancing on water. Your teeth were small and sharp when you smiled, your pupils shaped like stars in the centre of your irises. It was his turn to ask a question, though he thought he already knew the answer.

"Where do you come from?"

You tilted your head liked he asked the most obvious thing in the world. "From the sky of course. Usually I'm between my sisters Astra and Vena."

He smiled and reached down to throw a log on the fire as though the third brightest star in the night sky wasn't shivering on his hearth.

"Would you like to change into some dry clothes? I haven't any dresses for you to wear, but anything is better than the wet and the cold."

"Oh, yes please."

He brought you the softest, finest shirt he owned.

"I'll wait outside until you're done."

You tilted your head again in that sharp, bird like way. "Why do you have to wait outside?"

He almost choked on his tongue before he could answer. "Because I'm a man and you're... not. It wouldn't be proper."

"But it's cold outside."

You were already dropping the blanket and the oilskin he borrowed you. Underneath it, you wore a silvery white robe that was still wet enough to be see-through. He hurriedly turned away from you, jaw clenched tight.

"It's fine. I'd rather..."

He could hear the whisper of your robe as it fell. He froze, mind racing.

"Rather what?"

Rather not be thinking of you naked in front of my fire.

"... Nevermind. It's nothing."

"You can turn around and stop clenching your hands now," you said, amused.

You were wearing his shirt, the collar gaping at your collarbones. You rubbed the hem between your fingers. "What material is this?"

"Just homespun."

He gathered your still damp robes and marvelled at the almost silk feel of them - woven so light that if it weren't for the water he'd barely feel their weight.

"I like it," you said. "It's warm."

He hung your clothes to dry on the back of a chair. "You can sleep in my bed tonight. I'll sleep by the hearth."

"Oh." You thought about it. "Is it 'not proper' to sleep together?"

Gods in Heaven have mercy.

"No," he said, carefully avoiding your eyes. "It's not proper. That's the sort of thing only a husband and wife can do."

"My mother is married to the Tide. Did you know that? He's not a very nice man."

The fisherman didn't need you to tell him how unpredictable and cruel the tide could be. He made his living by its whims.

"Have you met him?" he asked.

"Once or twice." You came to stand behind him and watched as he made the bed comfortable for you. Fluffing his meagre pillow and dusting out the blanket.

"You have very nice hands," you said. The fisherman stilled. His hands were rough from the salt and hooks and lines of his trade. They ached on bad nights. Were nicked with scars upon scars, a strata of hurts.

You reached forward and took hold of his fingers, drew them towards you. Your hands were soft as only ones untouched by labour could be. 

"You say you are a man, and that we're different. How so?"

He sighed and let you pull him towards you.

"You are from the heavens. You know nothing of cruelty or greed or love. Mankind, earth - it's not the same." He paused. "If I were another, you might be in danger around me."

You looked in his eyes - oh, you creature of starlight, one of a kind, too pure and rare for his common touch.

"My sister once fell to the earth. When she returned, she told me of love. And of lovers. Do you...have a lover?"

He smiled, rueful. "No. This is a cold, remote place. And it's a cold, remote life I've chosen for myself."

"Do you want one?"

You were still holding his hand, and he was all too aware of it. How would your hands feel, touching other parts of him?

"It doesn't matter," he finally managed to answer. "I have nothing to offer. No wealth, no great learning, no family honour."

"Oh, but you are kind. You are gentle. You saved my life and invited me into your home, asking for no thanks in return. Is the world of Man so evil, that these things mean nothing?"

"They mean less than you seem to think."

You held his palm to your cheek, tilted your head into his touch. His hands were rough as only ones knowing hard labour could be. What would they feel like, touching other parts of you?

"My mother told me a boon granted is one that must be repaid. Tell me fisherman at the end of the world, what would you have in exchange for saving my life?"

You. I would have you, girl too beautiful for even my dreams.

Instead he said, "Nought. My mother told me a kindness given should not expect to be repaid in kind. All I would have is that you recover, and return to the place you belong."

You sighed and dropped his hand. "As you will, so shall it be."

That night, you slept on a thin mattress and dreamt of the dark sea outside the door. And he slept not at all.

You were awake at the first sign of morning light. You were firmer on your feet and you made it to the door without stumbling.

The fisherman heard you and fought the urge to stand. If you wished to leave before the dawn, he wouldn't stop you. Already he'd met a creature few thought existed. He would be greedy to hope for more of you.

You didn't leave. You stood on his threshold and watched the sun rise at the edge of the world. For though you knew your uncle through stories and messages, you'd never seen him.

"Hello uncle," you said to the pink and orange sky.

"Hello niece. What are you doing upon the earth, so far from your place in heaven?"

"I grew distracted with music and fell into the sea. But a man rescued me and now here I stand."

"I would caution you, niece of mine. I rise and set each day. And each day I see Mankind's cruelty to one another. Murder and imprisonment and awful acts of lust. Linger not too long in this place, lest your man think to do what so many others before him have done."

"Oh uncle, he is not like the stories I have heard. Not like the monsters you warn me against. The earth might indeed be filled with danger, but here I think myself to be safe."

