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redfoxwritesstuff · 7 months ago

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Look! I found more CRACK!

Fuck meeee.

I've got problems. This stupid little cartoon has made me mad. And now you've made me an addict.

»»------► 𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚖 (18+)

Pairing: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗; 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝.

Word Count: 𝟸.𝟼𝚔

Warnings: 𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝙱𝙳𝚂𝙼, 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜, 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎, 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜, 𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

A/N: 𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚕, 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚘!! 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚗𝚘 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝, 𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚑<𝟹𝟹𝟹

“You do remember our safeword, don’t you cherie?”

His voice was dripped in a sweetness that contrasted the frustration he had etched onto his face, and oh was he agitated. You knew of Alastor's ridiculous possessive behaviour over you, so why on earth you decided it would be a good idea to accept a custom made rubber duck from a blushing Lucifer was beyond you.

Alastor hadn’t taken the acceptance well; almost immediately he had ragged the duck from your hands before he groaned a murmur of disgust as he looked at it, only to light it afire on a green flame that disintegrated it into mere dust. You felt incredibly bad as you took in the king of hell’s saddened and gaping expression as Alastor cynically destroyed something he had spent so much time on; and before you could apologise on behalf of your husband’s behaviour, Alastor had shadow warped you into your shared room.

You were planning on berating Alastor, but as soon as your vision cleared from the shadowed warp, his voice had beat you to it as he had asked you why you would dare accept a gift from someone that was not him himself; why you thought it appropriate. You attempted to explain it to him, elucidating that it would have been incredibly rude to not accept the gift, only for Alastor to interject your speech, suggesting you had a thing for the king of hell.

A smack was what he deserved after implying you were attracted to another man that was not your Alastor; a smack is what he got.

“Yes.” You responded to the handsome demon before you; this was your punishment. Surprisingly, it wasn’t for the strike you had forced against his face; Alastor had deeply apologised for even entertaining the idea after you reprimanded him for questioning your love for him. No. This punishment was to remind you not to accept anything from anyone that wasn’t your husband ever again.

Looking directly into his eyes, you stood in front of your husband whilst he seated himself in the armchair behind him; his eyes, although blacked out with radio dials replacing his pupils, easily exhibited his true emotions as excitement glimmered through them; the same excitement that made your cunt clench around nothing. As Alastor offered you his hand, you gladly surrendered your own hand into his clawed palm as he had non-verbally requested, allowing him to pull you towards him before he placed a soft kiss against your dorsal.

Though, despite the sweet gesture, the green chain that proved who your soul belonged to conjured around the delicacy of your throat; reminding you that not only did your heart belong to Alastor, but your entire being too, before he dragged you to stand between his legs.

Choking as the phantom chain grasped your neck, you moaned. Alastor knew how much of a masochist you were, and he, not only your husband, but your sadist, loved to please you into screams of pain. Clenching your thighs together as you waited for your husbands next move, one of his clawed fingertips ran up your thigh, teasing up until it pressurised against your clothed folds, and before you could softly cry out in pleasure, Alastors finger retracted, only for it to shred your clothes in two pieces from a single swipe.

Without reacting, your body became flushed as Alastor admired your nude form; you were very used to your husband ripping your clothes off like he had a kink for it. Stilling in your position, you panted as you contemplated on what he would do next, what his course of action would be. “Would you like your husband to spank you like the little promiscuous wife you are?” He asked you with a shit eating smirk, as if he had access to the thoughts that swarmed your mind. His eyes were still blacked out, waiting for your response as arousal flickered within them; you didn’t need to see the bulge growing underneath his clothes to perceive his growing intoxication.

“Yes.” You whispered in a moan as your thighs rubbed against one another, begging for your red and evil husband to inflict any type of pain onto you for your own sexual pleasure as you looked at him with pure lust; pure love.

His smile etched further, almost condescendingly as his eyes narrowed in on you, giving you a look that indicated you were forgetting something. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled ever so seductively as it clicked in your mind; Alastor had always had a fetish for you screaming for him as you called him Sir, you knew how much he got off on it as you prayed for his divine punishment to embrace your skin, flesh and soul.

