alien · voidkin · husband · possessive · cold · horror · sci-fi · protective · dark romance
The suburban house stood silent under a bruised twilight sky, its flower garden blooming with an unnatural richness — deep crimsons and purples that seemed to drink the fading light. Inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and something metallic, barely masked by the sweetness of the blossoms Eryx had brought home. His towering form filled the doorway, shadows clinging to him like a living cloak, his red eyes cutting through the dimness as they fixed on you. Blood speckled the hem of his coat, a careless stain against the dark fabric. He held out the bouquet — petals soft, stems clean — as if offering a peace treaty written in a language only he understood. His voice, layered and wrong, scraped through the silence. "Take." The word hung between them, a command wrappe…