Archive of Our Own

“That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard in my life, William.” Vincent hissed out, glancing up from where he was lining up the next line of cocaine on his desk. 

William was lounging on the chair opposite of Vincent’s, legs kicked up on his desk off the side. Vincent was tempted to kick him so hard that he fell off his chair. If he’s lucky, he’ll break his head or snap his neck on the impact. “Are you seriously saying that you’ve never heard about it?”

Vincent sits up, abandoning his cocaine for this insane conversation. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“I’m not pulling your leg, Vincent.” William says with a shrug, tapping out some of the ash of his cigarette onto the ashtray. “It’s a very popular legend.”

“Just because I’m high out of my mind doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” Vincent slams his hands down onto the table, standing up from his chair from the rage. He can’t be sitting down. He needs to pace otherwise he thinks he might explode. “Where in the universe would I have heard of a demon that needs a human to be wearing lingerie to summon anyways?” 

William takes a long drag of his cigarette as his eyes follow Vincent pacing back and forth. “It’s just for fun. I understand that you tend to work, and you don't have a life outside of that, but you know.” 

Vincent wants to lunge himself across the desk and slam this arrogant prick’s head against the wall until he paints it red and pink. He’s been meaning to redecorate his office for a while and a pop of color would be a lovely touch. However, as much as he wants to, he doesn’t. Instead, he forces his face to look as pleasant as possible. “And you want me to do this.. why?” 

“For fun!” William says with a wide grin, “We’ll buy you the clothes. You just have to show up with them.”

Vincent thinks this is a horrible idea. An idea that will absolutely not work. Something that has more to it than just what William is trying to convince him of. 

Perhaps if he goes he will be able to find an opportunity to kill his producer, though. William is making it seem like his other producer is also going to come and maybe even more high-ups will also be there. If they’re isolated, it’ll be nice to just kill them all with no consequences.

So what if he has to wear some lingerie? It sounds like they’ll also be wearing it. As humiliating as it will be, Vincent will rise above it. It’s a good opportunity for him to get them all alone and together. 

Besides, if they actually do summon a demon, maybe Vincent can get something out of that too. 

“..Fine, I guess.” Vincent sits back down into his seat, his eyes locking onto the line of coke that he had been preparing before he got distracted. He tears his eyes away from it to look at his pathetic producer instead, “Just give me the details and I’ll be there.”

A quirk of William’s lips and his eyes narrowing in amusement alerted Vincent that he was most certainly falling into some kind of trap. It just happens that they’re falling into the bigger trap. “Glad to know that you know what’s best for you.” He stands up from his chair, grinning down at Vincent. “I’ll leave you to your pre-show prep. Good luck.”

“Of course.” Vincent grins at William, his eye twitching slightly at the shoulder pat that he was given before his producer finally turned and left.

Vincent grimaced, leaning back into his chair. What has he gotten himself into? He doesn’t even know.

Whatever. Vincent will end up on top by the end of it all.

At least he has his line of cocaine to cheer himself up! He leans down, happily snorting down the line. Vincent breathes out deeply as it goes straight to his brain. Much better. Now to take one look over his script. 

He’s glad that the surprise visit from his producer is finally over. He knew it meant trouble. Obviously, his assumption was correct. 

Vincent rolls his eyes, shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts. It doesn’t matter right now.

He isn’t going to let anyone ruin his show. He’s going to shine brighter than any of them ever and ever will in their lives. Vincent smiles to himself at that thought. He’s so much better than all of them combined.

Vincent was glad that he had the foresight to put on pants and a jacket over the stupid lingerie he was sent and forced to wear. 

When he looked at himself in the mirror before coming—he wondered to himself what he was even doing. The top piece squeezed his chest together, two straps crossing over each other below the fabric. It came with matching panties, that of which was only barely covering up his privates. The stockings went up mid thigh with garters making sure they didn’t fall down. The entire thing was completely red—a dark, blood red. 

Vincent thought it fit considering he was going to murder everyone in the cabin that he was told to drive to. 

He glances over at the bag he had next to him, full of saws, knives, rope, bleach, and everything else that he needed in his murder kit. He made sure to bring extra clothes as well. Just as he wore the pants and jacket currently, Vincent would need something to change into. He’ll just wash himself of blood in the river.