“You know what to do, my perfect little wife.” His words echoed into the room, commanding you to bend yourself over in his lap without explicitly saying it; and you did. And as always, you purposefully made sure to face your ass in the direction of his dominant hand as you crawled into his lap sideways. It gave your husband the ability to admire the backside of your body, the same body he loved to pleasure with pain.

Whining ever so softly, his hands gently caressed the skin of your ass, massaging the succulent and luscious part of your body; and without warning, Alastor’s hand struck against your rear, jolting a sharp pain through you that had you moaning a gasped whine as pleasure consumed you from the infliction. “Sir-” The word slipped from your tongue so erotically as Alastor’s hand hit down against you again; you could feel his cock prod against your stomach as he continued his assault, your cries of pleasure echoing throughout the room as each hit increased in harshness, the sounds of his hand coming down on you shrieking through the room, exceeding your own pants of cries in volume.

Suddenly, his other hand gripped the front of your throat as he made your spine arch backwards, forcing you to look at him in the blackness of his eyes as he continued his beating on your sore rear. “You’re such a good wife aren’t you darling? And all mine too; say it.”

As he slapped over the imprints of his previous inflictions, a sharp pleasurable pain echoed throughout your body as you moaned out his request, crying out in pleasure how you were his; all his, only his, always his. You could hear how proud he was, how elated he was from hearing those words leave the chambers of your mouth as he landed a final harsh slap against you that had a scream ripping through your oesophagus.

“Thank you, sir.” You moaned with a pant as Alastor caringly smoothed his palm over the harsh imprints on your ass, soothing you ever so softly before he lifted you body up by your neck; forcing a choked gasp to be ripped from you as he forced your form to sit on his lap, compelling you to face him with the help of his black appendages that he conjured from the floorboards.

“You’re very welcome, my beautiful wife.” Alastor whispered as his hand clutched harder around your neck; his dominant hand forcing you to moan as his fingers suddenly teased your clit, circling it with the exact same sensation that Alastor had learnt was your favourite; the same one that made you moaning like a common whore.

Leaning into you, Alastor placed his lips against yours, kissing you with passion as he massaged your throbbing bud, it was sweet, a sweetness to be short lives as he began to squeeze your clit with such pressure it had you gasping in the kiss, unknowingly giving him the opportunity to shove his tongue down your throat; purposefully prolonging it as to make sure it went down into the gummy flesh of your oesophagus.

You became lust drunk; the afterglow of having your rear assaulted, the mind numbing pleasure your husband was placing onto your clit as he held your neck tight, all whilst fucking your throat with his tongue. It was almost too much; but you were a good wife for Alastor, you always would be, and you would take everything he gave you with pleasure and enthusiasm.

Groaning as your husband’s fingers left your clit, only to tease the folds of your opening, you vibrated his tongue deep into your throat, earning a sexual growl to emit from Alastor as he continued to overwhelm you. Pulling away, you began to pant as he retracted his tongue from you, only to penetrate his overly sharp claws into your cunt; the sheer intensity of his talons began to wound you from the inside, causing streams of blood to soak your husbands hand as he causing physical scars within your core. A balance of pain and pleasure cried from your lips as tears emerged from your eyes, threatening to leave the contents of your visual organs as he continued to purposefully cause infliction within you.

“Be a good girl and ride my fingers, darling.” His smile never faltered as he watched your tears slowly stream down your cheeks. Slowly, you obeyed as your hips began moving, gyrating against your husbands hand as you relished in the painful pleasure he fucked into you. Stabilising yourself, your hands reached out to his growing antlers; something you knew was pleasurable to him, attempting to balance yourself as you rode yourself against his hand.

“Yes, sir.” You managed to moan as you complied, the dials in his eyes flickering to your cunt as he watched you bounce on his palm; your blood smearing against his metacarpus, as well as your own folds and thighs as you continued to allow him to create new wounds inside you with every bounce you made.

