do you ever mourn the passing of the hours?

so, first of all, alastor will rub himself all over you so you'd smell like him, but deny it if he ever got caught. it's a deer thingy, and he'd rather die again than admit he indulged in such basic instincts

he'd also not only inevitably bite your shoulder in whatever position you're currently in, he will chomp down and sink his teeth into it till you're bleeding just so he can get a taste of you on his tongue. the same goes for your thighs when going down on you. he will try to nip on every part of your body and delights in finding out where he is allowed to bite, where he isn't allowed to bite, and where he definitely should bite

... he also may or may not use those shadow tendrils on you to help him when he doesn't have enough hands - whether that is wrapping them around your waist to keep you there and guide how you should move while his hands are busy on other parts of your body, around your thighs when he needs you to keep them spread and open for him, or to simply wrap up in your hair to pull and keep your head tilted back while his arms are tightly wrapped around you, just so he can sink his teeth into your throat. (alastor biting is like a fixation, and he is feral about it)

specifically for human!alastor i'd also like to think that when he makes that deal with rosie, he is making sure you are coming to hell with him when you die. he doesn't know if simply by association with him - knowing what he does, even though you don't participate in his, uhh indulgences - you'd go to hell as well, so it's kind of like insurance. like, he'll come home one night super ecstatic that it finally, finally worked! and you're happy that he's happy of course, not knowing that he damned your soul as well. to him it's romantic - an eternity together, two damned souls forever intertwined. he won't tell you he did that, though. i may or may not be thinking about this a lot and it's your fault

You heard the door of the cabin slam shut behind you, the force of which was making you wince. Regardless, you carried on.

You were well aware that Alastor was now stalking after you - and with rapid speed as well - but you were much too upset with what he had said in there to turn around and face him now. No, he did not deserve that, and whatever little dignity was left to you after that encounter only strengthened your resolve.

However, you were not leaving as gracefully as you wished you would; you were struggling to move your feet through the mud as you kept sinking in, with your shoe occasionally getting stuck.

The sound of his shoes, though, was catching up to you. Fallen twigs were crunching under his heels and the mud squelched around them each time he lifted his feet.

"Stop," Alastor called out to you. "Turn around."

He was mad, livid, and his tone did not leave much room for you to consider otherwise. His grip was tight around the handle of his knife; still bloody from its previous victim. He had not the time nor had he spared the thought to wipe it clean when he had you to chase after, and correct his mistake of letting you go.

But you, petty as you were, were not listening to him - you would rather be caught dead, literally, than listen to him. Alastor had told you to leave, and so you did. You were simply adhering to his wishes, no? If he wanted your friendship to continue unhindered, or which ever way he had put it, then who were you to protest that?

"Turn. Around."

You scoffed to yourself, thinking about what right he justified himself to have to sound this upset, when it was you who had been slighted.

Alastor was seething. He was still reeling from the sight of you in the cabin - on that table - moaning under his attention, his fingers gripping your thighs. The blood, on you. How you had not seemed to mind it all that much after all, not having coiled away when he had touched you again after wiping your skin clean from it.

He wondered - had you intended for it? That he may mark you in such a filthy manner. It all made him furious now.

Whatever guilt he had previously felt for stripping you of your innocence was fading with each step closer to you. He wanted his memory to make him feel as thrilled as it had the moment before.

You yelped when his hand snapped out - Alastor being much closer than you initially assumed - and he yanked you back by the wrist. He spun you around to face him; you had never seen him this mad before. Though, of course - his smile was still there, still present, even when it was pressed into a thin line.

"Listen to me," he snarled. "I don't care if you're upset, or petty, or whatever little tantrum you are throwing right now, but you will listen when I am speaking to you." His breathing was ragged, and it was impressive just how scary Alastor could be without once raising his voice any higher than a hushed whisper.

"A tantrum?" you bristled, trying to tug free. "Is that really what you are calling this?"

"Yes."

Alastor was not letting go. His hand only tightened as he jerked you closer to him. "You are infuriatingly wilful for someone so stupid." The insult was spoken through gritted teeth, his entire body taut with barely contained anger.

"That wasn't just a distraction in there, admit it," you said, and winced at how hurt you sounded.

Alastor laughed - harsh, mocking. "What, do you want me to say I love you, is that it?" he tilted his head at you. "I won't do that, sweetheart. If anything - right now - I want to wring your neck."

Your cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and frustration, not sure whether it was the condescension in his tone or the threat which made it flare worse. "Fine, then - go ahead. See what happens."

His grip around your wrist slackened slightly - not out of mercy or anything faint of that sort, but surprise. He was taken aback. His lips curled, and he laughed much more bitterly now.

"Oh? And what exactly would happen, my dear?"

Alastor narrowed his eyes, immediately calling your bluff. In an exaggerated manner, he used his other hand - the one not on your arm, the one with which he still held the knife - to gesture around you. "You would scream for help in the middle of the bayou? You'd cry to the police later about how I hurt you, how I broke your wittle heart, after you practically begged me to -"

You caught glance of the knife before he even realised that he had pulled it from behind his back, and you reacted with no further thought than instinct - thrusting your knee in his stomach, and pushing him away from you. "You scamp!"

You watched as Alastor keeled over, the kick knocking the wind out of him for just a second. But you did not run.

"Why do you insist on being so aggravating?" You asked him, the words simply spilling from your lips as you were unable to stop yourself. "You may lack a heart, but surely you must see that what I feel for you is genuine! And the worst of it is that even if you did try to kill me, I still would never say a thing."

