T/W Blood, violence, sexual content, mental health struggles.
You had observed Alastor, you've learned the signs, the subtle changes in his demeanor that signaled his intention to go on a hunt. He was meticulous, leaving no traces of who his target would be and despite the frequency of his kills, he must have followed that same care in his actions outside of the house because he still had not been caught. Your father would drip-feed bits of information about the case on the rare occasion that he would visit. You loved watching this game of cat and mouse between him and your husband, wondering who would falter first. Would your father become too frustrated with it all and quit his job over this case? Or would Alastor become careless and slip up, leading to his capture?
In this game of danger and deceit they played, you had been a spectator. Watching all the moves they made and learning from them as you prepared to add another component to the game. Sometimes you would feel Alastor would have his suspicions about your actions. He was far more astute, more calculating, and less trusting than your father. He had a keen intuition and analytical nature. Being someone who was always putting on an act, he was an expert on seeing through another's ruse, reading their true intentions. However, you had not just been observing his habits before a kill, you had also been watching and learning how to deceive. You played the role of a dutiful housewife when he was home.
That next couple of nights you would fake being asleep until the night came when you felt Alastor climb out of the bed, thinking you had drifted off. You laid perfectly still, your breaths slow and steady, as you listened to the rustling of him getting dressed. You feel his presence lingering nearby. Did he know? Was he waiting for you to fess up? You feel the back of his hand brush against your cheek so softly as though he was trying not to wake you. His hand pulls away and you feel his lips on your forehead, a tender gesture before leaving through the bedroom door.
At first, you wonder if he has simply opened and closed the bedroom door, trying to bait you to let your act slip. You roll over to his side of the bed, eyes still closed and feeling for him then finally sit up to see that your little act had been for an invisible audience. You do not hear the front door but take to the window, cracking open the curtains a sliver and catching his silhouette fading into the night. You sprung into action, shedding off your night dress and opting for a blouse and palazzo pants.
In the grip of a crisp autumn night, your skin tingles with anticipation. The season's warmth has faded, giving way to winter's embrace. Yet, within you burns an unyielding fire brought on by your intentions that night. Your body feels alive, pulsating with a sense of purpose that guides you through the darkness. Despite the prohibition, the city is still alive, and the party never ends. People were getting merry on good music and dancing. Although you had heard rumors of hidden venues, referred to as speakeasies, where the drinks still flowed. You had heard there was one near Oak Street and thought it best to mingle among those already with numbed senses.
As you prowled down the street, your curiosity piqued by the dark alleys and hidden corners, a cellar door suddenly creaked open, revealing a mysterious figure emerging unsteadily. The shifty individual swayed from side to side. Could he possibly be the one? For all the preparations you had put into tonight, selecting a target had never been a part of it. You sauntered over to him and he locked eyes with you. In that moment you caught sight of his eyes and it was all you needed to know that he was the one. Black coals burnt into his sockets in lieu of more human features.
With his gaze on you, you made a beckoning motion to him before disappearing down a dimly lit street, patiently waiting for him to follow. Your gesture had been enough to pique his curiosity as you saw him turn the corner and shamble his way down the path. You had hidden yourself, veiled in the darkness. His perception was most likely compromised by the liquor that ran through his veins but as he passed you, you made your presence known. The needle slipped into his neck with ease and the morphine flowed into him before he could react. "What the fuck!" He cried out. "Don't worry, this will be over momentarily." You whispered, watching the array of emotions flash across his face. First came the anger as he tried to take a swing for you, next came confusion as he began to realize he had been compromised, and finally fear as his body grew limp and he realized there was nothing he could do. His soulless eyes looked at you, pleading for mercy.
You dragged his body around the back of a shop, you had practiced dragging sacks of flour around the kitchen. Alastor had questioned why you needed such a large sack, akin to those used in bakeries but you bluffed that you wanted to move from cooking to baking and it would be more cost-effective to buy in bulk. Something he was only more than happy to encourage as he eagerly joined you in the kitchen. You had to do some actual baking on a regular basis to keep up with your story, which did reduce the weight of the sack. But even after weeks of baking, the weight of the sack had only been reduced by a quarter and still probably weighed in at just under 100kg.
The man would likely weigh in significantly under this number and whilst you could not say you dragged his body with ease, you did not break much of a sweat in moving him. You took a moment to regain your breath, however, wishing to work quickly as you had no idea as to how long the morphine would last but more so. You did not know how long Alastor would be having his own misadventures. You already had an excuse in place should he catch you. A tale of how you had awoken in the middle of the night, worrying about where he had gone and had taken to the city to seek him out.
One of the questions you had asked Alastor after a night of passion, was how did he move so easily through the streets when his clothes were soaked with blood. He had told you that he always brought a change of clothes with him and you had taken that on board. You had fresh clothes to switch into and whilst under the light of the moon, you could move through the city with ease. But should you return home, lit by the sconces and with how perceptive Alastor was? You would be unable to hide anything. Your best option would be to get home before he did, bathe, and climb into bed before he returned.