Your rhythm hastened as you savoured each painful infliction made against you as Alastor’s hand that previously was placed on your neck began to grip onto your chest; his claws tearing into your flesh as he dragged his talons down; forcing slightly deep open wounds to rip your dermis apart. You screamed, not only from the pain, but from the sudden forced orgasm that ejected from your cunt; your husband's hand milking it out of you as it mixed in with the fluids of your blood. It was something you weren’t expecting at all, especially since you hadn’t even felt a build up of your release before it was inevitably ripped from you.

A true masochist; cumming from your husband’s assault over the pleasure he was enacting on you.

You could feel Alastors grin tighten in glee as he watched your face contort whilst you cummed all over his hand; your eyes rolling back as your mouth gaped, his fingers still inside of you as you halted your bouncing to experience your orgasm, twitching your hips and thighs ever so slightly as you did. Although he was a sadist, and loved inflicting pain on you, your pleasure was much more desired. He craved to see you so prettily satisfied.

As your orgasm ended, his fingers retracted from your cunt before he licked the stream of blood from his weaponised fingers; your eye half lidded as your face flushed from watching him lick up your blood and cum before he kissed you ever so slightly with red stained lubricated lips; smearing your own fluids against your mouth. As you allowed his tongue to enter your mouth once more, tasting your own essence on your tongue, black conjured appendages gripped the contents of your body from your thighs to your biceps, only to throw you against the blankets that covered the bed you shared with your husband.

Looking over to him, you watched as he began the process of taking his suit off his build. Biting your lip as you watched him undress himself to inevitably fuck his heavy sex into you, you opened your legs wide so he could witness the bloodied crime scene he had created inside your cunt; his breath hitching as he watched you display yourself for him.

Unzipping his suit pants, he allowed his heavy and large cock to weigh down as it erected from the confines of his clothes. You could only anticipate him as he etched himself closer and closer toward you, your vision only fixated on your husband’s very throbbing, very angry sex as it leaked spouts of his acidic precum before his arms entrapped you form into the bed.

As he looked at you longingly, asking for permission to ravish you, you wrapped your arms around his neck before pulling his body against yours, giving him a soft kiss as you encased his hips with your legs, securing him against you before you guided him to enter you.

Using your blood as lubricant, he slid his member inside of you with ease, filling your cunt up with that ridiculously fat cock of his that always hit every nerve within you, always making you cry out a moan; yet this time, his cock scraped against the raw wounds inside you, adding a new found painful pleasure into the mix as he began to pound his cock inside you without remorse. It was so contrasting but so good; his cock sliding in and out of you with his rough pace, each thrust causing your open wounds to shriek in pain as he pummelled you. You felt so dizzy, so sexually satisfied as he fed you with not only the pleasure of his cock, the pain you desired immensely.

Alastor fucked you into the mattress, forcing the bed to creak with every relentless thrust. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose, and when the bed began to bang against the wall from his intensity, you knew he was; the slamming of the bed conveyed to everyone you were his, only his.

His pace was unforgiving, harsh and rough, you genuinely believe he was planning on breaking the bed with how purposefully hard he fucked you. You couldn’t prevent the screams that ripped from your throat as his cock pushed against the opening of your cervix with every thrust he made, massaging each little wound as he pummelled himself inside of you. “That right; scream for me as I fuck you.” His words were laced with pure ownership, dominance, the need to consume who you were and let everyone know that you were his and his alone. “Scream so that stupid king of hell knows who you belong to.” His voice glitched with static as his eyes began to bleed whilst he fucked you hard.

As you began to scream for him to go harder, to hurt you more, his form began to grow ever so slightly as his weight, along with the sheer force he was fucking into you made the bed to snap in half, causing a loud and awkward amount of noise to echo throughout the hotel; but Alastor didn’t stop. No, he continued to fuck you as though it had never happened.

Crying out from his size, your thighs began to shake, and before you could be graced with a second orgasm, Alastor’s cock left the confines of your cunt, only to groan out as his cock squirted your stomach, chest and face with his acidic cum.