You took a deep breath and step back, composing yourself again. "It's fucking pathetic," you whispered.

"You think this is what it is about?" Alastor asked. He pushed himself up from the ground, fingers wrapping tighter around his knife again. "You caught me here, my only company the corpse of a stranger to you, and your first thought was to spread your legs on my table."

You took a step back, but Alastor did not advance on you yet. Instead, he watched, assessed, his smile much too chipper.

"You are not as innocent as you think you are, admit it," he said, and there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Tell me something... do you know what I am?"

You did, and handsome he was in this light, with what little moonlight was breaking through the thick treetops, making him look so cold. Here, you saw him for what he was - the wicked killer who had been haunting the nights of the citizens of New Orleans. Yet, you did not think it suited him well at all.

Alastor should be bathed in something warmer, the life of a party; the dim golden lights back at the clubs and speakeasies you liked to frequent - and oh, how you wished you could go back with him. Go, and abandon the cabin and the rot and all the bad you saw tonight, and only take the good with you.

Take him with you.

The truth was as plain as it was sickening, that your view of him would never change no matter how you looked at him - a dear friend whom you loved and who you knew loved you also.

Alastor stepped closer. "You knew," he murmured. "Or at least you suspected. You didn't run when you saw the body."

He pulled away, and he suddenly flipped the knife around and offered it to you handle-first. "So here's your choice: take this and stab me where I stand... or admit that there is a part of you that likes me as I am, that is just as wicked as I am."

Your breath hitched when you looked down at the blade, presented with a choice. His grin widened - even more giddy than before - as he watched your hesitation. It was delicious.

He nudged the knife closer to your hand.

"Come on, sweetheart," he coaxed. "Don't tell me you're scared of a little blood? Not after what we just did."

The taunt was deliberate. He wanted to see if you would bite.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Alastor wrapped his hand around yours. He was no longer just encouraging you to take the knife - but making you do it. His touch was a caress that tickled your skin, his fingers slipping between and separating your own to intertwine with them and go around the handle together, before closing around it.

His fingers left the blade, though they never left you; you were holding the knife now, and he was holding you.

Your hands were shaking, palms sweating while Alastor calmly took another step closer to you. You were standing just like you had in the cabin, not an inch left between your bodies as his hips pressed to yours. His chest was heaving against yours.

Alastor guided you, pushing the tip of his knife against his very throat; not enough to draw blood, or not yet, anyway. But the threat was there, and his intention clear - familiarising you with the world he knew.

Alastor wanted not just to show you but to make you feel the rush which he felt whenever he had a man bad as can be at the deadly end of the knife - his knife. It was intoxicating, making him feel more alive than any booze could, and he hoped you would think that, too.

You could barely think at all, though. You were much too focused on not nicking him by accident even when that was exactly what he wanted you to do deliberately. It was madness and you knew it, and yet it was the undeniable trust Alastor showed you by this which made you feel exactly like him in the end.

When all you had to do was flex your hand a little more, and the blood would come gushing out of him, and he would drop dead.

It enthralled you that he knew you would never do that, and Alastor delighted when he realised what it did to you. His grip around your hand was lighter now, his guidance a mere suggestion as the blade followed an invisible line drawn down his throat. It followed the curve of his adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed, and as soon as you reached his collarbone, his grip became painful.

It made you react; the blade finally sinking into skin and drawing blood. His blood.

You gasped, ready to let go, but Alastor would not let you. The most he allowed was to ease the pressure you put on the blade, simply resting the sharp edge against his chest. His eyes found yours; he was fine, and he was telling you as much.

In fact, he had never felt any better than the moment in which you had just made him bleed.

Alastor finally stepped back and spread his arms. "Well? There you go, darling. Go on, have at it." He had you where he wanted you.

But just like before, too, you felt so cold on your own. Like he had stolen all your warmth and took it for himself whenever he pulled away from you, and you were reminded of how much you hated this.

In spite of his expectations, you threw his knife to the dirt at his feet - you were done playing. Your eyes were glistening with unshed tears, all of it finally catching up to your mind. "You're fucking -" your voice trembled, and so was your lower lip as you hissed at him. "- insane."

You turned around, ready to leave for good. You were feeling too tired and dirty after this whole affair, both physically and mentally.

Alastor watched you - watched you walk away, further and further away from him. He was not letting you leave, he was not. He could not. Alastor took off after you, long strides eating up the distance between you in only a matter of seconds.

He caught up to you fast.

You fought him this time.

Alastor grabbed your shoulder, yanking you back towards him with considerable force, and his grip was harsh. You were holding onto him, too, fisting his shirt when you huffed and pushed him away, and tearing his sleeve in the process. It was like a dance between the two of you. Pushing him off but never letting go, pulling you back to him and catching you while tumbling around with each other in circles. Alastor would not let you go a second time.

"Stop walking away from me," he snarled, eyes flashing with hot anger. "Or so help me."

You stilled, feeling the flat side of his knife digging uncomfortably against your jugular. You stared at him.

Alastor exhaled sharply before speaking again, his voice lower now. "You don't get to walk away from this," he paused, brushing the blade tenderly over your skin like he savoured it. He watched you shiver under it, and he was entranced by you. It was salacious sight. "Not after what happened between us."

"You told me to leave," you spat right back at him. "'So that our little friendship can continue unhindered'," you quoted with a venom you had lacked before. "So tell me why I can't.

