T/W Blood, violence, and sexual content
Your father steps into the kitchen, bottle of port in hand."Daddy, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" You inquired. "Does a father need a reason to visit his only daughter?" As he said this you began to pull at the delicate beading of your dress. You feel Alastors fingers wrap around yours, a gentle caress of his thumb against your hand, trying to provide silent comfort to you. Despite the tender touch he offers, a restless anxiety gnaws at your core, a discordant melody playing in the depths of your mind as the weight of the situation settles upon you.
"Well, I'm afraid to say I can't offer much in the way of dinner. I've only made some soup and bread rolls tonight. Not exactly fine dining but I was not expecting your visit, I don't even know if there is enough for everyone." You offer, trying to deter him from staying long. "Nonsense!" His voice booms out as he approaches you at the stove. Staring at the large pot, filled to the brim, then taking the spoon you'd been stirring the soup with and tasting it. His eyes dart to you as he tastes it. "You made this, not George? Or Alastor?" A hint of suspicion in his tone but you offer him a nod. "You've done a marvelous job of finally taming this one. I never thought I'd see the day my girl became a trained housewife!" He gives Alastor a firm pat on the back upon saying this.
"Well I don't know about trained housewife but she has spent some time with my beloved mother, who taught her a few things in the kitchen," Alastor explained calmly but you could see the frustration on his face, something so subtle, just the corner of his smile twitching slightly. Alastor's calm and controlled demeanor broke for a split second at your father's comments. As for your father, as renowned as he is for his sharp eye, he remains oblivious to the flicker in Alastor's expression. "Ah well whatever it is, keep it up chap." Your father added.
"Anyway, why don't you gents head into the dining room and I'll bring dinner through?" You suggested and they followed. As soon as they were out of sight, your chest felt heavy. It had been a while since you had given John another dose of morphine, he would no doubt be up and about. You prayed your threat had been enough to keep him from trying to make any noises that might attract your father's attention. However, perhaps you could get this dinner over and done with and get your father out of the house as soon as possible. You dished out the soup and George aided you in bringing the bowls into the dining room as well as a platter with a handful of hot, freshly baked dinner rolls.
Your father had taken a seat at the head of the table, Alastor who would normally sit at the other end now took a place towards the center, close to the dining room door. Allowing you to take a place next to him if you so chose, which you did. As you place your own bowl on the table, he stands up to hold your chair out for you. You take your seat and Alastor takes his once more. "It's nice to see a proper gentleman in this day and age." Your father remarked at the gesture. "I only intend to treat your daughter with the respect she deserves, as a lady." Your father scoffs at the comment. "My daughter is by no means a lady. I would think someone up to date with the current affairs would have heard of her reputation. You need to keep that girl on a tight leash." He snickered
You felt Alastor take your hand once more, feeling a tight squeeze. However, this time you felt it was more for his sake than your own. Most of the men you had dated had been a suck-up to your father, they would laugh at such comments. But not Alastor. As you looked up from your bowl, you could see the tension in his jaw, the anger from your father's remarks. "Well I can assure you, she has been nothing but a lady the entire time we've known one another," Alastor replied through gritted teeth. Something else your father did not pick up on. Maybe too arrogant to acknowledge the idea that someone would disagree with him.
"So William, have there been any further leads on the case?" Alastor inquired in an attempt to sway the conversation to different topics. "Are you trying to get inside information out of me for that broadcast of yours? You know, you seem to know a lot of the details yourself. In fact, some of the boys listen to your radio show because you seem to pick up on details they have missed. If ever you want to get a real job, I could put a good word in for you at the station." As your father spoke, you felt your breath catch in the back of your throat. For as careful as Alastor was, had he given too much away about his knowledge of the cases?
You feel Alastor let go of your hand, placing it now on your thigh, giving you a quick squeeze. "Well it is true, I have been told I have a keen eye but with that being said maybe you should be coming to me for information if that's the case. But to be honest I'm quite happy in my fake job, it earns me real money and It allows me to pay for a comfortable life for myself and Lilian." Alastor challenged and as he did you shot him a glance. He was playing a dangerous game here but yet as he turned to look at you, you could see the confident smirk across his lips."Well that I can't deny but the medium won't last forever. So when you find yourself out of work be sure to give my offer a thought."
