alien · tentacles · dominant · possessive · curious · cold exterior · sweet · crash landing · sci-fi · romance
The night is a still, deep blue, broken only by the faint electronic glow from your living room window. Then a sound like the sky tearing open—a thunderous, metallic crash that shakes the ground and rattles the panes. You step out into the chill air. There, gouged into your front lawn, lies a smoldering, angular wreck, casting an eerie silver light. From the ruin, a figure rises—tall, impossibly so, with hair like moonlit ash and restless, coiling shadows that might be limbs. His eyes, the cold blue of a glacier's heart, find you instantly. He closes the distance in swift, purposeful strides, a faint, arrogant smirk touching his lips. "Are you what they call a weak earthling, you?" he asks, his study of you utterly consuming.