Alastor grimaced, cringing at his own words as if they were as painful for him to hear as it was for you to repeat, again and again. And it was painful. The fact that it was true, he had told you to leave even when a part of him had been hoping you would refuse.

He was a fool for hoping, of course - what reason had he given you to stay? None, none at all.

"... I never should have said that," he replied hoarsely.

But you remained unmoved. "What, that I should leave or that it meant nothing to you?"

"Both," he muttered. "The whole thing." A beat of silence passed as he visibly struggled with what to say next.

He let out a sharp, frustrated noise - he let go of you. Alastor pushed himself away, dragging a hand over his face. You took a breath of relief with the knife gone from your throat.

"It meant everything," Alastor raised his gaze to you, throat dry. "... and I don't want you gone."

It was raw, the admission that hung between you, and uncharacteristically vulnerable for Alastor. You were still quite shaken - and very mad at him, too, for everything he had put you through tonight - and yet his words choked you up.

"Then don't tell me to leave," you said breathless, just before you grabbed his neck and pulled him back; kissing him.

Alastor tensed at first, because of course he did! Caught off guard by you, and the kiss... then all the anger and tension left him in a rush, replaced by the desperation for your forgiveness. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you hard up against him as he kissed you back. Your fight was almost all forgotten about when he had you back up against the nearest tree.

You cupped his face, only kissing him harder.

He groaned against your mouth, the kiss turning filthy and wanton as he pressed you further into the bark of the tree. His hands were soon bruising your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he ground his hips into yours - needing the friction, the feel of you under him.

You.

One hand snuck up to the nape of your neck, angling your head to lick at your lips and coax them open. But you broke away.

"Stop," you whispered, your head clouded with want. "Stop."

"Why?"

His voice came out more ragged than he wanted it to, betraying his own frustration. He was valiantly holding back, however tempted he was to rip your clothes to shreds right there. He could not, though, not yet. He could not.

You tilted your head at the sight of him, the corner of your mouth curling amused. The deep furrow between his brows, his dark eyes, reminded you of a scolded puppy, while his mind was working feverishly to figure out what he had done.

You shook your head, stroking his cheek before your hand fell down to fix his collar; covering your mark on him. Delicately, you thumbed at the crimson line left there, making Alastor swallow.

"Not here," you said, though you were just as tempted as he was to do just that. Your eyes wandered over his shoulder, gesturing loosely toward the cabin. "And you still have... something... to take care of."

His eyes followed, the reminder of what was waiting for him back there making him groan in annoyance. Right. Something.

Alastor let out a long, shaky exhale when he pinched the bridge of his nose before pushing his glasses back up. He looked back at you. You were completely debauched by him - kiss-bitten lips, mussed hair, skin stained with blood. He was considering to conveniently forget about the man; he had been a nuisance since the beginning, anyhow.

"Give me your keys."

Now, that had Alastor raise his brows, slightly bemused by your strangely sudden request. "My keys?"

"For your apartment," you explained simply. "I want to wait for you."

Alastor stared, breath caught. He was far from a romantic, so he was not entirely sure he was understanding correctly.

"Wait for me there, huh?"

"Yes."

And that was all Alastor really needed.

He fished the keys from his pocket, placing them in your upturned palm. Your fingers curled around them, but his touch lingered; he tugged you away from the tree and toward him. You squealed when he dipped you, kissed you - your hands losing themselves in his curls.

He did it in a casual flourish, the manner of a true showman. And what a showman he could be for you.

When he pulled away, he tried to gather his thoughts - but it was hard to focus on anything except you. You were making him lose his mind in the best and worst possible ways.

His lips curled. "You better wait."

"I promise."

You kissed him again, lips seeking out his before you could choose to do so, and Alastor ravished your mouth like he was starving for you, trying to devour you whole.

But he returned you to standing; wanting more but forcing himself to pull away. Your hands lingered on him, too, before letting go.

"Go on, then," he said, ushering you off to remember the warmth of your skin until he could feel it again later. "Before I change my mind and drag you back inside."

The threat was empty now. He would not stop you now if you really wanted to leave, knowing that you would wait for him.

Alastor prided himself as being a man of great care - from having polished his appearance to please the folks on the street or charming his producers at the station, down to making sure nobody would ever think to suspect him of doing any sort of unsavoury business.

So, how did he allow this slip up? It was no fault of his, certainly!

Alastor had been busy tonight. He told you he would be going out to a speakeasy, at the explicit invitation of Mimzy - it would be the first big gig she performed there, and she was very persistant to get him to attend her grande première.

She invited you, too - of course she did - not wanting you to miss out on it, either. "It'll be a blast, I tell ya!" she woould claim like every time. "Lotsa people to get drunk with, lotsa high up people, too! That ain't gonna be ya usual shindig, missy. You gotta get out, dance some!"

Mimzy promised you the night of your life in her usual exaggerated and rhapsodic and very Mimzy-fashion. And yet, appealing as she made it out to be, you declined. You had to - you had an interview earlier that day and a possible lookout for a long term job.

God knows you needed it.

Since your father had been let go from his previous job, he was at home, lamenting. You did not blame him, his blues and melancholy forced him into passiveness. Your mother was devoted to take up work instead while also keeping the house from falling apart completely. It had been a rough few years, just trying to make ends meet.

You had to help them out somehow, and Alastor - bless him - had recommended you to a friend of his mother's who was looking for a maid. He could not do the work himself, neither having the time nor the capability as a veteran from the Great War.