Vincent’s eyes go back to the road in front of him—trees on either his right and left and no cars behind him or going the opposite direction as him. He was completely alone. Alone except for, as he took a right and veered into a parking lot, a couple cars that were already parked there.

He sighed as he parked his car and thought back to the instructions that would be needed to get to the cabin. Thankfully he had them written down. Vincent pulled the crumpled slip of paper out of the glovebox, smoothing it out on the dashboard as he read the messy handwriting. Go straight, take a right, continue for a while, take a left, and then he should be there. 

He pockets the piece of paper as he drags the bag out from the passenger seat and then shuts the driver side door. Internally, he regretted packing so much into the bag, but Vincent wasn’t weak enough to think about leaving it. It was just a mile or two into the forest. He could easily do that with the bag.

Resigning himself to his fate, Vincent takes off on the small indicated path that other people have made—which is the starting point that William told him to take. After a while, and after he sees the wooden pole sticking out of the ground that he was told to look out for, he takes a right. He continues down, finding the dilapidated sign, and then continues left until he happens upon the cabin where the three were supposedly already waiting. 

Vincent hums as he looks at the bag in hand. He decides to walk inside with it, setting it down as he closes the door. If he’s lucky, the three won’t notice.

When he turns around, he finds them, indeed, there. William, Micheal, and Robert. Two of his producers and then the network director—Robert, or as his two producers call him, Bob. 

“There’s our boy!” William calls out with a wide grin, “I told you he said he would come.”

Micheal rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. You were right.”

William grins wider, his eyes turning to Vincent with a kind of intensity that made his skin pickle. “Did you put the outfit on, Vincent?”

Vincent blinked, taking two steps further into the cabin. As he looked around, he felt himself getting creeped out. There were a couple mounted deer heads hanging on the walls with lit candles on the wooden shelves lighting each one up weirdly. There were more candles on the ground—illuminating the weird red pentagram on the floor. In the middle of that pentagram was a radio. 

“Come on, you don’t need to ask.” Bob states with a shrug. He walks up closer to Vincent, going around behind him, before he shoves him further into the room. “Just take the jacket off.”

Micheal laughs and does as what’s suggested. When Vincent tries to protest, it falls on deaf ears as Bob holds him and stops him from bolting away. Before long, the red of the lingerie is in the cold, open air. “He really put it on!” Micheal mocks loudly, pointing to the outfit as he looks back at William. “I really thought you were fucking with me when you convinced him to do this.”

Vincent realized, with dawning mortification, that lingerie was not anywhere in the specifications for summoning a demon. At least not this specific one. “..What?” He asks dumbly. He realizes that he must be the only one wearing this type of clothing too. This is awful.

William chuckles, going up to Vincent and patting his head. “C’mon, bud. You really thought I was being serious? I knew you were high, but obviously it melted your brain.”

“Don’t blame it on the drugs. He’s completely sober now and still did it!” Micheal continues to ruthlessly mock, his hands suddenly dipping into the waistband of Vincent’s pants. Before he could kick, his pants are forced down to around his ankles. “Oh my god!” Micheal exclaims in his sadistic joy at Vincent’s obedience.

Obedience that Vincent was coming to severely regret.

How many times has he done something that they wanted so he might get ahead? That he might get their favor and move up the ladder? Too many times to count. Vincent’s eye twitched, and he can feel himself quickly getting mad. Enraged. Murderous. 

He planned to kill them tonight anyways, sure. Vincent currently has never wanted anything more in his life. He doesn’t care if he gets caught for doing this. He doesn’t care if this gets him fired. He needs to paint every single inch of this cabin red.

Vincent shoves Bob off of him as hard as possible, forcing him to the floor.

Micheal blinks, immediately taking a step back away from him. His laughing ceases and he looks annoyed now. “It’s just a joke, Vincent. What? Are you too sensitive to take a joke?”

Vincent doesn’t hear the mocking meant to make him feel insecure. He makes his way to the bag, feeling inside for the closest weapon he could manage. He comes out with a knife. He can use this. 

“What the fuck are you doing with that, Vincent?” Came William’s voice, slowly getting that hint of fear with each word that he spoke.

Vincent needed more. He needed to hear them scream. He needed their blood to soak through the lingerie—just so he could perhaps shove it into their corpse. He won’t, because Vincent wants to stay somewhat clothed, but the idea is tempting. There’s no reason to get naked right now anyways. 