Whining from his cum that covered you, and the disappointment of not being able to cum on his cock, your husband only chuckled at you.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful wife, I’ll make you cum as many times as you want; just keep telling me you’re all mine.”

Sorry if it's bad I was in a rush OKAY BYEEE

#Kit reads #Kit screams #Kit cries #hazbin hotel #alastor

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redfoxwritesstuff · 2 months ago

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AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

MISD ALLLLLLLASTORRRRRRR

I'm weak, I'm swooning, my heart- it's shattered.

HE'S GOING TO FUCKIN KILL L AFTER THE BROADCAST!!!!

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human!alastor, period-typical racism, period-typical sexism, implied abuse from reader's husband

SPECIAL MENTION: @cartoonykat thank you for the request. It has been fed into the monster that is called VEXITOBER.

SPECIAL SHOUT OUT: @redfoxwritesstuff I know I promised a fanfiction of your fanfiction (Misdemeanour of the Heart) like 300 years ago. But, just take this one-shot to stave off your hunger for now.

The brittle paper crinkled under your fingertips, ever crease, every worn edge, a reminder of the countless times you’d held it before. It was delicate – seemed like it would crumble into dust at the slightest touch – but despite its fragility, it was the most valuable thing you’d ever possessed. Your fingers trembled as they traced the lines of the newspaper clipping, but it wasn’t the printed news of the “Bayou Butcher” striking again that made your heart race.

It was his writing, the neat curling script at the bottom, a mere whisper of words: “Tune in next Monday at 3:00, ma chère.”

Your breath hitched, a sharp hiss escaping between clenched teeth as the persistent ache in your left leg flared. Pain shot upward, digging into your hip like a dagger, but you fought to stay upright. The agony was a minor inconvenience today.

Today was the day.

Your heart pounded harder, marching the rhythmic throb in your leg. The memory of those elegant, looping letters tugged at your emotions, just as they had when you’d first received the note. Every time you touched the ink, you remembered his voice – smooth as honey, with that rich, radio charm, the voice that captivated thousands. But it wasn’t just a radio host’s voice.

It was his voice.

It was…Alastor’s.

You never should’ve gotten involved. At first, it had all been so innocent, hadn’t it? You thought little of it – a mere curiosity – when your husband, a man who harboured such blatant hatred for “coloured folk,” began conducting business with Alastor, a man of Creole descent. It was scandalous in its own way, but you, ever the dutiful wife, entertained your husband’s association with grace.

You were polite, respectful, keeping your eyes down and your words sweet. But slowly, ever so slowly, those polite gestures became something more.

A fleeting brush of his hand, lingering longer than it should have. A shared smile, deeper than you intended. The space between you shrank until a single kiss shattered the fragile boundary you’d drawn. And now…

Now…

Tears blurred your vision, each drop falling onto the brittle paper and smudging the ink. The once-crisp words bled together, dark and dreary, as if the rain itself had swept across the page. A storm had gathered within you, just like that fateful night. You almost got caught. You and Alastor, locked in a forbidden moment, nearly discovered by your husband.

The thought of your husband finding out, of him laying a hand on Alastor, made your blood run cold. You couldn’t stay.

So you left.

You left Alastor.

A broken whimper escaped your lips as you stumbled forward, your body too weak, too damaged, to hold itself upright any longer. You caught yourself against the bookshelf, your trembling fingers gripping its edge, knuckles white. Every movement was agony. The bruises littering your skin throbbed with each breath, each heartbeat, a cruel reminder of the hell that had become your life.

Lately, your husband returned home late, reeking of alcohol so pungent it seemed to burn your skin when he got too close. The man you once knew, once loved, had become something unrecognizable – a monster lurking behind a mask of daylight.

You were trapped. A prisoner in your own home, your body marked by his rage, your soul shattered by the weight of your tight-lipped silence.