While you were hesitant at first, Alastor promised you could trust him not to blab that you were working for him - it may not be prohibited by law for a woman on her own to be working nowadays, but with her mother in the same household? That could get them in a lot of trouble.

But as Mimzy pouted and pleaded with you to come, you eventually caved, and told her you would think about it. That seemed to appease her a bit, and she stopped her nagging. Truth be told, you had no intention of coming that night, the anxiety in anticipation of the interview had kept you up all week.

But, oh, you landed it! How joyous you were, and how kind this friend had been - you had stayed the rest of the day at his house, familiarising yourself with the tasks he would give you.

You just had to share the good news with Alastor, after all - he had played a big part in introducing you to your new employer. So, you had gone to the club where Mimzy was performing, grateful as you were, knowing Alastor had gone there without you.

However, when you did get there, Alastor was nowhere to be found.

You asked around, and Mimzy, in all her beautifully fetching glory, may have had a glass too much to drink in celebration of tonight, and let it slip where he had gone to; some lonesome cabin down the bayou. It sounded strange to you, but Alastor was also a strange man - perfect as he was - and you thought no further than that.

Perhaps you should have.

The bayou was both beautiful and haunting at night, some fireflies and crickets spending you some company on the otherwise rather gloomy trail that led you there. It was a shabby little thing; you would have walked past it were it not for the candle light flickering from a gap in the windows.

You didn't know why Alastor had left the party so early; usually, he would be one of the last to leave the floor, either having Mimzy or you on his arm and making sure you two got home alright. But he has had his plans made for the night when he thought you would not show anymore, and this 'gentleman' kept bothering dear Mimzy when she should be focusing on being the star of the night.

Finding an excuse to lure his victims away from the crowd inside was easy enough when they have had too much champagne; chasing them through the bayou and dragging them here was another thing. Not too mention all the preparations he had to do for the ritual, tracing the circle time and again. He knew it from heart by now.

But then the cabin door opened, and you gasped at the bloody sight.

Alastor froze mid-drag, his head lifting to find - you.

His fingers dug into the arms of his victim, the ever-present smile on his face twitching for just a fraction of a second before composing it again, though it did not quite reach his eyes this time. The panic in them was apparent; something you failed to pick up on in light of this.

"Oh dear..." Alastor chuckled, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand as he straightened up. "What an unfortunate time to drop by."

He tilted his head slightly as if considering how to salvage this - if this was salvagable, indeed - the body at his feet was very much not a part of their usual banter. "How did you know where to find me?"

But you could only watch with awfully wide eyes, those welling up when you could not tear away from the bloodied corpse. Panic rose quickly to your chest, your breath catching. You reached back for the door knob for support, lest you stumbled, knuckles turning white around it. You froze up.

Alastor noticed, and his eyes narrowed on you; he was assessing you like you were a frightened animal - which you were, to him.

"Mimzy told you, didn't she?" He asked, carefully stepping around the body. He had to keep talking to you, to keep you with him before you could do something stupid. He clicked his tongue. "That hoofer - I'll need to have a stern talking with her when we're done here."

And it was working - you perked up at his voice. You knew you should not wait for him to catch you, you should be long gone by now. Your grip around the door knob tightened at his advance, yet something kept you from moving further.

His usually placid expression had changed, the edges around his dark eyes replaced with something you could only describe as predatory, so different from how you knew him to be; courteous and kind, so breezy that he had easily swept you off of your feet when the two of you met for the first time. It was an uncanny transformation.

"Now, now, darling, there's no reason to be upset," Alastor went on to soothe you, but under his shoe, the floorboard creaked, and you flinched. Your mind was catching up to the sceneplaying out in front of you, and your fingers finally twisted the door knob.

That was when Alastor bolted forward. He could not let you get away and risk telling someone.

Alastor had you trapped, and as gently as he could, he cradled your face in his hands to finally make you look at him; finally tear your gaze away from the body behind him. Hurting you now would achieve nothing, nor did he want to. You were his friend - a friend - who had somehow wormed its way into his heart.

But you closed your eyes.

Perhaps it was the way he noticed just how pretty you were in moments like these, when you were so close, and he could study your face and thoughts without anyone catching on. It was fascinating how someone so delicate-looking could ever think he was, too.

But his heart was a rotten apple - you would be sick if you ever tried it.

He had been foolish to think he could keep something so momentous from you, when you had a knack for getting under his skin in the best and worst ways; when you were the only one who had been told of his past, and his dearest Ma. It would have slipped sooner or later.

You raised your hands, your fingers dragging over the bones of his wrists, before your palms pressed against the back of his hands. Your clasp was tight, tense. He only now noticed the tears in your eyes, and his thumb brushed away those that rolled down; the blood from his hands staining your cheeks instead.

A fair trade, Alastor acknowledged. "Shh, shh... easy now," he murmured in that honeyed voice of his. "You don't need to cry. This isn't about you."

Perhaps it was the way he noticed just how pretty you were, or perhaps it was the way you whimpered when your eyes finally opened again, a deep furrow between your brows, and you looked at him like he could save you now, despite everything. That you still trusted him to do so.

That you saw not the rotten skin of the apple, but the seeds of something that was still good within him.

Alastor was bloody, too, and you were daunted to think how much of it was from the corpse on the floor, and how much of it was his own. His slender fingers were all bloody...

"Look at me. Look at me."

And you kept looking at him - just like he said - as his other hand reached for the door knob - not to slam it shut , not yet - but just resting there. He could see the questions reflecting in your eyes, the growing terror and confusion. He leaned closer, your faces only inches apart now as he whispered to you like a lover.