Your uncle sighed and clouds parted in great gusts. "Niece, things are never as clear as they seem. Not when you stand upon the earth. Take my advice and return to your sisters as soon as the night arrives. Your mother has seen even more than I the awful lechery of Man."

You smiled at your uncle, proud and burning creature that he was. "Thank you uncle. But this place is filled with strange and wondrous things. I can not return until I've satisfied my curiosity."

"As you say, blood of mine. But know that regardless of how we love you, neither your mother nor I can protect you when you're out of our reach. Anything that happens, you must fend off on your own."

You glanced back into the cottage, and at the fisherman sprawled on the hearth. "I am not so alone as you fear, uncle."

The fisherman could understand little of your conversation. He could not hear the sun's voice. When he heard your footsteps whispering towards him, he forced himself to hold still. Was this it? A final whispered goodbye?

You knelt at his side and brushed your knuckles against his cheekbone. "Will you wake, saviour of mine? The new day comes."

He opened his eyes. "You're still here."

"Does that displease you?"

"No!" He sat up in a hurry, eyes locked on yours. "Never. Please, stay as long you'd like."

You smiled, secretly pleased. "What do you do in the day?"

He thought for a moment. "I work at night, and the day is spent mending my nets. But you're here now. I think I'd rather show you the secrets and wonders of this place."

"You said few people come to the edge of the world. What secrets could there be?"

"Oh, plenty. All the more secret for having seldom been found."

He turned away from you and built up the fire. "It will be cold today, and the wind will be sharp. Still, would you like to see what I wish to show?"

You watched the firelight flicker across his face - lined at the eyes like he smiled too often, tanned and ruddy from the sea.

"Yes," you said, "I'd like that."

He borrowed you thick furs to wear and wrapped a scarf around your neck. Your robes had dried overnight but one glance at them was enough to know they weren't nearly warm enough.

He packed a small pack with food and wine. At the door, he held your hand while you got used to having the fine pebbles of the beach under your feet.

A cold wind was blowing from the north and stirring the patchy snow on the ground.You could almost hear a voice in it, coldly amused.

"A star so far from heaven?"

And another, softer. Pitying almost.

"Run back to your sisters, little star. The hearts of men have no room for mercy, or for you."

When the wind disappeared, so too did the voices. You leaned closer against your fisherman and let him lead you down the beach. The still rising sun painted the water orange, and the stones reflected it as a bright gold.

Oh, how many colours in this new world. How wonderful the gold, the silver, the thousand shades in between.

"Do you walk the beach often?" you asked.

"No." He sounded amused. "At least, certainly not with company."

He lead you towards a high embankment, and a narrow path crawling up it's side. He kept hold of you as you climbed, his arm steady and strong around you. The loose stones of the beach hardened to shale that crumbled if you stepped too heavily, the path growing steeper as the embankment curved around the cliffside.

The sun was well above the water when you reached the top. But oh, was it worth the effort. The view from the cliff dwarfed anything you'd seen before. The ocean stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, the water black near the shore and then lightening to a dark greenish-blue. The sun caught on the peaks of the waves, turning them aquamarine and gold.

The fisherman set out his bundle of food on a rock. Fresh bread, a thick hunk of cheese, raisins. You ate breakfast with the sea spread at your feet and the warm south wind tugging at your hair.

You pressed the cheese and raisins between two slices of bread and held it to his lips. "Try it like this. It's incredible."

He raised a skeptical brow but leaned down to eat from your hand.

"Sweet," he said, eyes crinkling with his smile.

You thought the cliff and its view was his secret, but that was far from it. After you ate, he led you to a small, hidden path carved into the cliffside. You wavered - the drop down was beyond treacherous.

He held both your hands in his and showed you how to walk down the carved steps.

"I won't let you fall. I promise."

You believed him.

The path led to a cave, its entrance little more than a gash in the cliffside. You squeezed through, not sure what to expect.

What you saw made you gasp. Your fisherman hadn't brought you to a cave at all, but to the last remains of a castle. You stood in a great hall, it's pillars carved out of the stalactites. Moss had grown over the walls and the ceiling, and the whole room glowed a deep blue.

"What is this place?"

"The barrow of a long dead king. Killed before his time, killed in vain."

Flowers were pushing up through the cracked floor tiles. Strange blue flowers that only grew in the dark. Their pollen rose in golden clouds when you passed them by.

"Oh, no place so strange and wondrous exists in the sky."

You twirled in place, your eyes on the ceiling and its strange, twisting patterns. The fisherman watched you, his heart pulling him in two different directions. Would it be so wrong to keep you? To ask you stay with him for the rest of your days?

Yes, some fierce part of him whispered back. You cannot keep a star from the sky. You think you could love her. But what sort of love is captivity?

You grabbed his hands and pulled him from his thoughts.

"Will you dance with me? My sister says palaces are filled with dancing, with music. This dead king must feel awfully lonely, with a hall so cold and quiet."

He followed you, hands slipping to your waist.

"I must warn you. I'm no king's man, to dance gracefully."

You laughed and let him twirl you in his arms.