The clock ticked steadily in the background, its rhythmic pulse mocking your stillness. You closed your eyes, wishing for a moment of peace, but even in the dark, the memories of Alastor haunted you. You hadn’t seen him since the day you walked out of his life. But weeks after, he appeared right on your doorstep, unannounced. His brown eyes were gentle with concern, only to have that warmth crack and harden when he saw the state you were in. His once soft brown eyes had turned into stone, his anger rippling beneath the surface as though it could tear the earth apart.

He tore a piece of newspaper he had in his pocket and scribbled a message before handing it to you. His eyes narrowing when he saw the striped bruises around your wrist. He hadn’t said a single word to you, other than the two words that seared into your heart:

You’re mine.

The clock struck three, and slowly, painfully you opened your one good eye – the other swollen shut from the brutal fist that had come down on you after you refused your husband’s demands. You had denied him access to your body – denied him your so called “God-given wifely duties.” And this state you were in was your divine punishment. The bruises around your bony wrists were dark and vicious, branding you with your husband’s mark that trembled as you reached for the radio.

Today – Alastor had asked you to tune in specifically today – and out of some stroke of luck, your husband was out of town. He hated when you listened to other men, even if it was just the radio. The idea of another voice in your ear, a voice that wasn’t his, filled him with blind rage.

You took a quick glance at the window, letting out a brief sigh of relief that your husband was still away. Your fingers hovered over the dial, and with a soft click, the radio crackled to life. Static filled the room, but then, through the distortion, came a voice that made your breath catch in your throat.

His voice.

“…and now, I have a special message for the lucky lady tuning in!”

Alastor’s familiar, jaunty tone spilled through the speakers, wrapping around you like a warm embrace, like the gentlest touch on your battered soul. You bit your lip, stifling a sob as tears welled up, your body shaking with the need to cry out. It had been so long. Too long since you’d heard his voice.

“A-Al…” you tried to whisper, but your voice was hoarse, cracked from the screams you’d muffled in the night. Your lips were raw and bruised, but even with the pain, you smiled. It was small, fragile, but it was a smile nonetheless. Because here, in this small moment, you had him again. His voice, his presence, filling the void left by your husband who only knew how to hurt you.

Closing your eyes, you sank onto the floor, legs giving out as you rested your head against the cool wood of the shelf. Alastor’s voice filled the room, filled you, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you let yourself feel – let yourself be held by the words of the man who had once shown how gentle and beautiful love could be.

You tuned in, just as he had asked, and for the first time in weeks, you weren’t alone.

“Ma chère, I still remember your warm eyes that gazed only at me, steadfast and unwavering, filled with wonder and bright cheer. Your voice, a sweet melody, that I could listen to daily and never tire of. Ah – but if I may be so bold to confess, ma chère, it is your smile that visits my dreams. It is your smile that keeps me company daily, it is your smile that I miss…”

His words hit you like a wave, crashing against the fragile wall you’d built around yourself. Your smile, once warm and bright, slowly withered. The first tear trailed down your cheek, hot and burning, followed by another, and then another, each one faster than the last as you bit down on your lip, suppressing the sob threatening to escape.

“I miss your smile too…Alastor,” you whispered, lips quivering, forcing the words through the pain. For a moment, you let yourself pretend. Pretend you were strolling though a sunlit park with him by your side, hidden from the eyes of the world. But reality, cold and merciless, clawed at your throat, dragging out a small, broken whimper.

“… Ma chère, my sweet, my love,” Alastor’s voice dipped lower, his tone like velvet through the static of the radio. If you closed your eyes now, you could almost feel him – standing behind you, his breath warm against your ear, whispering his sweet, honeyed words. Words that once filled your heart with joy now felt like they might tear you apart. “A day without you is bleak, but a future without you is…” His voice wavered, a beat of silence, as if he was fighting to get the next words out.

“Hell.”

That single word, harsh and broken, cut through the crackling static like a knife. You flinched, the pain radiating from your chest as if someone had reached in and twisted your heart.

There was another stretch of silence. The white noise filled the room, deafening, until finally, his voice returned –softer, aching. “My love,” he whispered, “if you would allow me to see you once more, to brush my fingers down your lovely cheek, to gaze into those bright smiling eyes, then I vow… I would move Heaven and Earth for you. I would be everything you want and more. And there will never be a day when you must endure the chilling embrace of an unworthy touch, nor a single night of agony. This, I promise. I vow to you, ma chère, if you would only give me the honour to be worthy of your love.”