"Trust me," he pleaded, his fingers tracing down your jaw and neck. It was poison.

You tried to slow your breathing, tried to focus only on Alastor. Your foreheads touched, nose brushing against his cheek and your breath fanning over his skin.

Alastor felt the change, the steady relaxation of your muscles beneath his touch. He gently tilted your chin up to better look at you, his eyes roaming over your features. He could see the conflict there, the battle between the girl he had come to know and the horror of what she had just witnessed.

"That's it, just breathe," he murmured, encouraging. "Just like that."

His hand at the door slowly pushed it shut with a soft click, the world outside now shut out and leaving only the two of you in this grim tableau.

You nodded faintly - you could feel his glasses on your face, the way he was holding you was strangely intimiate, all things considered.

Alastor's smile widened slightly, the tension in his own shoulders easing as he pulled back and watched you respond so well to him. His fingers trailed down from your cheek to trace the line of your jaw again - slow, deliberate.

"There we go," he cooed. "That's it."

The praise is light, his voice almost playful. He leaned back in, enough for his lips to brush against yours when he spoke next - a ghost of a kiss more than anything real.

"Tell me you understand... that some things are better left unsaid?"

You were very tempted to kiss him. Whether that be genuine or just to cope with yourself from the situation at present, the urge was there.

You shook your head in denial, whispering against his lips over and over. "Why would you do that? Why would you do that?"

Your soft breath against his skin was like a caress, sending a tingle down his spine. He could feel the heat of your body against his, the way your fingers still gripped him so tightly - as if clinging to him for comfort.

His thumb brushed across your lips, shushing your protest. "Because sometimes, my dear, people need to learn a lesson." Alastor pulled back to look you in the eyes, his gaze dark and intense. "And I am the teacher."

Your breath caught.

You did not know what to do, just looking at him while also grappling with the fact that you did not seem to know Alastor at all.

You nodded once, faintly.

He saw the fear in your eyes, the tremble of your lips that you could not quite suppress, and a part of him relished it. Not because he enjoyed seeing you scared, but because you were finally seeing all of him.

Alastor ran his knuckles over your cheek, almost tenderly, smearing more of the blood from his hand onto your skin.

"You won't tell anyone, will you, darling?" he asked, his tone soft, almost teasing you. "We don't want to ruin our little friendship, do we?"

Your lips parted, wanting to tell him that no, you would tell someone, that you would go to the police and tell them-

But at the same time, you knew you could not bring yourself to do so. Alastor knew that, too.

He smirked as he watched your warring emotions play out right in front of him like cards to read. He could practically see your thoughts, the struggle between doing what was right and keeping quiet to preserve what they had. And he could use that to his advantage.

His hand moved to gently caress your cheek, his thumb softly tracing the path of your tears. He took a step back, finally putting some space between you, but his eyes never left you.

You were cold without him close anymore, awkwardly standing there with that little bit of distance between you, longing for him again.

You both looked to the corpse on the side.

Alastor's gaze flicked there, as if it were just another piece of furniture in the room. The nonchalance with which he treats this murder was both impressive and disturbing at the same time.

He looked back at you, foot nudging the limp shoulder.

"A bit of a mess, isn't it?" he asked lightly, as if he was discussing a spilled drink. You did not respond.

Not like you knew what to say to that, anyway. Your face was stained from where his bloody hands had touched you - your cheeks, your neck, your lips. Your fingers were a little bloody, too, from when you had touched him.

You still looked teary-eyed as you watched that lifeless corpse, a little lost on what to do with yourself here.

Alastor titled his head, studying the way you trembled. It was amusing to him.

"You look a mess, darling," he purred, reaching out to thumb at the streaks on your cheeks in an attempt to get it off before chuckling under his breath. "But I suppose that can't be helped now."

He walked over to a wooden table nearby, where a rag and bucket already sat waiting - for him. He dunked the cloth in the water with an almost careless flair before offering it to her, adjusting his glasses. "Wouldn't want anyone seeing you like this, would we?"

You stared at him blankly, but accepted the cloth from him.

Alastor watched you. You were shaking slightly, and there was a tremble in your fingers as you dragged it over your skin, wetting your clothes in the process. Despite it all, you were still standing there, still trusting him. What a sight for god you were, covered in his sin.

"Clean yourself up," he instructed, fiddling with the cuff links of his shirt and realising that it had torn when hassling with the rat that now lay on the floor - bled out. He scowled, trying to fix it. "We need to have a little chat, my dear."

You only managed to nod, your heart beating loud in your ears.

You were wiping your hand with the cloth, trying to get all that blood off, but your hands were just shaking too much, only succeeding in smearing it further.

Alastor sighed loudly as if this was all just a minor inconveniece to him rather than the life-altering horror it should be - what it was to you. He stepped forward, standing close to you again, and took your trembling hand in his own.

"Let me," he said sharply. "You're making such a mess of yourself."

His fingers were deft as they wrapped around your wrist, guiding the rag over your skin with slow, decisive strokes. It was almost tender - if ignoring the fact that he was wiping away evidence of his crime. "There we go... much better," he said, handing you back the rag. "Now then... about what you saw tonight..."

Alastor looked at you, pointedly.

"You won't tell anyone," he said, and you could feel the atmosphere shift into something colder and darker. That playful lilt was gone now; he was not asking. "Because if you do..."

