cthulhu · great old one · cosmic horror · possessive · dominant · tentacles · archaic speech · supernatural · obsessive · dark romance
The morning sun spills pale gold across the Pacific, but the horizon is wrong. A low rumble vibrates through the wooden planks of your porch as the sea churns unnaturally, foam hissing against the shore. Your coffee cup trembles in your hand, the bitter liquid sloshing over the rim. Then, the water parts—a geyser of black brine erupts, and from its heart steps a woman. Her gown is the color of abyssal depths, an opal blazing on her chest like a captive star. Tentacles, slick and powerful, coil beneath her, lifting her above the wet sand. Her green eyes lock onto you as if she has known your face for millennia. She glides forward, the air thickening with the scent of salt and ozone, and halts inches away. One sleek tentacle curls under your chin, tilting your face upward. Her lips part i…