Your breath caught in your throat, teeth chattering as you let his words wash over you, seeping into your tired bones. He was offering you everything. Love, protection, a life free from the horrors you endure every day. But didn’t he know? Didn’t he understand that this love was doomed from the start? You were already married, bound by vows to a man who made your life a living nightmare. A love like this – your love with Alastor – could never survive. It wasn’t meant to.

And yet…yet, like always, Alastor had planted a dream within you, a sweet, dangerous seed that promised bountiful harvests of love, of tenderness, of a life you’d only dared to imagine in the darkness of the night. How could you not reach for it? How could you not want to believe in it, despite everything?

Your fingers tightened around the scrap of newspaper, the brittle paper crumpling in your hand as you tried to stop the flow of your tears. Yet, it was no use as the tears continued to stream down your face, stinging your bruised eye. You pressed your trembling hand to your lips, your skin still raw and split from your husband’s violence, as if trying to hold in the cry steadily building inside you.

But you couldn’t hold it back. Not anymore.

A wail tore from your throat, loud, agonizing, your body wracked with sobs as the flood of tears spilled out, unchecked and relentless. It was too much. The love, the longing, the pain – it all crashed down, drowning you in its biting cold tide.

You loved him. You loved him. You loved…him.

The truth of it echoed in your mind, in your soul, and as if he could hear your heart’s desperate cry, Alastor’s voice broke through the storm of your agony, as soft and tender as the touch you craved.

“My sweetest dear,” he murmured through the radio, his voice filled with the words you had both been too afraid to speak during all your stolen moments together. “I love you.”

It was the confession you had waited for, the one you never dared hope to hear. And at that moment, despite the bruises, despite the pain, despite the impossible weight of your circumstances, you believed him.

And you loved him back.

You bowed low, forehead pressed against the floor, your tears soaking into the polished wood, staining it with sorrow. The ache in your heart was unbearable, sharp and unrelenting, a pain deeper than any bruise your husband could leave on your skin.

This love – it hurt. It hurt in ways you had never imagined. The realization cut through you like a blade: loving someone you could never have, never be with, was a torture far worse than any physical blow.

Oh, it hurt.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your body, too exhausted to endure any longer, curled onto its side. Just for a moment, you needed rest. Just for a moment, you wanted to escape the reality of your life – the bruises, the pain, the suffocating hopelessness.

In your mind, you reached for Alastor, imagining him beside you, his arms encircling you with warmth, his voice lulling you into a peaceful slumber. A world where his love was real, tangible, and the pain that haunted you every night simply vanished.

He promised you everything in those dreams – tenderness, devotion, a life free from fear. And as his voice played softly through the radio, talking about the weather, the sports, the latest hot gossip, you let the tears dry on your cheeks. His voice, so familiar and comforting, pulled you from the edge of despair, if only for a little while.

For the first time in what felt like eternity, a small, fragile smile curved your lips. It had been so long since you felt any semblance of peace. So long since you could rest without the constant grip of terror choking you.

As your consciousness began to slip away, sinking into the embrace of sleep, Alastor’s voice faded with it, the steady cadence of his words slowly disappearing into the background. The surrounding darkness wasn’t frightening this time – it was welcoming, calm. There were no screams here, no pain.

Only him.

But before you fully drifted away, his voice lifted again, bright and animated, his thick transatlantic accent dancing through the radio

“Now, dear listeners, before I end my segment, please do take care! Word on the street is that the notorious��Bayou Butcher is prowling the streets, and the past several victims all appeared to be married men! Haha!”

The words hung in the air, but you were too far gone to hear the dark twist of humour in his tone. Too far gone to realize what it might mean. Your last thought, before sleep claimed you, was of Alastor, and how much you wished – how much you needed – to be in his arms, far away from the world that was tearing you apart.

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