"I don't want a king's man, nor a knight, nor a prince," you told him, "I only want you."

He caught you again, dropping you in a slow, graceful dip.

"Don't be cruel, little star," he whispered. "To give me dreams I can never have."

The night flower pollen hung in the air, dancing in patterns from your movement. The room was a mosaic of midnight blue and gold. You reached up and brushed your fingers across his lips.

"I am never cruel. I offer what I willingly give."

It would have been so easy to kiss you then. To have, even for just a moment, a love so far out of reach.

"No," he said quietly. "You're too good for me. I will not pull a star from the sky for my own satisfaction."

He put you back on your feet and let you go.

The walk home was quiet. He held you when he needed to, but his touch was light. Afraid almost.

He stoked the fire and showed you how to feed it. Showed you where the food was kept and how to slice the bread. And then he left you.

He claimed to be going fishing, but his nets and lines stayed in the corner of the room.

You watched him from the door until he was out of sight. And then you curled up on the narrow windowsill and waited for his return.

In your chest, your heart ached in a way you couldn't explain.

You asked him to take you with him that night. He hesitated, his glass nets slung over his shoulder.

"It's dangerous."

"Perhaps so, but I want to hear your music again. The sound I fell from heaven for. Will you not let me hear it once more?"

He gave in and told you to sit as still as you could, for the waves were rougher than usual. The night was clear, and as he rowed you out to sea, you sisters' voices chimed in your head.

"Little sister, why do you stay upon the earth? Your place in heaven is cold and empty."

"Little sister, does the man do you harm? Does he hold you prisoner?"

"Little sister, mother worries for you. Will you speak to her?"

"Little sister, will you not come home?"

"Soon," you promised them. "Soon."

The fisherman cast his nets and began to play his tune. And all thoughts of your sisters and your home vanished. To watch him at sea was to witness a creature in its element. Calm and careful, slow and thoughtful.

You didn't leave that night. Or the one after that. Your mother moved through her phases and still you chose to stay on the earth.

You learned how to light and keep a fire, how to mend the fisherman's lines and snares, how to bake bread and mull wine. You learned to sleep with the moon and rise with the sun.

"Oh niece," you uncle sighed, "I fear this love will be your undoing."

"Love? Is that what I feel? This aching in my heart?"

"Love indeed. Why else would a star choose to be a fishwife?"

At first, your fisherman tried to keep his distance. But you were persistent in your questions, in your conversation, in following him wherever he went.

Finally he caved. Started speaking to you without holding himself back, started taking his meals with you. He was careful not to touch you, and perhaps even more careful not to let you touch him. It was friendship, companionship - but always tinged with longing. You would sometimes catch him watching you, eyes sad as the sea.

Each night your fisherman would tell you a story. Both of you sitting on the hearth rug, his hands carving the tale out of the air, his eyes twinkling. Stories of love, of bravery, of treachery.

He told you of a queen carved from the sea foam, of a wolf who shed its skin to find a bride, of cities so bright and sprawling that to see them from above was to think earth and heaven had switched places.

You would dream of his stories, and of his hands. Skimming down your back, warm and strong.

A full month after your fall, your mother frowned down at you and demanded to know when you would be done with your adventure. You wavered, for your mother wasn't the type to accept a flimsy answer.

"When our story is all told," you finally replied.

She kept her frown, but your man was returning from the sea and you were too distracted by him to notice it.

You would happily have stayed just as you were. Sleeping in his bed and sharing his clothes, waking to see him already in front of the fire. But your luck changed - yours for the worse and his for the better.

For the fisherman finally caught moonlight.

You were with him when he reeled his nets in, and you both saw the silver gleam break the water at the same time. He stilled, eyes wide.

"I can't believe it."

He plucked the pearl from its string and let it sit on his palm. It cast its glow all the way across the boat and still beyond. There was no doubt now as to why moonlight was so valuable. Looking into it, you could see what your mother saw. Could see the ocean spread at your feet, could see the stars dancing, could see the breadth of heaven and earth.

"Here." He dropped it into your palm and closed your fingers around it. "Hold onto it."

You looked at him, eyes wide. "You trust me with it?"

He smiled his crooked half smile. "I trust you with more than your know, little star."

As he rowed back to shore, you wondered at how your life might change. Hadn't he once said that the only goal of a fisherman at the edge of the world was to catch moonlight? That even a little was a fortune made?

Would he leave the sea? Would he leave you?

When you were back in the cottage and out of sight of your mother, you felt brave enough to ask.

"Oh, never. I'll never leave you, little star. Not for as long as you'll have me."

You looked at the pearl in your palm. A fortune made... What did that really mean?

"What now?"

He came to stand behind you, reaching out to carefully run his fingertip across the shimmering surface.

"Now I will head away. To civilisation. To find a way to sell it without getting my heart cut out first."

"Why would anyone do that?"

He sighed. "Because of its value. Some men will do terrible things to possess a single beautiful thing."

That worried you.

"I want to come with you," you said.

You could hear the smile in his voice when he answered. "I would have it no other way."