His eyes scanned the room before they landed on Bob. He had crawled into the pentagram while Vincent had gotten the knife, clearly attempting to get up. It’s a shame he’s so old nowadays. Otherwise he might’ve been able to escape this.

Before either Micheal or William could hold him back, Vincent has pounced onto Bob. Straddling him, a bright, eager grin splits his face as he raises the knife above his head.

He gets three beautiful screams as he plunges the knife as deep into Bob’s chest as possible. One from Bob, who’s obviously in pain. And then two screams from behind him where his producers are horrified that he’s apparently snapped. Vincent wondered if they would question the fact that he had this bag laying around when he got here. He didn’t pull a knife out of thin air.

“Fuck!” Bob screams as Vincent tears the knife out and stabs again. A drop of blood splatters onto his cheek. More splatter onto his chest. “Get off!” Bob yells, thrashing violently. Vincent maintains his position over Bob and continues stabbing. Again and again.

He’s stabbing until, finally, Micheal gets over his shock and wrestles him off of Bob. William runs to the man, but he’s already long done for. Vincent can't help but laugh as Micheal shoves him off of the corpse, leaving the knife within Bob.

That’s fine, though. He doesn’t need a knife. He only needs his hands. 

Vincent wraps his hands around Micheal’s throat, forcing him to lay in the position that he had Bob in. Except this time he was fully leaning his weight into his arms, allowing Micheal to kick and claw much better than Bob was able to.

Realizing that Micheal was being choked, William comes to his rescue. He shoves Vincent off of him as hard as possible, sending him a couple feet away. 

Vincent breathes heavily to himself as he listens to Micheal gasping for air. He realizes, now, that he’s in a serious predicament. Both of those men were only a decade older than him. Unlike Bob, who was several decades older. At this point he’s thinking that he made a mistake not using the knife to kill Micheal or William first.

As Vincent is thinking, and the other two are recovering, they miss the way the candles flicker. The way they get slightly bigger.

Only when they all go completely out, sending the cabin into darkness as now sees that the sun has gone down, do they realize something is happening. They all freeze. Vincent stares, wide eyed, as the candles are relit with big, green flames. The deer’s eyes glow red. The radio starts freaking out, turning on and spitting out all kinds of garbled static and mixed voices as it runs through the stations rapidly. 

As Vincent stares at the scene in front of him, he can see that he got quite a bit of blood onto the radio where he stabbed Bob to death. Vincent continues to look, slightly in awe, as the pentagram lights up. The one that he realizes that he was pushed off of.

The candles settle down, still green, when the shadows around them start moving. Twisting, growing, trapping them all within the walls. Vincent should feel scared. He should be horrified that apparently demons are real and they’ve just summoned one. It wasn’t his idea, though, and Vincent doesn’t know what he’s dealing with like William and Micheal do. 

Vincent feels a shiver down his spine when the radio settles on a voice. A voice that seems to soothe his nerves and bunch them up at the same time. He feels like he wants to float in the voice. Drown in it. Is this what it feels like to be tempted like a demon? He can see why it’s been rumored to be so dangerous.

However, when he looks at Micheal and William, they don’t seem to be soothed. They look absolutely terrified. Vincent stands up, staring at the pentagram. Something tells him he shouldn’t step in it.

“Humans,” The voice says, drawing Vincent's attention completely. “What is it you wish to have from me, hm? Power? Riches? Revenge? Enlighten me, wouldn’t you?”

They’re both silent—paralyzed from fear—before William finally finds his voice. “I- we don’t want anything. This was a mistake.”

The demon’s voice hums in a way that Vincent can sense promises trouble. He seems displeased. To his producers, however, the sickeningly sweet tone doesn’t alarm them. “A mistake. I see.” The radio fizzles out—becoming quiet.

William and Micheal relax. Micheal, especially, when he breathes out a sigh of relief. He pats his shirt, “Thank god everything is fine.” His gaze turns to Vincent, hate burning in his eyes. “Now you. You killed him! You fucking murderer! We’re leaving to get help.” He announces to the room, making his way to the edge of the pentagram towards Vincent.

Vincent tenses up, perfectly ready to tackle them to the ground when they step out. However—Micheal doesn’t make it. He’s stopped just at the edge of the pentagram by him crashing into something. But there’s nothing there.