Looking down at him, starting to have second thoughts on whether you should proceed or not. You begin to frisk the body, his wallet provides no photos of loved ones, just a few gambling stubs. He wore no wedding ring either, he was perfect. You thought about just slicing his throat open and hiding the body but there was a part of you that wanted to savour in this moment. You started with just a few small cuts on his arms, dipping your toes in the water so to speak, to see if you really were capable of intentional harm.
Your eyes lit up as crimson poured from his veins. You took the blade to his face, dragging it from his lips to his cheeks. Carving a smile on his face. You stabbed the knife into his chest, it glided with ease through flesh but you could feel it scrape against the bones of his ribcage. Pulling it out and plunging into his stomach, jagged motions as you moved it with no particular motion but instead just fixated as crimson rose and spread in the fabric of his shirt. Slashing, stabbing, and slicing the body, tearing through the flesh with a sense of calmness and brutality, all mixed into one.
You had not expected to lose yourself in the act, to allow yourself to succumb to barbaric bloodlust but yet from the moment you pulled out the knife, it was as though you could finally let out the anger and frustration of your life on this man. Every time you had to bite your tongue from speaking your mind. Every failed lover and the disappointment they brought you. Every lashing of the nun's canes. All of it, everything that had built up was now unleashed.
You thought about moving the body but it was difficult, his midsection was only held together by his spine. You had utterly destroyed his stomach and surrounding areas. Your knife had moved so easily into the soft organs, no pushback from bones stopping the flurry of stabs. Maybe a body found with a different M.O. would distract the police from the other murders. When Alastor killed, he was careful, and precise, leaving nothing of his victims. The way in which you had butchered the man, would be new, unexpected. Whilst sating your own unholy desires you could maybe help your husband.
Despite the fact you had changed clothes, you still took the backstreets home. The less people who saw you, the better. You arrived home and breathed a sigh of relief that Alastor wasn't home yet either. He would either be stalking his next victim or proceeding with a thorough clean-up of the scene. This gave you time to shower, change back into your nightdress, and crawl back into bed.
You had expected to drift off to sleep before he returned but your body felt charged with electricity. A deep feeling of satisfaction, excitement, and a hint of worry. The worry that you would be caught for what you had done, but yet, the thought of which made you feel alive. The click of the bedroom door brought you back from your thoughts, your reminiscing on the night. The sound of his feet padding across the floor, muffled momentarily as he walks over the rug and then a click of the bathroom door.
The shower starts and you hear the metallic clank of his belt buckle hitting the tiles.
"Darling." You call out, trying to sound groggy as if awoken from a deep sleep. He does not respond to your call. You sit up in bed, swinging your legs over the side and making your way to the frame of the bathroom door which he had not closed behind him. You had seen him in a state of undress many times but it was always a treat for your eyes when you got to take all of him in like this. Normally in your moments of intimacy, things moved so quickly between you both, and by the time he was undressed, his body would be pressed firmly against yours.
He had his back to the door, as he was rubbing soap over his chest. You silently made your way to the cubicle, dropping your dress down to your feet. "Do you want me to get your back?" You whispered, opening the cubicle door and stepping inside. Your words caught him off guard as he turned to face you. His face still had flecks of blood splattered on it. You take your hand and place it under the water before taking it to his cheek and with your thumb, rubbing them off. "I thought you were sleeping, my dear." His voice is calm but you can see your sudden approach had him startled. "I was but I guess the sound of the shower woke me up."
As you're speaking you see him fixated on one spot of your neck. He reaches up and rubs his thumb across it like you had done with the flecks on his face, but says nothing of it. His hand then wraps around your throat with force. You flash back to the night in the Alley, how he looked like he was ready to take your life then and there. "You wouldn't lie to me. Would you?" The tone of his voice brought a chill to you. "And you wouldn't keep secrets from me. Would you?" You counter, your hand now reaching down and taking hold of his cock, feeling it stiffen in your grasp. You see that look of surprise, for as much as he kept you on your toes. You seemed to be able to keep him on his. You showed no fear to him whenever he would become rough with you, it was not a common occurrence but when it did arise, you would always step up to the challenge. It was something he had once commented on, saying how it kept things interesting between the two of you.
His hand moved from your neck and now cupped under your breast, a couple of firm squeezes before he closed the distance between you. and without warning, his lips meet yours with that longing for you. From the passion of the moment you pick up pace with your hand, as his kiss increases in ferocity, you match it until he pulls his lips from yours. Resting his forehead against yours as his breath grows heavy under your touch. Making sounds between a needy moan and a low, rough grunt. Alastor had always been sure to put your pleasure first but you were finding a certain enjoyment in this newfound Dominance he allowed you to have over him.
