male reader. set in the 1950s. reader is significantly younger than vincent (in their 20s, while he's in his 40s to 50s).
happy new year! here's a bonus today to celebrate <3
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | he was obsessed with you from the start, but in a more controlling way, not so much a "whipped and ready to listen" way. you're beautiful and young, and he craves control.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | as we've been told, his feelings for men were not something he fully came to terms with in his life. so he'd make constant excuses for liking you, like as long as he was in control — after all, he had the upper hand in nearly every way: he was older, your boss, richer, all of that — it didn't matter if he took a man or a woman as a lover. right?
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | you have more freedom than a young lady would — a male secretary sticking by his boss is more likely to be seen as dedication, rather than a romantic or sexual relationship of any sort. plus, you were far less likely to be accused of "sleeping to the top," which saved both you and vincent a lot of the possibility of such a scandal.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | you become the talk of the tabloids occasionally just for your looks, the magazines spinning you in some whirlwind office romance with random girls here and there, even if you'd only crossed paths once. the papers like to play with you, someone on the side of the public eye. while it's a headache, it never hurts your image — not to mention it offers protection from anyone accusing you of being queer.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | vincent excuses his disinterest in starting a nuclear family as devotion to his work. after all, he wouldn't want to put some young lady through the stress of having a husband that was never home, right?
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | you still have your youth on your side for a bit longer, and when that time runs out, you would follow the same excuse when asked why you haven't found a lovely woman to settle down with yet.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | vincent dotes on you in his own odd ways. he offers praise dressed up in egotistical comparisons to his own work, salary bonuses under the guise of you having boosted his image, gifts to show off his own money and power.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | he insists on buying you some high-end wardrobe under the excuse of "my secretary has to look just as sharp, or i'll look sloppy." he dresses you in darker/more muted colors, as he doesn't want to be outshined, but will never allow you to dress in an ill-fitting outfit or a color that doesn't suit you.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | he treats you to a better living situation with the same excuse — "if they find out my secretary lives in such a shabby place, what will they think of me?" — nothing as extravagent as his, but definitely a nice apartment close to both his place and the studio.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | however, your living situation is strategically placed so he's still much closer to the studio than you are. if nights at the channel run late, he'll insist you spend the night with him, because his place is closer. it's all carefully planned out, and all for his benefit.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | late nights become more and more common, a product of his own orchestration, going from maybe one every month or two to a guaranteed multiple times a week. he starts to suggest — more like push — for you to leave personal items at his place. changes of clothes, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, so you're not running out the door in the morning to get ready before work. it decreases the chance of the tabloids snapping a photo, and allows him to spend more time with you in the mornings.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | you never fully move in with him, but you get pretty damn close.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | if paparazzi or papers catch wind of these late nights, he has the perfect story ready to go time and time again. you fell asleep at his table working on paperwork, you just had to pick something up before work, it was too cold for you to get home comfortably. excuses given with a silver tongue and a sharp smile. and everyone believes him — every. single. time.
If you haven't done so already, I invite you to read chapter one. This is so fun to write, and honestly, my escape. Please enjoy!
Chaper One
Living in your new home had been a long-awaited blessing. No longer did you have to listen to your critical father drone on about the lack of a marriage proposal from Anthony, and you and Anthony could finally live under the same roof. Some of the tension of worrying about Anthony had lifted off your shoulders when he agreed to move in, but when you were at work, you knew he was out with Valentino. The man whom Anthony had started dating when he was in high school. Their relationship had deteriorated into an abusive, drug-filled mess that Anthony couldn't free himself from. No matter how much you begged and pleaded, Anthony would always go back to Val, then return to you beaten and bloodied.
It had been a few weeks since Anthony had gone out with Val, creating a false sense of calmness that was bound to break at some point. There was a domestic bliss that you wished you could become accustomed to. You would come home from work to find Anthony having already prepared dinner, or a warm bath drawn for you. He had told you it was his way of apologizing for his behavior, even though he had little interest in changing for the better.