The preparations took almost two weeks. Food to be dried, smoked and packed. Water to be stored. Clothes to be mended and altered for travelling. The boat to be tarred and dragged ashore.

The fisherman was in no hurry. He still told you stories at night, the moon pearl sitting in a box between you and lending its strange silver light to the tellings.

If you'd known what was to come, you would have thrown that cursed thing back into the sea. But though you were many things, you were not an oracle. You couldn't guess the misery it would bring.

On the day before you and your fisherman planned to leave, three men came to visit.

They wore the deep black of thieves and killers, and the knives at their belts spoke plenty of their profession.

They found you both on the beach at sunset, wrapping canvas around the boat. Their shadows stretched long in the fading light, so you weren't sure what you were seeing until they were too close to avoid.

Your fisherman stood to greet them, though from his eyes you could tell he wasn't pleased.

"An unpleasant place, this," said the first of the three.

"Cold and miserable," said the second.

"Though we suppose it does have its charms," said the third.

The fisherman considered them for a long while before replying.

"An unpleasant place, aye. The work is dangerous and the reward an impossible dream. Still, some of us are suited to places like these."

The first of the killers looked at you, ran his eyes over your body.

"For you perhaps. But what of your woman? Surely she would like somewhere warmer."

The fisherman tensed. Just the tiniest tightening of his shoulders, but you noticed it all the same.

"I keep her as warm as she needs," he said.

That made the men smirk. Made them eye each other like the joke was oh so funny. The sun was almost gone now and the brightest of your sisters were peaking out of the purple sky. You could feel their worry at the back of your mind.

"Hurry and come away, little sister. I like not the look of these men."

"Quickly. Before they play any tricks."

You didn't like the look of the strangers either, but you refused to leave the fisherman on his own. Whatever this was, perhaps it might still end well.

The leader rolled his shoulders, sighed like this was as mildly unpleasant as a persistent itch. And then he pulled a moon pearl out of his pocket.

It was much smaller than the one your fisherman caught, but it had a strange red tint to it that made you shiver. If you looked closely, you could see yourself in it. Not a reflection, but a view from on high. Whoever these strangers were, they'd been watching you.

"Enchanted to find others like it. Thought it wasn't worth the money at first. Never bloody did anything," the first one said.

"Not until a few week ago at least," another continued.

You felt yourself going cold. They knew.

Your fisherman must have realised the same thing, because his eyes slipped to you and the pearl hidden on a tether under your shirt.

"That's all you want?"

They looked at each other again, and whatever passed between them was only for them and the wind to know.

"Aye," said the third, "That's all - the bounty of the night sky. Give us that and we'll leave you be."

Your fisherman shrugged like they weren't demanding a king's ransom and then some. He turned to you and carefully pulled the pearl free of its cord. You grabbed his hands and held them.

"Why?" you whispered.

He looked in your eyes and there wasn't any regret there. No grief or anger over losing the thing he'd spent years fishing for.

"I worry of losing something far more precious than a stone."

He pulled away from you before you could stop him and tossed the pearl to the leader. He caught it easily and held it to his eye.

"A finer thing I've never held," the thief said.

"Aye, and a finer thing I've never seen," said the other.

"But that's not all you have, is it fisherman?" said the third.

The fisherman rolled his shoulders and anyone could see the threat in it.

"That's the only thing of value here. The only thing you can take. So have joy of it, and be gone from this place."

"Daughter."

Your mother's voice was sharp. "Come away. Now. These men mean you harm worse than you realise."

"Not yet," you murmured, "Not while my love stays."

The thieves smiled at each other. Nasty grins filled with blades.

"Oh, but you have another thing worth perhaps even more than moonlight. Tell me, fisherman at the edge of the world, how did you rip a star from the sky?"

The fisherman snarled, all quiet calm forgotten.

"Come now, don't be so hostile," the thief mocked. "You promised us the bounty of the night sky. That was our deal."

"The star is not mine to keep nor give."

The thieves laughed. "She wears your clothes and helps in your labour and whispers her secrets to you. How can you claim that she isn't yours?"

The fisherman kept his hands loose at his sides but it wasn't only you who noticed his eyes dart to his knife, stuck into the roll of canvas you were working with.

You reached out and grabbed at his hand. It was dawning on you now what your mother meant. These men were worse than you first assumed, and to stay in their presence was to invite death to your door.

A star leaping back to heaven is an easy thing. Your bones are light and your magic is strong. But to take a human with you? That was another matter entirely. Their feet were rooted to the earth, their bones weighed down by the nature of their birth. You pulled with all the magic you had, but you couldn't move him. Your heart was a fluttering, panicked thing in your chest.

"Mother, please."

"I cannot," your mother said, her voice torn with grief. "He is of the earth. I cannot lift him to heaven no matter my strength."

The fisherman and the thieves didn't seem to notice your efforts. Their eyes were on each other, hackles raised.

The thieves moved first. Drew their knives and rushed your man all at once.

But the fisherman didn't survive on the hinterland sea by being slow or cautious. He pushed you behind him and in one graceful step, pulled his knife loose from the canvas. He slashed at the closest man, his blade a silvery arc that turned the night red with misted blood. The man fell away, clutching his eyes and screaming.