Immediately, his eyes light up in panic. He tries again and gets stopped in the same way. He places a hand against the invisible wall, horror growing in his expression. “William? What the hell is going on? What is this and why can’t we leave?”

William looks just as terrified. “I- I don’t fucking know! Bob knew about this. Not me!”

“Well he’s fucking dead right there! How do we get out?!”

Vincent’s attention is caught by the beginnings of something forming right behind the radio. On the other side of the pentagram where his producers were arguing with each other. He watches as a black silhouette of a person is formed, though it only looks normal at first glance.

The silhouette is far too tall. Everything about the body seems off as well. If he stared for too long, the arms got too long. Torso bent unnaturally. But if he looked away, everything became normal. As if the sight was breaking his mind and was trying its best to make sense of it in the only way it knew how to. 

Vincent blinked when the silhouette of the demon finally formed. The first thing he noticed was its face. A wide, yellow grin full of razor sharp teeth. Red, piercing eyes. Red hair frames its face with pointy ears standing up straight on its head. Its suit—one that looks oddly perfect—is completely red. Red jacket, red undershirt, red bow tie. His pants were black. 

He’s hot is the first thought that jumps out in Vincent’s mind after he finishes taking everything in. That seems wrong. He shouldn’t be thinking that. But Vincent can’t find any other word for the demon that’s been summoned. 

The demon’s ears flicked as its eyes narrowed at the sight in front of him. The way he was not noticed. Vincent felt something in the air spike—something that was still not sensed by the two men within the circle. 

Vincent was too focused on staring at the demon to truly care about his producers anymore. They’re probably dead anyways. Whether from his hands or this demon’s. 

“Ah, hello there.” The demon’s voice curls around his head and forces his focus back to the present. Vincent blinks, face heating up as he notices that the demon is now completely facing him now. “Who might you be, hm? Dressed up in that.. attire, too.” 

Vincent doesn’t notice the way the demon’s eyes dilate at the sight of the blood soaked, red lingerie. Instead, he focuses on trying to introduce himself. “M-My name is Vincent Whittman. Nice to meet you, sir.”

The demon’s grin widens in a way that Vincent didn’t think was possible. Isn’t it big enough? It’s practically splitting his face into two. “Lovely meeting you, Vincent. My name is Alastor—the Radio Demon. Charmed to make your acquaintance~" 

Vincent stared at the demon, Alastor, with a wondrous expression on his face. Surely something is wrong with him right now. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. Vincent should be scared. He should be panicking, looking for a way out. Instead Vincent finds himself wanting a way in. “Y-Yes—nice to meet you, Alastor.” Is it a sin to say a demon’s name? He supposes it doesn’t matter at this point. He’s already committed plenty of crimes.

“Holy fuck what is that?!” Micheal screams, drawing Vincent’s attention away from Alastor and instead on the two producers he had completely forgotten about. 

Vincent’s eyes drift over to Alastor when he hears a loud crack of bone. He realizes, belatedly, that it was the demon’s neck. Why does that make him more interested? Vincent squirms in place, crossing his legs a bit as he stands in place. He needs to calm down. This is bad.

“Did you know it’s rude to interrupt when someone is talking to someone else?” Alastor asked, eyes glowing brighter as he stalks closer to the two humans that made the mistake in summoning him to the realm.

They both freeze completely. Alastor sighs, rolling his eyes internally. At least sinners don’t do this. They fight and beg. Humans don’t do that as quickly. It’s boring. 

Alastor stops next to the radio, picking it up with a hum. He cleans it of the blood by wiping it off with his thumb, before he licks the blood off of the digit. Rather sour. Alastor has tasted better. His eyes drift to the body, before he looks at the two men. “I’m supposing neither of you killed him?”

“No! Absolutely not!” William says with his arms up as though Alastor is a cop. 

Micheal points off to the side, and Alastor realizes that he’s pointing to Vincent. “He did it!” Micheal easily tattles as though murder is a bad thing. Did they not realize that Alastor happens to love murder? Apparently not. Humans and their naïveté. 

Alastor glances over at Vincent, looking at him closer than he did beforehand. Blood splattered all over his body. His chest, face, and especially up his arms. The blood looks very nice against his skin. 

He tears his gaze away from Vincent at that thought. This is very strange. He’s never cared about anyone’s appearance before. Why should he care about what blood looks like on that other insignificant human? Alastor will have to think on that later after matters are dealt with. “Did you know what you were doing when you stepped into this pentagram, hm?”