But just as you suspected, your moment of peace didn't last long and shattered when Anthony was preparing to leave to see Val, feeding you some excuse of needing money. You had expressed to Anthony many times that your wages were enough for both of you to live comfortably, all he had to do was ask and you'd give him whatever amount it was he needed. So long as it wasn't for drugs, but it almost always was.
What hurt the most was that Anthony always left you in tears. After pleading with him not to go, he would still walk out that door, leaving you and your thoughts of worry in solitude.
With a fire burning in the hearth of the fireplace, you sat in your rockingchair, wrapped in throw blanket. Your eyes stared into the fire unfocused, your tears having long since dried, but your eyes were still bloodshot and face blotchy. It was your first night in the cabin alone, since Anthony had stayed with you since your first night staying there.
Outside, you could hear crickets chirping, and the cicadas humming with the occasional screech of an owl. Inside the cabin, however, was silence except for the crackling of the firewood. You pulled your throw blanket around you tighter, and buried your nose in the fabric and shut your eyes. Sleep would be illusive, and you actually contemplated not sleeping at all so you could wait for Anthony.
The sound of a steady buzz that had slowly built in intensity had your eyes fluttering open, and your brows pinched in confusion. You stopped rocking your chair, and looked around the room. Chills erupted all over your body when you realized that the crickets and cicadas had fallen silent outside.
“Anthony,” you stood up from the rocking chair and let the throw blanket fall and pool at your feet. “Is that you?”
You scanned the cabin anxiously and stepped over the blanket to walk to the front door. Hand reaching out for the handle, you hesitated, and jumped when you heard a loud pop come from the corner of the room where you had been sitting. The pop was reminiscent of the sound capacitors made in old radios.
And then it made sense.
You swung your head over to the radio in the corner and your eyes widened. The buzzing was coming from the radio, and a yellow glow was emanating from the frequency window. Your eyes darted down to the power cord that wasn't even remotely close to the outlet. This had to be some kind of a joke. Even if it had power, there was no possibility that the radio could work.
“Hello?”
The color drained from your face. A voice - a male voice - had come through the radio. The radio that had no power supply and that would more than likely burst into flames if it had. The voice was barely audible, broken and filled with static, but a voice nonetheless. With your back now against the door, you were helpless as you watched inky, black tendrils claw out from under the radio and morph into the jagged shadow of a creature with a large grin. The shadow rose up the wall and onto the ceiling until it was grinning down at you.
“Is this thing on,” The radio chirped once more, the voice coming over much clearer with a more pleasant tone.
A scream erupted from your throat, and you ripped the door open to scurry out of the cabin as fast as you could, only to collide into the figure of Anthony as he was walking up to the door. From the force of your impact, the two of you tumbled onto the ground, with you landing on top of Anthony.
“Hey, sweetheart!” Anthony grasped your shoulders and hoisted you up as he sat up. “What the hell, you look like you've seen a ghost.”
Your breath came out as gasps and you fought to free yourself from Anthony's gasp. Whatever was in the cabin you didn't want coming after you.
“A demon came out of the radio,” you freed yourself from Anthony's hold and proceeded to speed walk away from the cabin, not even bothering to look back, or caring that you lacked shoes.
Anthony jumped up, and in a few strides, caught up to you and took you by the wrist. “Hold it! Are you hearin’ yourself? A demon?”
“Yes, Anthony, it looked at me! And smiled!”
“Your nuts,” the man grumbled and grabbed you by the waist to hoist you over his shoulder.
Anthony ignored your kicking and screams of protest and walked back into the cabin. Nothing seemed out of place, except for your blanket that was on the floor in front of your rocking chair. There were no ‘demons’, and the radio looked the same as it had before he left. There was no buzzing, nor was there a yellow light coming from the frequency window. Anthony put you back on your feet, and you looked around the space anxiously. Your body still trembled, and you were hesitant about letting go of Anthony.