The fisherman was too slow to dodge the oncoming strike, so he threw his arm up and let the leader's blade carve a long furrow down his forearm. Blood welled at his elbow and fell onto the black pebbles of the beach.

He kept you behind him as he retreated, his eyes darting between the two standing thieves.

You were frozen. Eyes glued on the fallen man and the blood welling up between his fingers.

So this is what you meant. That Mankind will do terrible things to each other without a second thought. Oh uncle, I'm sorry I doubted you.

Your mind raced. How to escape with your man alive and in one piece?

The two thieves were spreading out, flanking him as wolves would. The blood from his arm had soaked his side and you could tell he was growing pale.

You needed to fight. You needed to kill. But how?

Stars are no great terror. You aren't like the moon, who can wreck cities with her pull on the sea. Not like the sun, who can turn crops to dust and cities to deserts. You had no weapon, no strength, no great magic.

But I must have something.

Oh. Oh. You did indeed have something. A little magic of your own. There was a reason people wished on the brightest stars. There was a reason a falling star was considered lucky. And you, well, you were one of the brightest stars in the night sky.

No great magic, but maybe you didn't need to move mountains or spilt the sea in half.

Your fisherman once showed you how to use a needle and thread, told you that sometimes injuries were sewn up just like a ripped shirt. You focused on that now. Thread in, thread out. You pulled your fingers through the air like you were sewing a sail.

The fisherman flinched but kept his injured arm raised. There was a faint glow from under his sleeve and the blood slowed it's dripping. His steps grew steadier.

As though sensing the change, the thieves pounced. Coming at him from two sides at once. He wouldn't be able to fend them both off.

You acted without thinking. Earth magic and sky magic didn't mix well, but you were beyond caring. You pulled at the ground with your magic and one of the thieves fell, their leg thigh deep in a narrow sinkhole. The fisherman took the opportunity he'd been given. He stabbed his knife into the man's throat, all the way up to the handle. There was an awful, wet choking sound when he ripped it out.

You looked away, sick. And that's when the final thief stabbed your man in the back. The blade sunk deep into his shoulder and he roared, whirling around. Too late, too late. The attacker had a second blade ready and when the fisherman turned, he plunged it straight between his ribs.

You screamed.

The fisherman fell to his knees, blood not just trickling but pouring down his chest.

You caught him before he fell entirely, his head falling back against your collarbone. When they said the dead had no light in their eyes, you finally understood what they meant. You could see it fading.

You poured your magic into him, not caring about technique or luck or skill. That little bit of brightness that makes a star glow, you gave it all to him. Your hands were glowing silver, burning like the coldest night.

And still the blood came. Still his life bled out of him.

"Please," you begged. "Please."

What more could you do? You were light headed, cold.

"Stop!"

Your mother's voice was a frantic shout.

"You'll kill yourself giving him that. Stop it daughter. Stop now!"

Kill yourself? Hope bloomed in your heart. The world needed balance. Death was meticulous with his scales. If you burnt yourself out, wasn't that one life gone? Didn't that mean another could stay?

If you gave your life for his, would he live?

You didn't hear your mother scream. Didn't hear your sisters' horror echo through the night. You dug for that last glimmer inside of you, the last breath of the brightest star.

You gave it to the man you loved.

Kindness need not be repaid in kind, he'd said. But he saved your life. He showed you tenderness, care. You loved him. And if only his body was left, you owed him.

You kissed his hair. Pressed your cheek against him. You felt so cold. Colder even than the night you fell into the sea. I'm dying, you realised. There wasn't fear there. Only regret.

Was it ever so hard to breathe? Your lungs stuttered. You barely cared. All you needed was to know he would live.

The last thief standing watched you for a long while. Saw your glow fading. What use was a dying star to him? He picked up the moon pearls, skirted the injured man who was still rolling on the ground and left. If there was honour amount thieves, he didn't have any.

You were beginning to think it all for nought. He was a limp, heavy weight against you.

"Please," you whispered. "Please."

He stirred. Drew in a breath thick with blood, like the first gasp of a drowning man. When he opened his eyes, his pupils were shaped like stars.

"Love," he whispered. He reached up and cupped your cheek in his palm. "Oh, love."

You kissed him. His lips were rough, but not in an unpleasant way. There was blood on your mouth when you pulled away.

"All those nights with you just across the room, all I ever wanted was to feel your lips on mine."

You sighed, pressed his palm closer against your cheek. "Oh, love. That we could have had more time."

He was still drowsy, still reeling from blood loss. But at your words his eyes sharpened.

"We have time."

He sat up slowly, his hand still on your cheek, his knees in the dirt.

"We do. Don't we?"

Whatever he saw on your face was answer enough.

"No."

"Yes." It wasn't you who answered, and perhaps it was the nature of the speaker that only you heard him.

You looked beyond your lover's shoulder. Standing in his shroud, Death waited.

"A fair trade?" you asked.

The fisherman turned to follow your eyes, but all he saw was the open sea.

"Better than fair."