Neither of them answered. Too busy staring at Alastor.

He ignores the urge to gauge their eyes out, his smile straining as he looks at their pathetic forms. “If you knew, you would realize that you’ve both just trapped yourselves. You cannot leave this circle until a deal is made.”

“No! We don’t want to sell our souls to you, demon.” Micheal immediately defies him, glaring as if he has any right to be doing such a thing.

Alastor chuckles, a tentacle easing out from beneath his back. “Are you certain?”

Micheal looks slightly more hesitant. He frowns, “I’m sure.”

A smarter man would’ve asked the consequences. He is not an intelligent man, obviously. Far too confident for his own good. Alastor has met many men like the one stood in front of him. It never makes it any less satisfying to put them into their rightful place. “I suppose I don’t have much use for you then, mortal.” 

Micheal looks confused for a moment before he suddenly chokes as the tentacle that had been lurking wraps around his throat and lifts him up into the air. He immediately flails, kicking his legs and clawing at the tentacle. His struggle is futile. 

Alastor looks at the dying man in front him with a huge grin, clearly having a blast. “If I can’t have your soul, you really aren’t needed around anymore. This is what you deserve for wasting my precious time.”

William looks absolutely horrified. He doesn’t try to attack Alastor—that’s a death sentence—but he does try to beg where Micheal can’t. “W-Wait! Isn’t there something he can do?! Just- not selling his soul!”

Alastor glances at the man. He opens his mouth to continue teasing, when all of the sudden a different voice interrupts him. Not the pitiful man in front of him. But the intriguing man behind him. 

“Don’t you get it, William?” Vincent taunts, nothing but pure glee in his expression. “He’s going to kill you next if you don’t sell your soul right now. You should be begging for yourself. Not that lost cause.” 

William stares at Vincent with nothing short of complete contempt. “Shut the fuck up! You’re in the same predicament as me!”

Vincent raises a brow, his grin widening. He can’t help but be amused whilst watching William flounder to make his last moments as pleasant as possible. If he wants to argue, Vincent will oblige. “I’m not in the pentagram. I don’t need to do anything. I could leave if I wanted to.”

Alastor’s head turns back one hundred and eighty degrees to look at Vincent properly. He chuckles, “What makes you think I’m going to allow you to leave, my sweet boy?” 

Vincent shivers. Not in fear due to the unnatural turn of his neck. Instead, he shudders in embarrassment at the pet name that the demon uses with him. He didn’t expect that at all. Vincent didn’t really know what he was expecting when William first mentioned the demon, though—so perhaps this isn’t so crazy. “I-I.. well, you have n-no use for me.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed in amusement, the tentacle dropping the corpse it still had clutched in its grip. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, my dear.” He says, “I can’t allow a pretty thing like you to just run free—never to be seen again.” 

Vincent’s face flushes even more. “Well.. I’m not really looking to sell my soul and be tortured for the rest of eternity in Hell.” Vincent mumbles, rubbing his arms as though he’s nervous about what Alastor will respond with. If he’ll be disappointed. For some reason, making Alastor upset just feels so wrong. Not because of fear, but because he wants his approval.

Alastor’s ear flicks, his entire body turning towards Vincent. He takes a step forwards, on the very edge of the pentagram right next to where Vincent was standing frozen in place. “Your eyes are captivating. Did you know that?” That among other things.

Vincent blinks, subconsciously bringing a hand just below his green eye. “I.. they’re not really.. popular.”

“I would love to have those in a jar on my shelf, mon chéri~” Alastor teases. Vincent is embarrassed that he isn’t scared by that comment. Alastor can’t help but notice how it affects him in the opposite way that it should, “As nice as that sounds, having your body attached to them is better. I want you, dear. I want you to step into this circle and I want you to give me your soul.”

Vincent looks up into those red eyes, tempted to say yes. He’s so tempted to agree and walk right into that circle. Allow the demon to take his soul and keep him for the rest of eternity. But Vincent knows he can’t. Or can he? “..How will you make it worth it for me?”

Alastor cannot help but laugh, throwing his head back. It’s been so long since he’s been challenged in this way. He’s never found a human quite as compelling as this one. Red lingerie, soaked in blood, having summoned him by murdering a man and then stepping out of the pentagram before he’s summoned. How adorable. Alastor simply can't let him go. “Oh, alright,” Alastor says with a delighted tone once he finally calms down, “Let’s talk terms. What do you want?”