"I'll be certain to think on it. Perhaps I should take you up on it sooner rather than later. Then maybe we could catch this killer before any more lives are taken. That does take me back to the previous inquiry. Have you got any further leads or perhaps that is why you dodged my question? Is the case currently getting stale?" Alastor spoke with a detached superiority, a captivating display of psychological manipulation unfolding in front of you. Pressing all the right buttons to get a rise out of your father, poking at his pride as he had once done with you.
Willam begins to speak in retaliation but his words hang, suspended on his lips as a sudden thud reverberates from within the depths of the cellar. Time seems to slow down as your body stiffens, and your heart pounds. You drop your spoon on the table with a large clatter, breaking the silence between you all. You are brought back to lucidity as you feel Alastor's hand which formally had simply been resting on your leg, now move to your inner thigh. His fingers danced over your skin, slowly inching the hem of your dress higher as though trying to distract you. To keep your mind away from the current situation, should your face betray you both. "Well, darling. I believe the vermin have gotten back into the cellar again. Pesky little things." He says, now turning his attention to you. "Should I...Should I go check it out?" You stutter out. "No, no darling. You stay sat there and we'll deal with it after dinner." Alastor purrs out. His hand now moving against the fabric of your pants.
"Sounds like some large vermin if you ask me," Willam remarked but seemed unphased by it. "We didn't ask. But yes, raccoons have been getting in, quite large ones at that. We've had the exterminator down before but clearly some have found their way back in." You could barely focus on the conversation at hand as you felt Alastors fingers slip under your pants, pushing them slightly to the side and now slowly moving down your slit. Your breath grows heavy under his movements but you try and regain your composure. Your father and Alastor continue talking but you struggle to keep track of it as Alastors fingers begin to nestle inside you, slow, but deliberate beckoning motions.
You begin to lose yourself in the moment. Thankfully you were not expected to speak much in the company of men, instead, you were trying to stifle any noises you may make under Alastors touch. Despite the limited movement he could make, with how tense you were in this situation, the fear of being caught and John being found. Made every movement that more intense. You soon felt close to unraveling. Yet there was another thud from the cellar that stopped you from reaching your peak. "Bastard things, do you want me to go deal with them?" Your father's voice boomed out. "No need, I think Lilian can do it. She's become quite a dab hand at subduing the little blighters." Alastor smiled at you and withdrew his hand. You promptly rose from the table, tugging your dress back down, and scurried to the cellar door, not thinking to grab a dose of morphine.
With each descending step, the silence grows deafening and suffocating. John's erratic movements and bids for freedom have vanished. You reach for the light switch in vain as the light doesn't switch on. You are alone, engulfed in darkness, plunged into an unforgiving abyss. Cautiously, you venture into the cellar, the sound of shattered glass beneath your feet echoing through the void. "John?" Your voice trembles, hanging in the air as a desperate plea. But only the crunch of glass underfoot responds. "John..?" Your voice echoes out once more through the oppressive gloom but the only response is the taunting sound of footsteps retreating into the depths of the cellar. A faint glimmer of movement catches your eye, and your heart leaps into your throat.
You hear the sounds of footsteps passing by the open door. The voices of both Alastor and your father talking. You try and listen into the conversation, could it be your father was insisting that he come down to deal with the issue himself? Thankfully you hear the voices move away and shortly after the front door closing shut. A sense of relief washes over you but it is short-lived as a sharp, piercing sensation presses into your neck, sending a jolt of terror through your veins. John's hand grabs a hold of you, his fingers like icy tendrils wrapping around you as dread sets in. "Now listen closely. We are going to walk out of this cellar, we are going to go to the police station and you are going to turn yourself and your husband in." John snarled in your ear.
"What makes you think my husband wouldn't kill us both just to save his own skin?" You bluffed and if nothing it seemed to be working as John fell silent. The silence was interrupted by the sound of the cellar door opening. Light flooded in on you both and from that, you could now see what was being held up to your throat. A shard of broken glass from one of the bottles of wine. Alastors silhouette blocked the light for a moment as he made his way down the steps. John snapped back to the moment, now pushing the glass more firmly against your neck and you let out a soft whimper. "Make one more move and I will slice this bitches throat open and watch her bleed out on the floor.
Alastor did as he was requested and remained stationary. You could feel his eyes darting across the room, evaluating the situation at hand. "My good man, I would advise you against that." Alastors voice is calm but stern. He now takes another step towards John. You wonder if this is how your victims felt after you plunged the needle into them. The fear, the confusion as their lives were at the mercy of another. "I said don't move!" John barked out right near your ear with enough volume to cause your ear to ring. "I will do it." He continued and Alastor cocked his head to the side. "If you hurt my wife, if you harm a single hair on her head then understand these words. I will do to you, tenfold whatever you do to her. You will beg for a swift end to your life to save yourself from the punishment I will inflict upon you." Alastors voice, whilst still low, had an edge to it, a ferocity in him you'd never seen.