“I don't understand,” you whispered and looked up at Anthony with wide eyes. “I-it was here! The radio spoke and this thing came out and had this really big grin-,”
“You need some rest,” Anthony put his hand at the small of your back and ushered you to the staircase that led up to the loft. “I think you might have been dreamin’.”
“But I wasn’t,” as you climbed the steps, you looked over your shoulder at the now dormant radio. “How long were you gone?”
“A few hours, Doll,” Anthony said, and went about getting you a nightgown from your chest of drawers. “I told Val off, and got outta there before he could send his thugs after me.”
You gaped at Anthony, and sat down on the edge of your bed. Apparently the man had a death wish, and the two of you would be fortunate if Val and his gang didn't come busting through your door.
“As if I didn't worry about you enough.”
“You don't need to worry about me at all,” Anthony sat next to you and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I'm gonna hang low for a few weeks. Figure out somethin’ for work.”
“Anthony,” you sighed and took your nightgown from him. His gaze met yours, and his brows creased at your worried expression. “I think we should just consider moving. I feel like that’s the only way I can keep you safe.”
“No,” Anthony shook his head and stood from the bed to strip of his suit jacket. He turned his back from you to let you change into your nightgown. “I won’t be the reason you sell the cabin when you’ve just settled.”
“If it means keeping you alive, Anthony-”
“Nothing is going to happen to me!” Anthony snapped and turned to glare at you. “Christ’s sake, you’re not my mother!”
Blinking, you were taken aback by his sudden lashing and folded your arms over your chest. He was so sure, but Val had beaten him nearly within an inch of his life many times before. What would stop him from just killing Anthony? You shook your head and bit your lip to keep your tears at bay. If it was one thing Anthony was good at, it was being completely oblivious to the amount of danger he was in if he were to crossed Val. Not to mention that he didn’t realize just how broken you would be if something were to happen to him.
“I’ll be on the couch,” you sniffed. “A possessed radio sounds like much better company right about now.”
“Sweetheart, I didn’t,” Anthony sighed and watched you walk down the steps to the livingroom. “I didn’t mean that,” he groaned, and flopped face down onto the bed.
The couch wasn’t comfortable by any means, but you made do by wrapping yourself in a multitude of blankets. The fire that had burned in the hearth of the fire place was now just a few burning embers meaning the livingroom was now doused in darkness. As you tried to silence your racing thoughts, your gaze was locked onto the radio in the corner, watching for any signs of life. Maybe you had dreamt the whole thing up after having fallen asleep in your rocking chair, but the shadow figure just seemed too vivid to be a figment of your dreams. Not to mention the voice that had come through the speaker like it was spoken through a carbon microphone.
“Whackey nonsense,” you mumbled to yourself and let your heavy eyelids drift shut.
Throughout the night you were restless, tossing and turning. Completely oblivious to the shadow with the jagged grin that watched over you throughout the night.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | vox was more confused than anything. children were a rare sight for sinners, whether hellborn or sinner children.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | you wouldn't leave him alone, and nothing would keep you away, so he finally gave in and let you stick around.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | he'd never started a family of his own, nor were kids ever really something that interested him, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to permanently push you away.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | depending on how hyperactive/responsible you are, his "management" of you while he's off at work ranges from hiring a staff member to watch over you to leaving you home alone with snacks and a coloring book.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | he'll bring you into work occasionally, but only on days when valentino's out. he doesn't want to risk exposing you to that any more than you already are, considering it's hell.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | the only other person he trusts to watch you (besides a specially hired babysitter/staff member) is his assistant, ethan. if you're on the calmer side, he'll trust velvette with you as well.
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | he makes sure you continue your schooling in some way, most likely with private tutor(s) so you're not repeating the same grade academically year after year
ᯤ ⋆˙⟡ | the last thing he wants to do is push you to "grow up" — sinners don't age anyway. you'll be 8 forever, might as well let you act that way.