Vincent is so very surprised he got away with that. Alastor doesn’t look mad at all. He looks happy. Vincent thinks he must be doing something right then. “I don’t want you to hurt me. I’ll be perfectly safe and healthy.”

Alastor could easily let that be. Something in him wants to teach this silly, ridiculous man a lesson, though. “So mental torture is perfectly fine?”

“No!” Vincent immediately denies. He frowns, “You can’t torture me in any way, shape, or form.”

“And what about if I get someone else to do those things, hm?”

“U-Uhm.. you’ll have to protect me from everyone else torturing me at all too. So that’s out of the question.” Vincent says. He’s unsure why Alastor is helping him right now, though. He could’ve really been screwed over already. 

Alastor chuckles, “Right, I see. So I cannot hurt you in any way, shape, or form and I must prevent anyone else from attempting to do the same?”

Vincent nods with a smile, “Exactly!”

“That’s it?” Alastor asks curiously, “That seems rather luckluster. What’s life without a little bit of pain, hm? Are you going to expect me to look at you and not want to pinch your cheeks? That might hurt you, technically. This is torture for me!” 

Vincent deflates after Alastor begins to push back against what he outlined. He guessed Alastor being helpful towards him was too good to be true after all. “Then what do you suggest?” Vincent is completely lost.

Alastor cannot help but chuckle at the question. “I want,” Alastor pauses for a moment, considering how he wants to be going about this, “You to be mine. I’ll protect you from others as you wish, and I will not kill you, but you’ll have to trust me to know what’s best for you.”

Vincent knows that trusting a demon to know when the line of hurting him—because he knows this means that Alastor wants to inflict pain upon him—is a dumb idea. A catastrophic idea, even. Selling his soul is a terrible idea for one, and then allowing Alastor to hurt him is another. 

He never thought he could be so stupid. How could he be tempted to step over the line and allow Alastor to take his soul? It’s not going to go well. He’s sure thousands have been in this situation and have gotten scorned. Vincent doesn’t want to be the thousandth and first soul. 

Alastor hums, seeing the hesitation in Vincent’s face. He doesn’t quite understand why he wants Vincent’s soul so badly. The fact that he’s interesting seems like a lie he’s telling himself. Vincent could very easily turn out boring—he’s only known the man for twenty minutes. When he looks into those eyes, all Alastor can feel is the overwhelming urge to keep them all to himself. 

Though, there’s another reason that’s lurking around deep down inside of Alastor. That lingerie on him is terribly tantalizing. The red fabric mixed with the red blood makes Alastor already feel like Vincent belongs to him. He’s marked by his color and marked by sin. Alastor wants to ravish him. He wants to claim him. 

When he’s on Earth, why not indulge himself in typical mortal pleasure anyways? 

“If you sell your soul to me, Vincent, I promise I’ll take care of you. I treat my possessions very well. If you agree to be mine, and only mine, you’ll never long for something more again.” Alastor purrs out the words, staring down at Vincent closely to see how he reacts to this.

Vincent cannot help the shiver that runs down his entire body. That shouldn’t affect him this much. In fact, he should be offended. He’s a man! He shouldn’t be getting taken care of. He should be taking care of others. So then why does that addition just make him more tempted to agree?

Alastor’s eyes narrow in delight when he can see he’s found what Vincent craves. He has no issues taking care of a pet. Especially something as alluring as Vincent. “I’ll take care of absolutely everything for you when you die, my dear. You’ll live with me, which means you don’t need to worry about rent. I will feed you and I’ll keep you entertained. I’ll even take care of your more.. basic human needs, dear~” Alastor lays it on thick, wanting to make sure that Vincent agrees. He hasn’t wanted something like he wants Vincent in a long time. 

Vincent is so very tempted to give in. He wants very badly to get what Alastor is offering him. Living with Alastor for the rest of eternity when he dies doesn’t sound so bad. Especially when he’s apparently going to get completely taken care of. But something still doesn’t make sense. “..What do you gain out of this?” Vincent asks, frowning. Why ask this much if he isn’t getting as much in return? It seems one-sided.

