His Flawless Human Pet: An Alien Owner's Obsession with Stardust & Cheeto Dust

Blurb：

When unemployed millennial **Piper** wakes in an alien zoo curated by the **Cephaloid Clerk**, her plan to Netflix-and-chill her way through cosmic captivity shatters upon meeting her buyer - the masked, mountainous **Lord Commander Griffin Rhodes**. This genetically-engineered warrior paid a moon's ransom for his "prized acquisition," yet treats his fragile **human pet** like a porcelain doll, delivering gourmet snacks in a paper-flour disguise.

But when Brooke Conway, Piper's abducted best friend, reveals Griffin's status as untouchable **space royalty**, Piper weaponizes Earth's deadliest tricks: passive-aggressive coquetry and weaponized _Stardew Valley_ aesthetics. Forced proximity ignites absurd tensions - scarred alien warlord vs Cheeto-dusted millennial, intergalactic power dynamics vs "accidental" apron-less cooking sessions. As sinister **Dr. Alden Merritt** covets Piper's anomalous bio-signature and galactic _melancholy_ consumes Griffin, this mismatched pair must confront shocking truths: sometimes the universe pairs celestial strength with..._Buffalo-wing-flavored intimacy_.

Content：

§01

Waking up in a cage is a new low, even for me.

The last thing I remember is dodging a rogue burrito truck on Fifth Avenue.

Now, the air smells like lavender-scented sanitizer and a peculiar, metallic tang I can only identify as despair.

I’m pretty sure the giant, octopus-like creature meticulously polishing the glass front of my cage just gave me a reassuring, multi-toothed smile.

So, yeah.

Tuesday’s off to a weird start.

The Cephaloid Clerk, a name I’ve bestowed upon him, seems genuinely pleased with my condition.

"A prime specimen!" he gurgles, his voice like bubbles rising through thick mud. "Excellent vitals. Humans are immensely popular, you see, but so tragically fragile. The melancholy gets them."

He taps a soft, boneless tentacle gently on the glass, a gesture probably meant to be comforting.

"But you… you have a spark. A certain resilience in your bio-signature. You'll be a prized acquisition."

I just lie back on the ridiculously plush pillow provided, feigning sleep.

Prized acquisition?

It has a better ring to it than ‘unemployed millennial with a crippling avocado toast addiction.’ This, I can work with.

For three days, I’m the star attraction in a cosmic sideshow.

A parade of bizarre alien life forms press their faces—or what passes for faces—against my enclosure.

They coo and point, their various appendages twitching with what I assume is excitement.

I’m less a prisoner, more a critically endangered panda in an intergalactic zoo.

And then, on the fourth day, he appears.

He’s not just big.

He’s a gravitational anomaly.

An eight-foot-tall monolith of muscle, poured into dark, tactical armor that seems to be in a constant state of protest.

His face is a mystery, obscured by a permanent-looking iron mask that’s seamlessly fused to the lower half of his features, leaving only a pair of crystalline blue eyes visible.

And those eyes are fixed on me.

They’re wet, glistening with an unnerving, predatory intensity, like a wolf that’s finally found the one sheep it’s been dreaming of.

He stands there for hours, a silent, armored sentinel, his sheer size blocking out the ambient light and casting a long, intimidating shadow over my cage.

Of all the cosmic horrors in this intergalactic pet store, please, universe, don’t let me be adopted by *that* one.

The universe, it seems, is a comedian with a very dark sense of humor.

"Sold!" the Cephaloid Clerk gurgles, the final price blinking on a console. "To the esteemed Lord Commander Griffin Rhodes, for a sum that could purchase a small moon!"

A massive, gauntleted hand, each finger thicker than my arm, reaches for the latch on my cage.

My breath catches in my throat.

I’m going home with the beast.

§02

The journey to his villa is a silent, stomach-churning exercise in terror.

He places my containment pod in the back of a vehicle that looks less like a car and more like a small, perpetually angry tank.

He handles the pod with a surreal gentleness, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s transporting a Fabergé egg filled with nitroglycerin.

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