• 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • Alastor x Reader

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫.

The thick stench of smoke poisoned your nose as soon as you had entered the joint. You noticed the soft music playing from a jazz band on stage, but it was muffled by the heavy sound of chatter and (possibly) the unwelcoming haze in the air.

You had discovered that the Fiume di Lussuria was a small, rather secretive strip club some ways away from where you lived — a good hour walk if you kept at a quick, steady pace. It was a hole in the wall in one of the many alleys of New Orleans; a simple, dusty tapestry keeping the door of it hidden from the public. It was clear they weren't fond of strangers.

But nobody asked who you were when you had entered. They had simply stared at you as if you were some tasty snack, waiting to be eaten. It made you feel small. Weak. Pathetic. You felt like a mouse and all these people were the cats, sitting in wait to see who would strike first. Yet none had moved, their piercing gazes burning into the flesh of your neck as you kept your gaze off the lewdly dressed women prowling on stage and made your way to the bar.

The bartender was a tough looking man with dark gray hair salted with speckles of white, a cigar hanging from his lip as he wiped down the counter. "Excuse me?" you mumbled, his deep green eyes raising to glare at you. He seemed highly uninterested, a scowl on his face and a single brow raised. "What is it you need, lady?" Silently, you took the card from your bag and slid it to the bartender, his gaze skimming over it. "Damien Amatores, I think his name was," you explained, watching as the large man then gave the card back and stepped out from behind the counter.

"Follow me."

He escorted you to a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only" and pulled the handle down before holding it open, a long, dour hall with a few doors on each side and a staircase at the end of it greeting you. "Upstairs is where you'll find him."

"Where upstairs?" you asked, mildly shocked at how much of the building he owned. This Damien guy sure had cash. Which...shouldn't come as a surprise after what he was offering you the day before.

"His office."

Swallowing, you walked past the man and began your journey down the dingy corridor, the door you entered clicking shut behind you, but that didn't cause you to turn. This was important. You couldn't be frightened of this. This could be your one chance at getting a job. Even if it was a little bit of a... desperate attempt.

Your hands clenched together as you ambled up the stairs, the sound of smooth jazz music floated down from the room at the top. There was only one woman up there from what you could see, and she seemed to be set to serving drinks, nothing more. Two men were playing pool while three others were playing darts, the other inhabitants just conversed or watched, drinking ales from large glass mugs while they did so. A few of them turned to look at you, but they didn't exactly seem predatory. Not like the eyes of the ones below.

Though, you couldn't say it wasn't unnerving because it was. It really, really was.

"Damien's office is just over there, hon," one of the men on the couch said in a gruff voice once he saw you walking around a little cluelessly, removing his cigarette from his chapped lips to blow some of the smoke out. You turned to look at where he had gestured to, a door with a golden plaque — the words Mr. Amatores engraved onto it — sitting in one of the far corners of the room.

"Thank you, sir," you mumbled, heading for the door and rapping your knuckles twice against it. A faint "come in" was heard, your hand grasping the faded silver knob and turning it. The man you were searching for was sat at his desk, a single lamp on it while he counted bills in his hands. He looked a little disappointed before setting them into an envelope and hiding said envelope away in one of the many drawers in his desk. His stormy gray eyes brightened as they spotted you in the door way.