he’s been good for a while. kept to his contracts as his main source of food, only killing those who he deemed worthy of it. now his morals may not have been the best, but they were something. tonight, like everything else, he’s thrown that out the window. he attacked some poor bastard walking home from the bar --- he wants to say early twenties but he can’t say for sure. a messy meal, blood splattering over his features as he drained as much as he could. it was impulsive, it was thrilling, but the real problem was going home. he had gotten in the habit of telling krystal everything, every time he had a contract and if he didn’t have one, he’d let her know he was going to find someone worthy of his kill. that way she had a sense of comfort that maybe he wasn’t as bad as he tried to act sometimes. maybe he wasn’t the villain of the story.
he stands in front of their door for a moment, gathering himself to walk in. he takes a moment to wipe some fresh blood from his cheek, licking his finger afterwards. he should feel bad how good the rush felt, how monstrous he’s acting, but he doesn’t. her van’s out front, he knows she’s home, and considering how many weapons the both of them have combined in the house, he knows sneaking in isn’t the best option. he unlocks the door, a deep breath before a grin spreads over his features as he steps inside. ❛ oh honey, i’m home! ❜ there’s a chipper tone to his voice as he slips off the now blood stained boots. he’d have to remind himself to clean those later. he has a feeling he’ll be a little preoccupied tonight.
@vanhunts