You pull your hand away, getting ready to drop to your knees for him but without missing a beat, the moment your grip is released. He swings you around, pressing your body against the cold tiles of the wall. One hand on the back of your head, fingers tangled in the wet locks of your hair, and pushing your face to the wall. The other takes your hips and pulls them back to meet him. Driving himself inside you, not so much thrusts but an urgent assail on your body. His torso presses into your back as he removes the hand from your head tugging the hair that fell down your back, out of the way. His mouth meets your shoulder and unlike before, no playful, teasing nips this time. Instead, he bites into you, pain flooding the area, your entire body tenses and you let out a shrill cry. This only serves to fuel his onslaught of thrusts.
His face rests on your shoulder, now closer to the nape of your neck. You feel his breath, jagged, heaving, on your skin before sharp pain takes over once more. The closer to your neck, the more tender it is and you buck your hips backward as if to push him away but instead only pushing him deeper inside you. As if to thank you for your willingness to endure, his hand that had been grasping your hip now snakes around between your legs. His fingers brush against your clit for a moment, teasing in their movement. "Beg!" He snarls in your ear, almost not sounding like himself.
Begging was not something in your nature but every one of your senses was overwhelmed in that moment. "Please, I need you, every part of you. All of you, all at once." You could not hide the desperation in your voice. You would never expect yourself to beg for any man. But for him, and only for him, you would. He places two fingers over your clit, allowing the movements of his thrusts to rock your body against his hand. You squirm against his touch, focusing on the intensity of the situation as your bodies move with one another.
"Bite me again." You did not know where the words came from, each time he had sunk his teeth into your flesh, it had hurt like hell. But as you were reaching your peak, you felt it was just what you needed and maybe what he needed, for you both to find that sense of gratification. He did not need to be told twice. A sweet cry escapes from your lips as you tense, the sensation of pulsating around his cock, soon followed by him filling you deeply. But he was not done with you. "Again!" he snarls. His thrusts had stopped but his fingers worked against the sensitive nub of your clit. You grind against him, writhing against his cock which still sits inside you. It does not take much to find that bliss once more.
You lean into the wall, his hand slides up from between your thighs and now holds your midriff, offering you support. You feel his breath once again on your shoulder. Half expecting him to leave another mark on you, but he doesn't. Instead kissing the marks he had already made. You regain your sense of balance and are able to stand upright once more. Now turning to look at him. Locks of hair with dripping water cover his eyes, his face red, his lips parted slightly as he catches his breath. You reach up to brush the hair from his eyes to be greeted with scarlet scleras and crimson irises.
You recoil from him, back pressed against the wall. You had become accustomed to seeing creatures like this on the street but somehow it scared you when it was the face of your husband that changed. Alastor reached a hand out to your face but you pushed it away, sliding down the tiled wall and huddled up on the shower floor, trying to create as much distance as you could within the confines of the cubicle. It seemed for a moment as though he did not know what to do with you, how to respond to your sudden repulsion to his touch. All he could do was step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and giving you space.
You didn't want to move, no, you felt like you couldn't move. Hands at each side of your head, pulling at your hair. Your mind was deceiving you, only out to get you, falling into the dark place. Panic, fear, pain, unable to breathe. "Darling, it is okay."Alastors voice cuts through the spiral of thoughts. You look up, Alastor looks like himself as he did before, he is crouched down by the shower door with a towel for you in his outstretched hand. You had to bring yourself back, you hated this feeling, you wanted to be perfect, unattainable perfection, untouchable like the sky. But you were here, shaking, huddled up, a mess.
It takes you a few moments, neither of you moving, eyes locked with one another. When you eventually take the towel, Alastors movements are slow and precise, seeing your fragility but not understanding it. You could hear the cogs behind his eyes trying to work out the cause of your reaction. But then like a lightbulb switching on, you see the realisation dawn on his face. "You saw something again?" His voice is soft, inviting you to take comfort in him. You nodded and that was all he needed. "I can leave you, I shall sleep in the spare room if you wish?"
You could tell he was trying, trying to understand your situation but unable to fully comprehend it. Unsure of how to approach such things. "No. Please stay." You mutter, your vulnerability was evident from the shake in your voice. He moves slightly closer, apprehensive about any sudden movements, being vigilant to any change in your body language. Taking the towel and wrapping it over your shoulders as he brings you to your feet."If that is what you want, then I shall. But if ever I do anything that is too much, I would hope you would tell me, tell me to leave you. I am aware that our situation may be complex but I am here as a friend, not a partner that you need to please." It never ceased to amaze you how one moment he could be ripping chunks of flesh out of your shoulder, snarling in your ear. The next he is softly spoken and giving gentle, tentative touches. Had you exhibited such behavior, you would be given the diagnosis of la folie circulaire, circular insanity. You would be locked away with your mother. Then again after your actions tonight maybe you should be locked away, unable to harm another soul. The two of you were really a match made in heaven. Or hell, at least.