Snow tumbled from the sky like a million tiny locusts, the man above you smiling wide. Much like the previous time you saw him, his face was nothing but an empty void, no mouth to smile with. No teeth. No lips. No eyes to even indicate the action. Yet you just knew he was smiling. Just like how you knew a child's mind was more delicate than the fragilest of flowers; just like how you knew that if you caught a butterfly its wings would rot; just like how you knew Alastor was the one that scored the knife across your chest, an ear-piercing scream bouncing off the trees while blood boiled from the wound and stained your pretty orange dress red.
The snow underneath you went crimson, melting under the warm liquid that discharged from your opened thorax, the lost features of the...thing above you finally twisting and contorting into the face of the man you held closest to you. You could see the joy in his everlasting smile, the blaze of hunger that fueled the fire behind his amber eyes. His — no — its teeth were sharp, pointed. Ready to dig into the flesh of whatever prey it had caught.
Which, in this case, was you.
"Stop it!" you screamed, feeling a sticky, wet hand touch your face. You felt disgusted, physically revolted, knowing that this man had killed so many things and was now touching you. "My little doe, please do not shed your tears. It pains me to see you unhappy," he crooned in a voice sweeter than the scent of honeysuckle. "Stop it, stop it—
—STOP IT!" you shrieked at the top your lungs, jolting up in the bed you were sleeping in, the hot tears pouring from your eyes seeming to scald your cheeks. Choked sobs echoed from your chest, mixing with loud cries of indescribable agony. Your heart ached. You couldn't tell reality from illusion at that moment, your throat throbbing with pain from your loud crying.
The door to the room was pushed open and the thin figure of the man in your dream came hurrying in, his house robe hanging loosely by his elbows as he dropped to his knees beside your bed and took your hand in his. "My darling, are you alright? Are you hurt?" he asked, worry acting as an undertone to his voice. It took a moment to realize that this man couldn't have possibly been the one that hurt you, his gentle and kind demeanor completely throwing you off from what you had seen in the dream. You just kept crying, Alastor pulling himself back onto his feet and slithering into the bed beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist while his body spooned you in a protective shell.
He knew that this put you at ease, the safety you felt when he hugged you as such always managing to calm your rampant thoughts. So all you could do was appreciate the heat he radiated from his body, eyes slowly falling shut while your breath hitched and your nose dribbled. The cold outside didn't help, either. Your throat had been sore as of recent, but Alastor never skipped a chance to make you a warm cup of tea, even if he was more of a coffee person himself.
"A-A-Alastor," you stuttered through sobs, holding his hand tightly as he rested his chin on your shoulder. "Shhh, it's alright. Your night terrors will cease, I promise you," he calmed you, the warmth of his breath on your ear making you shudder. "You-" you hiccuped and sniffed, "wouldn't hurt me, ruh-ruh-right?" He ran his calloused thumb over the velvety skin of the back of your hand, frowning weakly as he answered, "No, of course not, my love."
His gentle touch alleviated your nerves, a sense of calmness replacing your fear.
"Promise?"
"On my mother's angelic soul."
-
It had been well over half a day since the nightmare had taken its toll on you and you had shoved the ephialtes to the back of your mind in an attempt to forget about it, but such a task was proven a challenge. Every single time you even set your eyes upon the man, that horrible grin flashed itself in your mind's eye, normally causing you to freeze up or begin to shiver like a cat left out in the rain. "Come help me with the vegetables?" the brunette called to you from where he was chopping some peppers, snapping you from your small daze.
Alastor offered for you to move into his home just a day after your...event with him so you could be away from where Damien knew you were staying, most of your belongings being left behind to not raise too much suspicion. Your relationship with him had blossomed into something more, and you weren't unhappy, not at all, but that horrible dream kept coming back to you. He wouldn't do that. He's not a psychopath. He's just...well, he's just Alastor.
As you stepped next to him to take a tomato from the basket, his large hand moved over yours and gave it a comforting squeeze, his smile looking as warm as a nice spring day.
"Feeling alright?" he whispered. You just nodded and kept your eyes off of him.
"Just a little tired, but I'm okay."
The man tilted his head in the slightest, brows furrowing. "Work tonight?" The smallest of nods allowed him to affirm that his suspicions were correct, his frown deepening. "You don't have to go, you know?" he rasped and pulled you in for a hug, fresh, hot tears tumbling from yours eyes like cascades as you buried your face into his chest, arms wrapped around his back. "He'll hurt me if I don't," you wept, the man's hand tangling through your hair comfortingly.
Alastor had learnt that Amatores was going to be hosting an auction later that week, only a day before Christmas, so he was going to take that as his chance to strike. An early Christmas gift, if you will. The auction was being held down at a nearby theatre, sort of a masquerade theme (which seemed a little odd to Alastor, but suppose it was subtle way of keeping the criminals hidden).
He didn't know what that man was selling, nor did he care. He simply needed to get down there, assassinate the target as quickly as possible (although he would much rather draw it out, it would be far too risky), and then get the hell out of there. Once Damien was dead, he would head up to the Fiume di Lussuria and find your documents. That way, he could burn them in order to keep you to himself. Safe. With me. No harm coming to her...