Death shook his head, long nails click clacking on the handle of his staff.

"It is rare indeed that I claim one of your kind."

There was no triumph in his voice, no sorrow. He truly was implacable as the grave.

"Who do you see?" The fisherman asked you, hands gripping your shoulders, frantic.

You thought he already knew. He was not so long out of the underworld that he could forget the feeling of Death's footsteps passing by. He pulled you into his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head.

"No, no. Reverse whatever you've done. My time has come and passed." His voice was raw, flayed by the salt of blood and tears. "Please."

You grabbed a handful of his shirt, felt the heart beating strong and true in his chest. "I cannot. I will not."

Above you, the moon and the stars wept.

"Daughter. Oh, my poor daughter."

"Little sister, gone, gone, gone where we cannot follow."

Death brushed his hand across your brow and you shuddered. The fisherman pulled you closer, spoke to the air where Death stood.

"Take me instead. It's me you came for, it's me you want. You won't be cheated by a fisherman, will you? So do as you came to do."

"Fair is fair, fisherman at the edge of the world," Death said in a voice like bones rattling.

"A life must be taken. The scales must balance. Even the stars in heaven die at my hand."

The fisherman paled. Very few heard the voice of Death while they still lived, and fewer still kept their minds together after. It was the sound of the tomb, the grave, the earth thudding on the coffin top. When he spoke, his voice was wretched with grief.

"I'm begging you. Let her live."

"We beseech you, let our sister go," the stars chorused after him.

"Please," said the moon. "Please have mercy, Lord of the end."

Death stood at the edge of the world and all of heaven begged him to be kind. Just once. Just for a moment.

"No."

You felt his hand on your heart. And then you felt nothing at all.

The fisherman knew the second it happened. Your body sagged against him, your fingers dropped from his shirt.

He cradled your body and wept his terrible grief into your faded dress.

Death held your soul between his fingers. The size of a moon pearl, but ten thousand times as bright. Few things in his collection were quite as fine.

"I will not be cheated. Not by the innocent nor the wicked."

The wind and the sea sighed. They knew all too well how inflexible he could be. To all the witnesses, this should have been the end. Lovers were not spared by Death. Why would he make an exception now?

And to all who knew the moon, in her timed phases and careful rotation, this too should have been the end. But the thing they most often seemed to forget was this; the moon was still a mother. And though you were dead and on the earth, you were still her blood.

"A link!" your mother whispered to herself. "He lives with a part of her inside him, creature of the earth that he is."

Death didn't notice when the moon reached down for your body. Why would he? The soul was what mattered to him. But she wasn't called the wise woman for nothing. He was about to leave, about to step from one world to the other, when your mother snatched your soul straight out of his hand.

Too late, too late he whirled to catch it, to curse at the moon's trickery. Already she was gone, your body and the fisherman gone with her.

Death cursed, gathered his shroud to pursue, when the Tide finally spoke. The moon's husband was quick to anger and slow to forgive, but he loved his wife. Hated to see her grieve.

"Still yourself, bone lord. I ask you not for mercy or for kindness. I ask you simply to trade."

"What could you have, sea beast? Drowned men are a dime a dozen. What can you offer for a star's soul?"

The Tide sighed, for he knew that Death measured by a metric none living or dead fully understood.

"I can give you a mermaid's heart, still beating with the pull of the waves. I can give you a fishwife, still young and in love. I can give you the most beautiful of my pets, to forever keep as own."

Death laughed, as terrible and grating as a tomb opening.

"No deal at all, sea beast. Life for life must willingly be given."

"I thought so," said the Tide. "But if you are as quick and wise as they say, you would look to the heavens and realise whatever soul you wanted is beyond your reach."

In the sky, twin stars burned. The third brightest in the sky.

Death laughed again. "Oh, the moon is a tricky one indeed. Two stars, sharing a soul."

You might have expected him to be angry, might have expected cursing and rage. Thought he would reach up and pull you both from the sky. But few understood the whims and wiles of Death.

He gathered his shroud and smiled and winked away. He would have you eventually. No one could escape him forever. But a star lives a long time and when it came down to it, he didn't mind waiting.

Death of all people could appreciate a good trick.

You pulled in a breath that rasped and burned. When you opened your eyes, the fisherman was kneeling at your side, your head in his lap.

"My love, how do I live?" You sat up slowly, afraid that he somehow undid the magic you cast.

"You've done a dangerous thing, daughter of mine."

Your mother stood waiting for you, her robes silver and red and the dusty gold of a full moon hanging low in the sky.

"Mother!"

"Don't stand. You're still weak." She frowned at you, and at the fisherman at your side.

"I did not think to ever have a son-in-law. And I did not think to ever watch my daughter die."

You looked her in her eyes, pale silver from end to end. "I'm sorry to have done that to you mother. But I'm not sorry for my choice."

She sighed, harsh from trying to hide her grief.

"You have him now, daughter of mine. The man you gave your own life for. I hope he was worth the sacrifice."

"He was. He is."

The fisherman's arms tightened around you and his head dropped to your shoulder. He was crying, but only you knew, only you could feel his hot tears soaking into your dress.