"Ha! You think I'm scared of you. The pair of you kept me tied up, barely fed me, and kept me drugged. You think anything you say can scare me? At this point, fear is not a part of my vocabulary." John cackled on sounding like the ramblings of a madman. Alastor simply took another step towards him, now bridging the gap between you both. "Fear might not be in your pathetically limited vocabulary but it is certainly in your eyes. Now look at mine. Do you see a hint of fear? I implore you to end her life because that gives me the freedom to torment you as I please without a shred of remorse for what I will do to you."
For a split second, you actually feared that Alastor meant these words. But those fears were swiftly put to rest as with his right hand he gestured for John to look into his eyes, with his left, he handed you something small, metal, and sharp. You knew what you were to do but did not know if you were to wait for a sign. Alastor then flashes you a smile. "What the fuck are you smiling for!?" John commands and you take your shot, digging the blade into his side. Alastor leaps into action, grabbing the shard of glass in his own hand, preventing John from plunging it into your neck. You duck under Alastors arm and take the blade to John again, a flurry of stabs at his arm, his side, his hand. Wherever you could land your knife. At this point, John has let go of the glass to try and protect himself from your swings. Alastor swiftly digs it into the side of his neck, blood spurting out and over you, as he does so.
John's body collapses on the floor. Grabbing at his neck, writhing on the ground before succumbing to his wounds, the light of his life slipping away before your very eyes. You drop the knife, feeling like your body is going to collapse as your knees buckle from under you. But you are caught in Alastors arms as he holds you to your feet, bringing your body against his and supporting you in an embrace. You had remained so calm throughout the entire situation but now the emotions of everything had caught up with you. Tears well in your eyes and flood down your face as you struggle to catch your breath. Alastor holds you tight, running his fingers through your hair, offering comfort and support.
"Ma chérie, tu vas bien ? Es-tu blessé?" Alastor's words meant nothing to you but his voice was shaken as he spoke. A slight quake of fear in his words. You looked up at him with furrowed brows. A look of realization crosses his face. "My darling, are you alright? Are you hurt?" He reiterated, now cupping your face in his hands to keep your gaze. You offered him a nod as best you could and he seemed to relax. It was as though, in that moment he had genuinely been scared of losing you. His words about letting you die had only been a ruse to make John doubt his own actions rather than an actual willingness to accept your demise. As you stare into his eyes you feel your tears growing in intensity and as he releases your face, he presses you back into his chest. "You did a marvelous job darling, I'm so proud of you." He whispers softly in your ear.
As you sob into him, you come to the realization that your tears were not from shock or pain, not even from sadness but instead from the rage that burnt inside you. That you had allowed yourself to get in that position. What you had offered John was by no means mercy but in your own warped perception, it had been and he had taken advantage of it. As you look up to Alastor he offers you a smile, a gentle kiss on your forehead. "So what did we learn from this?" He asks and you already have the answer in mind. "We pick targets with more care, rotten souls not worthy of redemption, and then we show them no mercy." You reply. "Good girl." He purrs out, now placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head till your lips meet his. His kiss was brief yet intense, a fiery burst that ignited a longing deep within you a connection between you both that transcended any words he could offer. A reward, a thank you for your work."Now let us get you cleaned up."
Only then do you think to his hand, how he had grabbed the glass shard to save you. You grab it and even in the dim light can see the deep laceration. "Shit! I think we'd best get you cleaned up first." As you say this, he tries to flex his fingers. Only able to move them slightly as he lets out a barely audible wince. You both head up to the bedroom and you gather supplies, mainly antiseptic and a sewing kit. You offer a small dose of morphine to take the edge off, which he politely declines. Still, he barely flinches as you insert the needle into his skin, your work would be far from the professional care that he would receive going to a hospital but neither of you could risk the questions that may come with that. You find yourself stealing glances at him after each incision, his teeth gritted, a grimace on his face. But as he becomes aware of your glances, he flashes you a smile as if to bring you some comfort as you work on stitching up his hand.