Alastor chuckles, “Entertainment, mon chéri.” He says with a shrug, “But more importantly, I get you. You’re so interesting, Vincent. I’m sure when you arrive in Hell—all kinds of people are going to flock to you. I want you all to myself. Does that make sense?”

Vincent didn’t think it made sense at all. Nothing about this made sense. For one, there was a demon here. Two, the demon wants him and no one else. And three, Vincent is going to say yes. Why is he going to agree? He has no clue. It’s a horrible idea. Vincent is going to suffer for the rest of his life the moment that he sells his soul. 

Alastor had said that he was going to be taken care of when he gets down there though, and that sounds nicer than it really ought to be. Vincent is a complete and utter fool. He’s going to curse himself later. He can only hope that he’s wrong about preemptively regretting this decision.

“..Do you swear that you’re going to take care of me and protect me?”

Alastor’s heart flutters a tiny bit. Why did it do that? Why is he so excited that Vincent is going to agree? Alastor doesn’t know, but he doesn’t care enough to find out currently. “I swear, mon précieux garçon~” Alastor purrs out, handing out his hands as far as the circle allows him.

Vincent stares at the hand, his eyes gliding up to Alastor’s eyes for a moment, before his hand shoots out and grabs Alastor’s hand before he could hesitate and not do it.

Alastor laughs happily as he drags Vincent into the pentagram with him, his powers acting up as the soul deal is made between them. He feels an odd sense of calm inside him as the green chain closes around Vincent’s neck, the chain ending up in his hands. He pulls on the chain, forcing Vincent to be pressed up right against him.

Vincent’s eyes are wide as he has to crane his neck to look Alastor in the eye now. They’re so close. He can feel Alastor’s body heat against his own through their clothes. His mouth is hanging open in surprise. He could feel the magic collar around his neck, heavy and powerful. His chest feels empty in a way that it hadn’t been moments before. He assumed that’s because his soul is no longer his own. 

Alastor hums as he leans down, face inches from Vincent’s. “Good boy.. you’re safe in my arms, dear.” Alastor whispers, sending a shiver up his human’s spine from the affectionate, loving words. 

Vincent wondered if it really had been a smart decision. Alastor hadn’t immediately started hurting him, so that had to count for something. Vincent feels his body relax into the hold, his hands flat against Alastor’s chest. “A-Am I?” Vincent asks breathlessly.

“Let’s show you just how safe you are, hm?” Alastor suggests

Vincent questions that. How is Alastor supposed to prove that he’s safe? 

A loud clank against the floorboards beneath them makes Vincent blink, turning his head to look over his shoulder. What he finds makes him gasp.

William, whom he had forgotten about, was currently being lifted in the air by a singular arm. An arm that, when he looked down, he realized had been holding the knife that had been left stuck inside of Bob’s corpse. 

Vincent was going to get stabbed. If it weren’t for Alastor, he would be in a world of pain right now. He looks at how the tentacle holds him in the air, most definitely dislocating something in his shoulder from the uncomfortable hold. His eyes glance back at Alastor gratefully. Before he could say anything, Alastor spoke first.

“No need, mon doux garçon. You understand that you’re safe with me, yes?” Alastor asks with a smile.

Vincent nods, “Yes, I understand..”

“Very good.” Alastor praises, running his fingers through Vincent’s hair with one of his hands. The other hand is situated on his waist, keeping him close. Alastor looks up at the man he has captured before looking back at Vincent. “Do you want to grab your knife? I have him hanging there—waiting for you.”

Vincent thinks about it. Absentmindedly, he leans further into Alastor—cheek resting against his body. “..Do I have to stab him?” Vincent asks, looking up at Alastor shyly.

“What else would you do, Vincent?” The joy in Alastor’s tone is unmistakable.

“Strangle him. Can you let him down? Please?” Vincent asks politely. He has a strange urge to continue being as good as possible for Alastor. He just wants Alastor to approve of him. 

William cries brokenly as he’s suddenly dropped to the ground. Vincent feels Alastor’s grip on him loosen, which means there’s nothing holding him back anymore.

Vincent pounces onto William with a grin, manic grin. His hands immediately find his neck, pressing it between the ground and his terrifyingly strong grip. “How does this feel, huh? You always loved to run your mouth. Tricked me into coming here and wearing this. How does it feel knowing that the same man you humiliated is going to kill you?”