"Very well. Have your moment with your man. And then come and take your place."

She left you. For a second between the moment she opened and closed the door, you could see the faces of your sisters. Still worried, still pale.

The hall of your mother's palace was quiet. The fisherman kept his forehead pressed against your shoulder, breathing hard.

"I never should have kept you," he said finally. "I should have sent you back to the sky the second you landed in my arms. Oh love, how could I be so selfish?"

"Don't you dare say that. All you did was show me kindness. It was I who chose to stay. And even now, my only regret is that I bought you to such grief."

You intertwined your hands with his.

"I love you. I loved you the moment I heard your music and fell from the sky to hear it better."

He brought your knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss against your fingers.

"I loved you the moment I pulled you from the sea." Another kiss pressed against your hands. "I loved you the moment you spoke to me, the moment you smiled."

You hesitated, suddenly unsure. "I've made you give up your dream of catching moonlight."

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, I've caught myself something much better than moonlight tonight."

I've caught myself a bride. And oh, I'm never letting her go.

If you look to the sky at dawn and dusk, you'll see twin stars. They always rise together, always move across the heavens in tandem, always set hand in hand. Lovers wish on them, pray that Death is as kind to them as he once was at the edge of the world. Fishermen sail by them, trust the steadiness of their light to bring their boats safely home. And stories are told of them. Of the fisherman who tried to catch moonlight. And the bride who was plucked straight out of the sea.

The third brightest stars in the the night sky - the Fisherman and the Starwife.

He did the reader/MC a massive favor. Imagine people got called to investigate your dead body and found out you technically perished from "death via vibrator". The embarrassment alone would be strong enough to make me a spirit

Yandere!Grim Reaper

Male Yandere x Bimbo Fem!Reader || possible light dub/noncon, jerking off, fingering, sex toys, stalking, voyeurism.

A Grim Reaper has been following you around since childhood, bringing you back to life every time you die. But one foolish mistake has him finally revealing himself to you

Yandere!Grim Reaper first met you when the two of you were young. He was only a fledgling Reaper and you were actually his first job. He had been watching you all day, watching you float through life so utterly clueless about everything around you. It was cute… and it would be your demise.

While playing out in the yard you accidentally throw your ball too hard and it rolls onto the road. Like a brainless little pup you go prancing right off the sidewalk, completely unaware of the car zooming down the street.

Seeing you so sweet and happy one minute and now seeing your soul slowly float out of your body causes something to churn in his stomach, his frown deepening. This wasn’t right, you were only his age. There was so much life to live.

So before your soul can completely detach from your form he rushes over and just kinda… pushes it back in. His head jerking from side-to-side as if someone was around to catch him.

Of course, the minute you pop back up, completely ignoring the frantic shouts of the driver, you get up and grab your ball like nothing even happened. Assuring the driver and heading back into the yard to play. He stares after you with his mouth agape.

What was he going to do now? He had broken the rules for you. Did the unthinkable. Now he had other jobs to do, but you were kinda… dumb. He couldn’t just leave you, you’d surely stumble onto another accident soon with how you were going about. No, he had to stay with you. Watch over you and keep you safe. That was his new job.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he may have felt physically unable to leave your side. The thought of not seeing you so joyful and full of life every day creating an unbearable ache in his chest. He needed you as much as you needed him.

And it’s a good thing he stayed too, his previous statement coming true as over the years, now well into your college career, you stumble upon accident after accident. Where he’d have to come over and slam your soul back into your body before you went on without a care. That’s how he liked you after all.

He’d lost track of how many times you’ve technically died. You were a regular at your closest hospital, friends with all the staff. A medical marvel they called you. None of them knowing it was because of him— because of how much he loved you even from the very first day you met. But you have seemed to take the nickname seriously, somehow growing more reckless with your life.

You thought yourself invincible. And perhaps in someway you were. He would not allow you to die and in fact, he may never.

But even he has a limit.

He stands in the corner of your bathroom, his arms crossed over his chest. Watching you intently as he always does while you prepare yourself for a nice soothing bath. He had to watch you. Danger could be lurking behind every corner, especially when it came to you.

So he didn’t exactly have a choice but to watch you in your dorm every day. It not being his fault his cock gets so hard every time, never able to resist fucking himself to the sight of you changing. Or keeping watch of you overnight as you sink your toys deep into your dripping cunt and he finds himself rutting against your bed in time with your thrusts, hovering over you. So close yet so far.

And even something like this now, watching you take a hot bath, was not uncommon for him. Hey, if he could slip in to take a shower with you every morning then watching you bathe was nothin’. It didn’t matter if you never have a clue he’s there, he’s just doing it to protect you after all. A silent observer.

You walk back into the bathroom and he perks up, spine straightening against the wall as you’re already shucking off your clothes. Throwing them carelessly across the tiled floor. Saliva pools in his mouth as you reveal your soft curvy body to him, yes, to him, with a painful slowness. Almost like you’re trying to tease him, torture him with what he desires most.