...Delectable little soul, the Loa finished for him.
He shook his head free from Zandor's comments, looking down at you again. "I want you home safe, alright?" he lifted your chin so you could lock eyes. "One bruise, one mark, one anything and, I promise you, I won't let you leave here without me again." You nodded slowly, smiling up at the man while rubbing your tears away. He then released you from the hug so you could get ready in your room, a soft sigh slipping from him as he turned back to the veggies.
"What do you plan on doing?" Zandor asked curiously, the shadow manifesting at his side and looking down at the vegetables. "Killing that god awful man." The prince hummed. "She'll figure us out."
Why the hell did this creature always have to look on the bad side of everything? Why couldn't he just say that it was going to be okay? That everything was going to work out?
Deep down in his stomach though, Alastor knew that Zandor was right. He wasn't going to be able to keep the facade up for much longer. You weren't foolish and would find out eventually and then what would you think?
She'll despise me. She'll want to leave me. She'll... He clenched the handle of the large kitchen knife in his hand, his reflection glinting off of the freshly sharpened blade. He could see himself. Not the man that he was to you, but the man he was when he went out, stalking his prey like a predator. Himself. The man he really was. His smile bloomed into something wild, a flame flickering to life behind his once sullen eyes. I won't let her leave. Not if I can help it.
-
Alastor woke up to a boiling hot sensation in his lower abdomen, his eyes blinking slowly in the heavy darkness of the room while he tried to comprehend what exactly was happening, given he couldn't even tell what year it was at that moment.
He was sweating.
Slowly rubbing his eye with a balled fist, he groaned softly to wake his mind up a little more. Alastor. Wake up. "I'm up," he mumbled groggily, watching as Zandor's slim, shadowy hand drew back the blankets to reveal the large tent in his silk nightwear. "Oh god," Alastor stared down at himself, his windpipes seeming to tighten.
"Why now?" he hissed with a scowl, his friend's glowing red eyes appearing at the foot of the bed. "Perhaps it's that you can't stop thinking about her in those tiny clothes," he chortled, Alastor's eyes rolling in disbelief.
"Can it, Zandor." The creature shrugged and tossed a bottle to him, the man's quick reflexes just barely saving his face from being bashed in with it. "Get it over with. You have a show in the morning."
Swallowing the thick amounts of saliva that had collected in his mouth, he popped the bottle open after he had freed his length from his pants and boxers, carefully pouring the lubricating liquid into his hand while he threw his legs over the side of the bed so he could be in a sitting position. "Jesus, this feels so wrong," he whispered under his breath as he wrapped his hand around the base of his thick rod, biting the inside of his lip when his cold palm made contact with his burning erection. "You've already done so. In front of her," the Loa pointed out. Alastor shook his head. "She was aware when I did it. She was alright with it."
The prince let out a grim sigh, "You're not going to stop now, though. Are you?" Once again, Alastor shook his head and began pumping his hand up and down, slow and shaky. "Mm," he groaned. "Oh, that's it. Just like that..." Zandor had taken off to god knows where, but Alastor wasn't exactly in the right headspace to look for him, slowly allowing the blissful sensation to swallow him whole. "(Y/n)," he rasped, squeezing his grip a little. He huffed, a few loose strands of his fluffy auburn hair falling in front of his eyes as he let a breathy moan slither out his throat.
The things he would do for you. Absolutely anything. He would kill the entire city for you — the whole world even! What had happened to him? Why did he fall for you of all people? That is what Zandor had said, yes? Falling in love? His thoughts were ruptured by a sudden jolt of pleasure coursing through his twitching cock, his eyes screwing shut as he tossed his head back. "Don't stop... Please, don't stop, (Y/n)..." It was rare he got into states like this, but, as of recent, such cravings have been becoming more frequent. It was rather infuriating, really.
He could never seem to catch a break from his unusually carnal desires, which only made him more confused. He had not once in his entire life felt such a strong attraction to a woman that he would get riled up over her. Of course there was when he was going through puberty, or an occasional nocturnal emission (though it was incredibly rare, in his case), but never like this.
"Oh fuck," he gasped, lifting one of his legs off the ground and increasing the speed at which he was stroking himself at. It wasn't too much longer until he felt himself break, a thick string of seed shooting from his already dripping tip and landing on the wooden floor between his legs while he breathed heavily. A sense of shame gripped its claws around him, his high soon dissipating. He frowned. It felt appropriate. I shouldn't be thinking of her in such a way. It isn't gentlemanly, nor is it right.
Sighing, he reached for the box of tissues on the bedside table and began cleaning the mess, still unsure of what he was going to tell you. Are you an idiot? You don't tell her anything. Zandor made a valid point. He wasn't going to tell you that he jacked off to the thought of you. That was definitely not something people told other people at the breakfast table. With a nod of his head, he tossed the tissues away and crawled back under his covers, slowly falling into another wonderfully deep slumber.
{2200 words}