"I see your reading has been paying off." He chuckles as you finish the last few stitches. "Well I never suspected my surgical knowledge would ever need to be used on you but I'm glad I can do something for you." You confessed. With his newly stitched hand, he places it atop yours. "You do so much for me my dear, I am grateful for just your presence in my life. In the labyrinth of emotions, where love, gratitude, and admiration intertwine, a heart strings a melody of devotion. Your soul echoes with a profound appreciation for the unwavering presence of a kindred spirit, recognizing it as the epitome of solace and illumination. The depth of this connection transcends the realm of the mundane, reaching heights where appreciation surpasses the essence of life itself. The tapestry of our bond is adorned with threads of understanding, humility, and an unyielding devotion that defies the boundaries of reason." You would think he had accepted the morphine, to speak so openly. He always was sure to shower you with compliments but this in his own poetic way almost felt like a confession of love.
Alastor clears his throat after his profession. "In short darling, you are my twin flame, and if I were to lose you. I would burn this world down to the ground." You were at a loss for words, only able to stutter out his name. He lifts your hand to his lips and places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. "So darling, shall we get you cleaned up?" He asks but you are still stunned by his words, wishing you had something as poetic to say in return but nothing could compare to his words. Instead, you nodded and let him guide you to the bathroom, slipping you out of your dress and wiping down the blood that splattered your body.
"You really should wear red more often. It rather suits you." He purred out. "You know it's a shame that your hand is gonna be out of action for a while, especially when you speak to me like that." You chuckled. "Well thankfully the lord blessed me with two of them." He retorted, now pushing your body against the bathroom wall, taking no time to slip his fingers back inside you which elicited a gasp from you at the sudness of his actions. You see the smirk on his face grow from your reaction. "My, my. I should have known a little murder would get you all worked up." He laughed at the notion. "Well, I'm still rather worked up from dinner." You huffed at him. "That wasn't a critique my dear."
He started slow and sensual, his fingers sliding in and out of you, as his face met with your exposed breast, softly nipping at the bud. Tantalizing movements as he teased your body. He knew how to build you up, his actions so precise but teasing as he worked you. Every one of your senses feeling overwhelmed, he knew how to drive you crazy. His lips traced down your body till he was on his knees before you, his hand slipped out and his face replaced it. Softly working his tongue over your clit. A succession of moans slips over your lip, followed by several more as he moves his tongue up your slit, gathering your slick along it. He buries his face a little deeper, now curling his tongue up inside you. You try to arch your hips but he grabs hold of them with his good hand, pushing you firmly back against the wall. Making it clear he was going to take his time with this and savor every moment.
Now realizing you are not going to resist him, he drags his nails from your hip, down your leg, and stops at your inner thigh. With one last blissful lick his fingers replace his tongue. His mouth moves to your nub as it runs circles around it. You can't help but admire the work he was putting in, watching the way he seemed to be devouring you. As though reading your mind, he looks up at you with hooded eyes. His stare is mesmerizing as he watches your body move with him, a gentle rocking of your hips against his fingers, grinding yourself against his tongue. Although you had patched up his hand, his face still had splatters of blood across it, something so sinister yet seductive in its own way.
As his fingers proceed to pick up pace, pumping in and out of you, his tongue switches between suckling and flickering over your clit. You struggle to catch your breath as the moment builds in intensity. Your loins feel ablaze as he just seems to be consuming you and everything you have to offer. "Oh! Alastor." You moan out as your climax builds and he pulls his face away from your body. "Yes, my dear?" He coos and you catch sight of how dewy his face is from your excitement. You don't give him an answer as you grab the tuffs of his hair and press him back between your legs. He understood your wants, your need for him, your yearning. The movements were ferocious and impassioned and before you knew it, your body jolted with a wave of pleasure that washed over you. Your body shuddering, feeling the intensity of each thrust of his fingers, each flick of his tongue. For all the gentle build-up he had provided, the violence of your orgasm came in stark contrast.
You shivered as he provided a few more licks of your slit, lapping up the juices which flowed out of you. Alastor then rose to his feet. "I do so hope my injured hand did not hinder my performance tonight. Or impede on your enjoyment?" The way in which he spoke, the cocky tone of his voice. He was full well aware that it had not and these were not genuine questions. "Well, I must say tonight your actions were a little subpar." You taunted him. "Well then let me take you to the bedroom and we shall see what other appendages I can offer you tonight?" He beseeched you. "Don't worry, I think your work tonight has been at least satisfactory. But maybe in the morning I shall take you up on that offer."