He pushes off the wall, hovering close to you as you throw your shirt off and reveal your drool-worthy breasts to him. And he has drooled. He’ll probably do it again. Maybe right now. Fuck, he wants to suck on your tits so bad. He shifts uncomfortably, his cock straining against its confines even in his loose-fitting robes.

It’s so easy to get lost in you and that sexy ass body, but when a smile that promises trouble lights up your face, it quickly snaps him out of his trance. He knows that look. He’s seen it every time just before you do something stupid and he has to bring you back to life.

You spin around and rush back into your room. He groans at the way your ass jiggles as you run, a shiver rolling through his body and making his cock twitch. Though he swears it instantly begins to deflate as you come waltzing back in with your electronic vibrator wand and its charger.

You’re not serious, are you? You not actually going to do this.

Though you quickly prove him wrong as you take a step into the tub, an excited giggle leaving you that nearly distracts him. Shaking his head to refocus, his brows furrow and his hands clench at their sides. This may just be a new low, even for you. No, he can’t let this happen, this is where he draws the line.

An idea so wicked forms in his head he almost banishes it. A smirk spreads across his lips and he knows it’s not going away. It’s time, he deserves this. And it’s the best way to protect you, he’s sure of it. This way he can keep you even more closely by his side. You won’t be able to get away from him for a minute. That thought is all the motivation he needs.

So as you bend over, oh so erotically, to plug in your vibrator wand, his hand snaps out to catch your wrist in his grip. Touching you, really touching you, for the first time. His cold dead heart flutters. You try and jerk back on instinct, a gasp pulling from deep within your chest. Your wide eyes snap up to meet his as he finally reveals himself to you. His smirk only widens at your reaction as if so utterly pleased with himself.

“Why don’t you let me take care of ya this time ‘round, yeah, little pup?”

<Blood... I need blood.>

This is so utterly hairraisingly ridiculous that you wish she made that story up, but it is unfortunately true.

Yandere! House Monster x Reader (II)

It’s officially a smutty sitcom: you, the oblivious gamer boyfriend, and the tentacle monster lurking in dark corners.

[First part]

Content: gender neutral reader, monster smut

Do monsters have a sense of humor? This creature seems to be greatly amused by the little "game" you've devised behind your boyfriend's back. Although you don't have much input in the affair, and most of the time you're merely a witness to the events unfolding before you (or in you).

First, there's the mild, inoffensive annoyances. "Babe, did you see my controller? I swear I left it on the couch". Some pranks are harder to swallow than others, such as the occasional lack of Internet. You know exactly when it happens, because you can hear your boyfriend's enraged shouts and rattles. It's always during important matches. No one knows why it happens. The repairmen who cross your threshold can only scratch their heads in confusion, confessing that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Then, the unfortunate coincidences. "How about we have some fun after my game?", the boyfriend will suggest with an anticipative grin. Alas, moments after he stands up, he is overwhelmed by a nauseous feeling. His stomach twirls and throbs, and he curses under his breath. "Some other time, perhaps", he concludes begrudgingly. You see, the creature is very possessive. The only thing that has saved your beloved partner from being torn to shreds already is his crassly comical obliviousness.

The mischief aimed towards the boyfriend is, however, a secondary source of entertainment. Nothing could ever come close to spending time with you. Yet another irony to this ridiculous situation: you haven't been caught yet, despite the rabid clinginess of the tentacled monster.

It just loves surprising you. For example, when you exhale dramatically at the end of the day, relaxing in the bathtub and enjoying your peace. Just as you hear an impatient knock on the door, you notice a familiar dark tendril slithering its way out of the water. You won't be leaving the bathroom anytime soon. "Did you steam yourself over there? You look like a lobster", the boyfriend will remark with a raised eyebrow upon seeing your panting, feverish face. "Y-yeah, I guess so." You limp outside, struggling to hold the towel around your body. Or more specifically, around the many marks left on your skin by hundreds of suckers.

In fact, its shamelessness reminds you of a poorly written erotic scenario, the likes you'd see on some adult website with a clickbait title. How would you name this current setup? You grip the edge of the table, pursing your lips to prevent any moans escaping your mouth. Your boyfriend is, once again, scrolling on his phone, indifferent to your presence. The water boiling on the stove drowns the wet, slippery sounds of the appendages pumping in and out of you underneath the table. “You might want to give it a stir in a moment, or it’ll overflow”, the boyfriend remarks without lifting his gaze. You mumble in agreement, slapping a hand over your mouth. You’re at your limit.

One may be tempted to ask, is this entity bound to its house? You pondered the same question until your recent IKEA visit. You and your boyfriend had been looking for a new wardrobe. "What do you think of this one?", you asked, closing the door and turning around. Your eyes scanned the empty model-bedroom. The jackass had wandered ahead without you. You sighed and were about to go find him, when a cold grip suddenly tightened around your wrist. You winced and snapped your head back. Thick tendrils had made their way out of the closet, tugging you to join them inside. So it can follow you around, you thought, climbing into the cramped space. Between the silent whines and breathy begging, an idea emerges from your dazed mind. New hypothetical video title: mercilessly molested in the IKEA store by monster partner.