(CONTENT ADVISORY/ TW⚠️:
violence, blood, gore, torture. Proceed with caution.)
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"Let me go, just let me go! Please!"
"Silence, you blubbering fool." Alastor spat.
The brunette had huffed as he shut the cellar door behind him and descended down the stairs. The foul odor of blood and putrid rot had smacked him in the face as he inhaled. Which wasn't pleasant, but, he was used to the smell of decay.
The first stage of decay, at least.
He never kept a body past the point where bugs were crawling in and out of them.
His most recent toy had been here for several days. This victim in particular had actually been one of the men that worked for him in the underground crime circuit, but unfortunately had the gift of gab. It goes without saying he got caught running his mouth, and was abducted promptly.
Normally, of course, Alastor kept his work as a mob boss and his 'play-time' separate.
Sure, occasionally someone would screw up their job. Or, regular people would not hold up on their end of deals. And when that happened some limbs would get broken or people would go missing, of course. However when it came to his work, he preferred to not get his hands too dirty and merely left the brunt work to his henchmen.
In fact, he even so boldly claimed before that 'he didn't like to hurt people, but sometimes it had to be done.'
The truth is, he saw very little wrong in it. He knew it was against most people's morality, and understood the legal consequences of his actions. But his twisted mind made it hard to feel any sort of empathy. In fact, he found it quite entertaining.
His sadistic hobbies were kept in the dark. Behind closed doors, and shrouded in secrecy.
This was an exception.
Hence why this man in question was currently imprisoned in Alastor's basement. A lawless, careless, and hopeless cellar where even God seemed to have forsaken any soul who was unlucky enough to enter it.
He currently had this victim in a handmade contraption that he had modeled after the torture method of a 'standing cell'. This was a narrow and rather short cell that rendering the man in a locked hold to which he was forced to stand- although, incorrectly.
Needless to say the man was in agony. His eyes were bloodshot, numb from foul air. He had been starved, dehydrated, and left with no choice but to defecate himself (and had irritation burns to prove it) after days of neglect. But compared to the pain of his constant improper posture and inability to rest, everything else was only an afterthought in comparison.
He was anguished. Famished. Tired, and dirty. Just waiting for his bitter end. For death to blanket him in sweet relief. But Alastor, well... He liked to make suffering last.
Oh well. The man shouldn't have blabbed. He did it to himself.
Alastor reached the bottom of the steps, almost feeling refreshed as the air down here was cooler than the rest of the manor. Reaching up for a dainty, rusty chain attached to a lighting fixture he pulled on it. A dim, warm lightbulb hummed and buzzed as it cast a yellow hue to the otherwise dim room.
"Do you have any idea how late it is? We have a guest, you know. Don't keep her awake with your incessant shouting. She's had a hard enough day as it were." Al scolded further. Pulling out a freshly rolled cigarette from a pack in his pocket and placing it between his lips. Striking a match and lighting it, he inhaled.
YOU ARE READING
Priceless (Alastor X Reader)
Fanfiction"You must be her." The gentleman in the center said. His already present smile widening into a toothy grin as he tipped his hat to you. "Enchantée." You recognized his voice as the man who had been doing most of the talking. "Who are you?" You choke...