He trailed off. The message was coming across, an implication should suffice and was perhaps even more efficient in terrifying than anything he could have described, if you had to fill in the blanks of what he was capable of doing. His smile returned in full as he patted your cheek.

"But of course you wouldn't! We're friends!"

You flinched, your hand touching that spot on your cheek as Alastor turned away to return to the table. You still held the damp cloth.

But Alastor could not bear to look at you for any longer, the image of you was now forever burned into his memory; if he did, he did not know what he would be compelled to do. You looked like a lost lamb in the den of a wolf, so vulnerable - and so beautiful with it. Even covered in blood, he could not deny how good you looked like that. It suited you in an odd way.

His back was turned to you, hunching over the table as he busied himself, or tried to at least - he did not know what he was doing. He had a ritual to tend to, and a demon to summon.

Busy as he was making himself out to be, you would hear Alastor's huffing, would see the way he gripped the edge of the table to lean on. You joined him there, slowly letting the now-dirty cloth drop back into the bucket with a splash. You were hesitating. Alastor glanced at you.

Your wide eyes, how you looked at him, the blood... that you knew, and that you were staying here. He could not stop thinking about any of it, no matter how hard he tried. Your trembling; chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation of what to do - your fingers curling into the bloodied rag, too, before letting it go! This was never for you to see.

"Alastor?"

He did not hesitate - he did not think at all - that the second your lips parted to form his name, Alastor kissed you. His hands cupped your face, and he kissed you like a man starved for it, his mouth crashing onto yours. He was much less gentle than at the door.

And you were stunned by the sudden kiss, though perhaps you had expected it and that was why you had approached him there. You froze up like a fawn, like you had before, but for a different reason altogether now - you were not terrified this time, simply surprised. Pure, simple surprise that made your hands tentatively come to rest on his arms before gripping them tightly, and pulling him closer.

You did not pull away.

His tongue pressed insistently into your mouth, trapping you against the closest thing. He was all over you - everywhere - surrounding you, overwhelming you. A hand in your hair, another on your hip as Alastor urged you into exactly the position he wanted you in - sat upon the table, his body between your thighs.

You felt the edge press uncomfortably into your calves, but Alastor was taking up too much of you to really care. He was rough, hungry, his fingers digging into your skin.

You were both just heat and breathless want.

You drifted one hand higher, cupping the back of his neck.

How long you had wanted to kiss him, you had completely forgotten, and it was silly to think of now. A kind of heartbreak that it had to happen under these circumstances.

Alastor could feel your response, the way you yielded to him so easily. For all the horror you must be feeling in this moment, you were still here, still kissing him back with just as much fervour. You were so soft and so sweet and so perfect, a part of him felt almost guilty.

But his hand moved down, gripping under your knee and hauling your leg up around his waist to bring her even closer to him. Their hips ground together as his mouth moved down to your neck.

You furrowed your brows, a quiet gasp falling from your lips.

Alastor's arousal was undeniable, and for a brief but horrifying moment you wondered just how much was you and how much was the blood.

You did not dwell on it too long; he bit down on the spot just under your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he panted, murmuring between kisses and grazes of teeth.

"Let me touch you," he begged. "Let me have you."

He was so needy, so desperate like you have never seen him before. This was not the smooth and collected Alastor you have come to know.

You were trembling, nodding faintly to give permission. "Yes."

It all happened so quickly, then.

His fingers found their way under your skirt, slipping past your underwear with impatience. You fumbled with his belt, freeing him the same way.

With a hand at the nape of his neck, your lips crashed together again.

The kiss only deepened as his fingers dipped between your folds and worked you with raw need. He could feel how wet you were, how ready, and a low groan sounded in his throat as his slacks pooled at his feet.

Alastor broke the kiss for only a second, his arms hooking under your thighs - just long enough to hoist you closer to the edge of the table - with a clatter of bits'n'bobs rolling and falling off. But his eyes were locked onto you, dark and hungry.

Then he pushed into you, burying his face in your neck.

You groaned against his lips as he filled you, feeling that delicious burn as he forced your walls to stretch around him.

You leaned back against the wall, holding onto Alastor's shoulder.

He groaned against your neck, his hips grinding against you before they began moving at a steady pace - rough, erratic thrusts that knocked the breath out of you. His fingers dug into your thighs as he held you in place. "Fuck."

His lips find yours again in a messy kiss, all teeth and tongue, as if trying to swallow and lap up every sound you made. He felt drunk - the way you were clinging to him was intoxicating. All the charm that came with being a radio host was gone now, and not even the brutality of a butcher that had been terrorizing New Orleans remained. He just looked desperate.

Your grip on his shoulder is tight, pulling him closer against you. You needed to feel him more.

The table was shaking under you with every thrust, and you met his pace with each roll of your own.

It was all quick an messy; no thoughts, no words.

Alastor was lost in you - nothing else existed in this moment but you, and he forget what he was, what he had done; forgot that there was a body waiting to be chopped up. He did not care anymore. Nothing else mattered but having you with him, being given your heart and body. And if he took a bit of that innocence along the way, then that was just the price to pay for this kind of bliss.

His hands were gripping under your thighs, pulling you closer and pushing himself deeper, the head of his cock repeatedly bullying that spot inside you that made you see white.

You clenched around around him as his fingers joined between your bodies, your orgasm washing over you as you tilted your head back, and triggered his own.

His breathing was ragged now; the need for air finally catching up to the both of you.

