• 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • Alastor x Reader

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧.

Huge trigger warning⚠️ There is rape ahead. Proceed with caution.

———

"You came," Damien raised a brow in mild surprise, lighting a cigar and setting it between his teeth. He thought he was going to have to send his men after you, given how you've been as of recent. "Have a seat. This is important." He gestured to the chair in front of his knotted, wooden desk, watching you with eyes that could have sparred with those of a hawk. Obeying, you sat down and crossed one of your legs over the other. "Is there something I've done wrong?" you immediately jumped to the worst conclusions, biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

"Not exactly, but there are matters to discuss. Such as your relationship with the radio host." A wallowing pit of despair seemed to open in your chest and pull your organs in, leaving an aching sensation inside of you. "I... Uhm... What's wrong with it?" you forced a laugh, though it came out more as a depressing attempt at breathing. "I don't want you seeing him. He could jeopardize your work and my reputation." The man slicked his hair back with a hand, blowing a large amount of smoke into your face from the cigar, causing you to cough and making your eyes begin to water.

"But he's the only man in this city that's been nice to me!"

The mobster in front of you eased one of his brows, seemingly unfazed. "I don't care. I don't want you staying around him anymore." The ashes at the end of his cigar were tapped into his ashtray, Damien's gray eyes filled with hatred. "You can't control who I'm around, sir!"
"Actually, I can," he smirked and pulled the contract out from one of the many drawers in his desk, holding it so that you could read it but couldn't take it.

Your gaze traveled over each line, mouth falling agape at what you had foolishly scrawled your signature across.

Line 12.

By signing this contract, you also agree to give your superior full ownership over you. This includes (though not limited to) your teeth, eyes, lungs, and pancreas. This also means that you are to obey what they demand, for they will have the right to legally execute you if you are to contradict any of their orders.

Immediately, you could feel yourself lose any light of hope that may have been burning in your heart, eyes falling to the scarred planks of the floor beneath your feet while Damien filed the contract away. "You should always read the fine print, sweetheart. So, how about a deal?" Your head lifted in curiosity. What could this man possibly have to offer you.

"You get no more than two days with that talkshow. When those two days are up, you are to return here and I'll find you a new place to live, since you don't seem particularly fond of your pitiful apartment," he rasped a chuckle and extinguished the cigar in a small pot of water. "If you really hate it here that much, I can always assign you to the ones that take care of you. The ones that don't raise their hand at you." A new contract was slid in front of your eyes, the man holding a pen towards you. "Your choice, dollface."

You shook your head. "No, I can't sign that. I don't want to stay away from him." Damien released an exasperated sigh. "Look, (Y/n), we all have skeletons in our closet and that man just happens to have a few more than most of us — if not literally." You cocked your head to the side, befuddled. "What?"
"I'm just saying that he's more dangerous than I am. Take that as you will. You aren't seeing him again."

Your hand slammed down against his desk, the pencils in their holders clittering together from the small shake. "That's not fair! He hasn't done anything to hurt me and he never will! He's not a dangerous man! He's just... He's just some guy," you said while standing from your seat, brushing the front of your dress off. Your employer kept a finger curled over his face, his gray eyes narrowed. "Sit back down. Right now." Shooting him a nasty scowl, you crossed your arms in rebuttal.