It took a few seconds for Alastor to come back to himself. But then the smell of death and blood wafting up from the floor jolted him back to the harsh reality. The body. The body was still in here, and it was in here with you. Alastor quickly looked back at you, at your blissed out expression as you caught your own breath.

He took a deep, shaky breath. He knew you will never look at him the same, that any innocence that was left had now been stripped away.

Your chest was heaving, completely undone.

Your breath came out ragged and panting, your back leaning against the wall behind you while staying seated on the table, Alastor between your legs...

... but the reality of your situation slowly dawned on you, too, and when Alastor saw that happening, his hands slowly released your thighs; fingers ghosting across the imprints he had made.

He took a moment to look at you again - really look at you. You were flushed and dishevelled, marked in all the places he had touched and kissed you. You looked beautiful like this. Completely undone by him. He could not look away for a beat.

But he pulled away from you, tucking himself back into his trousers as he gave himself a second to collect himself.

You did the same, sliding off of the table and pushing down your skirt. There was not much to do about your hair, or the blood Alastor had smeared on you again during the act.

You slowly came to stand next to him, looking down at the corpse at your feet with him.

Alastor glanced at you. Something about it - the way you were still so neat and proper even after everything that had just happened - it irritated him to no end. He could still taste your lips on his, still feel your body against his. So how dare you look so untouched? So pure for having just let him defile you.

"What do we do now?" you whispered to him, your voice urgent. You looked to him for guidance.

Comfort. Safety.

Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling - almost a laugh, but not quite.

"Now?" He tilted his head at you, amused by how she looked to him for answers like some kind of saint instead of the monster that was really standing in front of her. "Now you walk out that door and pretend this never happened."

"What?"

Your eyes went wide; you could barely believe what you were hearing. But Alastor cocked an eyebrow at you, his smile widening.

"I said, you are going to walk out of here and pretend that you never saw a thing. This never happened, and our little friendship can continue unhindered."

His irritation began to show now, like you were being willfully obtuse, or slow. He hated having to explain something that seemed so obvious to him. The sudden burst of passion had served as a temporary distraction. Nice, but temporary.

"Our..." you could not even bring yourself to say it, and just looked away. You nodded, resigned. "Okay."

Alastor's grin faltered for a second time this night. His hand lifted as if to touch you again, then stopped halfway. Regret crossed his face before it was gone again, and he recovered, chuckling as if this was some joke you were not in on.

"Darling," he drawled, tilting his head in mockery. "I just had you on a table where a corpse is rotting barely two feet away - and you're hung up on a word? Priorities!"

Your face flushed hot at his words, both upset and embarrassed.

You turned to leave like he told you to, opening the door - but you stayed there for a moment, not looking at him when you spoke.

"You didn't have to do that to get my compliance, by the way," she told him - her tone bitter and her intentions petty. "I wouldn't have said anything, either way."

With that confession lingering between them, you went.

Alastor looked after you, his lips turning into a thin line. For a long moment, he just stared at the door you had just walked through, simply... leaving. "... I know," he grumbled quietly.

Then his head snapped back toward the table with a sudden violence, and his hand reached for his knife as he stormed out after her, and into the night.

The cabin door slammed shut behind him.

davrin @ emmrich because he told them the mushroom tea was safe but now he has been forced to listen to rook for the past hour not making sense (potentially ruining their chance to bone):

WORDS • NOUNS

agamath = exile, the exiled

ah = reverence, devotion

al = god, goddess

alah = light

alann = heart

alash = might

aminor = serenity

amoor = call

an = ley

andu = courage

ann'da = papa, father

anore = people

ar = phoenix

aranal = rise

archonisus = renewal

arkhana = magic

aru = shoulder

asto = freedom

bala = name

balamore = reputation

ban = gate

bash = chill

bell = arms

belesa = fall

belore = sun

belore'dorei = child of the sun

dal = healer

dalel = spirit

danil = vale, peak, hill

delar = glory

diel = travels

din = guard

dor = teacher

dorah = valour

dorini = friend

dracon = dragon

duna = eyes

ellune = moon

elrendar = spring

endal = breath

enshu = time

falor = truth

felallan = eternity, forever

felo = flame

fin = place

fulo = risk

il = life

il'amare = love, beating heart

inrush = defender, protector

ish = want

ishera = need

jael = rat

kal = star

kal'dorei = children of the stars

ledel = minion

lithien = building, station

lu = prime

mal = calm

malanore = traveller

medivh = secrets

melorn = strike

melyne = dawn

meniel = peace

minellia = gold

minn'da = mother

morin = quiet

nel = power

orindel = defeat, loss

oronore = servant

ovel = toy

quel = high, noble

quel'dorei = children of noble births

re = wish

ren = void

ren'dorei = children of the void

rohendor = trial, hardship

seabenal = regret

selama = justice

serrar = wisdom

sha = doom, end , demise

shalare = banshee

shalandis = shroud

shan = honour

sil = burden

sin = blood

sin'dorei = children of the blood

syl = wood, tree

talah = death

thas = forest

theron = memory

theror = student

turus = execution

vanas = beauty

zaram = blade

WORDS • VERBS

a = to welcome

agamath = to exile, to banish

ah = to revere, to devote

al = to rest

alon = to do (done)

amoor = to call, to invoke

amor = to bring, to deliver

andu = to brave, to withstand

aranal = to rise

archonis = to renew

aru = to shoulder

as = to free

aseph = to bear

balla = to name

band = to prepare

bandal = to die

bash = to chill

belesa = to fall

dal = to heal

dela'na = to guide, to lead

diel = to go, to travel, to fare

din = to guard

dinoriel = to keep

do = to teach

elor = to sleep

endala = to breathe

enshu = to time

eranu = to forget

felomin = to burn, to ignite

fulo = to risk

il = to live

il'amare = to love, to like, to be fond of

inrush = to defend, to protect

ish = to want

ishera = to need

lithien = to build

mal = to calm

melorn = to strike

melyn = to dawn

morin = to quiet

nel = to power

no = to taste, to bite

noral = to save

or = to say

orindel = to lose, to be done for

oronor = to serve

ovel = to play, to toy

rae = to wail, to cry

re = to wish

roh = to test

seabenal = to regret

sha = to doom, to end

shalandis = to shroud

shan = to honour

shanal = to precede

shindu = to break, to fail

sil = to burden

tal = to oppose

talah = to taste

theron = to remember

theror = to learn

turus = to execute

vendel = to help

WORDS • OTHERS

belono = (being) well

fallah = through

fal = true

isera = green

kim = little

minellia = golden

shalandis = ghastly

vanas = beautiful, wonderful

SENTENCE PIECES

o = I

ana, ara = you, your

na, nah = they, their

ashal, il = we, our

anu = all, us

do = what

doral = how

men = who

adore = (to be) with

am = is

ama = by

anar = by the

belesa = down

bin = this

bindel = in

da = but

elu = may

finel = last

ma = too

ma'ahn = too soon, so soon

mashal = will be, shall be

rea = and

NAMES & TITLES

Agamath = Exile

Al'ar = Phoenix God

Alar = Lady, Lord

Alar'annalas = Ranger Lord

Alar'belore = Lady Sun

Alar'ellune = Lady Moon

Alar'kal = Lady Star

An'daroth = Ley Line

An'owyn = Ley Point

An'telas = Ley Plane

Annalas = Ranger

Archonisus = Renewal

Ban'dinoriel = Gatekeeper

Dela = King, Queen

Denal = Sunwell

Elrendar = Spring

Fal'inrush = True Defender

Falthrien = Discipline

Falithas = Order

Felo'melorn = Flamestrike

Kim'alar'belore = Little Lord Sun

Kim'belore = Little Sun

Kim'dracon = Dragonhawk, Little Dragon

Kim'ellune = Little Moon

Kim'jael = Little Rat

Kim'kal = Little Star

Lu'minellia = Golden Prime

Medivh = Keeper of Secrets

Melyne = Dawn

Quel'Danas = High Isle

Quel'Danil = High Vale, High Peak, High Hill

Quel'Delar = High Glory

Quel'dorei = Highborne, High Elves

Quel'Lithien = High Station

Quel'Serrar = High Wisdom

Quel'Thalas = High Home

Quel'Zaram = High Blade

Rae'shalare = Banshee's Wail

Ren'dorei = Void Elves

Rohendor = Deliverance

Shalandis = Enshrouded

Shan'dor = Honoured Teacher, Runestone

Sin'dorei = Blood Elves

Sylvanas = Beautiful Woods

Thas'alah = Light of the Forest

Thas'dorah = Valour of the Forest

Theror'shan = Honoured Teacher

PHRASES

Al diel shala. = Safe travels.

Ama noral'arkhana. = Saved by magic.

Anar'alah. = By the Light.

Anar'alah belore. = By the light of the sun.

Anar'alash denal! = By the might of the sunwell!

Anar'dalel! = By the spirits!

Anara'nel belore. = By the power of the sun.

Anaria shola. = Speak your business.

Anar'endal dracon. = By the breath of the dragon.

Andu fallah. = Through courage.

Anu belore dela'na. = The sun guides us.

Anu bala belore alon. = All of it was done in the name of the sun.

Aranal, ledel! = Rise, minions!

Aseph-ah-balla nah. = Their naming bears reverence.

Asto're da shan're. Turus fulo il'amare, a'talah adore. Isera'duna... = I wish for her freedom, but she wishes for honour. Our love risks execution if she is with death. The green-eyed...

Bal'a dash. = Greetings.

Bal'a dash, malanore. = Greetings, traveller.

Balamore shanal! = My reputation precedes.

Band'or shorel'aran. = Prepare to say farewell.

Bash'a no falor talah! = Taste the chill of true death!

Belesa menoor! = Another is down!

Belono sil'aru, belore'dorei. = Shoulder your burdens well, child of the sun.

Bin dorei am'ovel. = This is child's play.

Diel fin'al = Travel to the final resting place.

Diel ma'ahn... orindel'o. = Going too soon... I am defeated.

Doral ana'diel? = How fare you?

Elor bindel felallan morin'aminor. = Sleep forever in quiet serenity.

Elu'meniel mal alann. = May peace calm your heart.

Endala finel endal! = Breathe your last breath!

Enshu-fallah-nah, dorini! = Their time has run out, friend!

Felomin ashal! = Burn for us!

Ishera-do? = What do you need?

Selama amor'anore! = Justice is brought to the people!

Selama ashal'anore. = Justice for our people.

Sha'amoor ara mashal? = Will you be ushering in your demise?

Sha'amoor seabenal! = Regret invoking your doom!

Shindu fallah na! = They are breaking through!

Shindu sin'dorei. = Failing children of the blood.

Shorel'aran. = Farewell.

Sinu a'manore. = Well met.

Tal anu'men no sin'dorei! = Death to all who oppose the children of blood!

Thalas'din belore. = For guarding the home of the sun.