Alastor stares at his pet who was choking the life out of the man who was apparently responsible for all of this. Secretly, Alastor has to thank him for making Vincent wear that pretty outfit. He would never—he deserves to be murdered for trying to harm his new possession—but without him, Alastor wouldn’t have his pet in the first place. That’s unacceptable. He acknowledges the role that William has played. It’s too bad he needs to die. 

William’s lips start turning blue, clawing desperately at Vincent’s arms. His eyes start bulging when Alastor comes up, pressing his body up behind Vincent’s. His much bigger hands grab onto William’s, easily prying them away from Vincent’s arms. He said he would protect his pet. He’s not going to slack off on that. Vincent will look so much better with his marks anyways. Alastor leans down, his mouth right next to Vincent’s ear. “Doesn’t this feel so nice, my dear?”

“Of course it does. I’ve been waiting to kill this asshole since I met him. He’s so fucking annoying. Luckily, he won’t be cursing my ears with any more words! Only the sounds of him running out of air.” Vincent ranted at Alastor, happy to spill out his guts. He’s needed someone to talk to about all of this. Since Alastor owns his soul (and is a demon) surely that means he’ll be the perfect man for the job. 

Alastor feels William’s struggling against his grip start to get weaker, so he hums into Vincent’s ear. “Let up a bit. Allow him to breathe. Drag this out, Vincent.” He orders.

Vincent does as he’s told. He stops leaning into William’s neck as much, letting go to reveal the deep, dark purple bruises that his hands have left around his neck. He listens to the desperate gasping of air, greedily trying to choke as much air down as possible. He turns his hand to look at Alastor, eyes reverent. “When do I start up again?”

Alastor chuckles, a tentacle wrapping around the insignificant man’s wrists so he is able to wrap his hands delicately around Vincent’s wrists. “Follow my lead, baby. Let me guide you.”

Vincent gives in immediately, relaxing into Alastor’s grip.

After another moment, Alastor starts bringing Vincent’s forwards, forcing Vincent’s hands around William’s neck. “Go on.” He encourages. Vincent begins to choke him with even more effort this time, desperate to make Alastor happy. 

As Vincent chokes him, his struggles slightly stronger now that he’s gained some air back—but not any less futile—Alastor guides a claw down to his pulse point. He presses into the point, feeling Vincent’s heart beat rapidly. 

“Are you excited?” Alastor asks, his smile pressed into the crook of Vincent’s neck.

Vincent nods, expression nothing short of deranged. He’s never felt so alive in his life. Vincent has never experienced a better moment of euphoria than right now. He never wants this to end. 

Alastor chuckles lightly into Vincent’s skin, the pressure of his claws feather light as they slowly trace up and down Vincent's arms. “You’re being so pliant for me, Vincent.. I think you deserve a reward. Don’t you think so?”

Vincent had no idea what that reward could be. At least until a tentacle is suddenly between his legs, pressing heavily against his crotch. The crotch that is heavily straining against the panties of the lingerie, practically pilling out. “I-I..” Vincent sputters out, eyes wide and face flushed. His grip weakens, allowing William to get in a few more gasps of breath.

Alastor leans Vincent forwards to press more of his weight into William, though by coincidence that forces Vincent’s hips to press more into the tentacle as well. “C’mon, baby. You have to focus for me.” He coos.

“I-I’m sorry!” Vincent squeaks out, eyes wide as he looks at William’s face. The look of horror and disgust in his eyes as he’s losing air again doesn’t make Vincent any less aroused. 

This is mortifying for him. More mortifying than the three of them forcing his jacket and pants off to reveal the lingerie. At least none of them will be alive after this. Alastor will be. 

Alastor hums, moving his hands from Vincent’s wrists to his hips. He forces him to rock against the tentacle slowly, making him whimper as sparks of pleasure shoot up his body. Alastor grins against his neck, his front molded to Vincent’s back. “I told you I’d take care of you. Just relax, baby.. focus on killing him for me.” 

Vincent whines as Alastor continues moving his hips for him. Unable to help himself, he moves his hips faster and harder against the tentacle. He moans, his head falling forward from the pleasure shooting through his entire body. 

Alastor tsks, head pulling away from Vincent’s shoulder as he squeezes his hips just hard enough to get him to stop moving completely.

Just before William passes out from lack of oxygen, Vincent lets up again from the shock and disappointment of Alastor forcing him to stop. He turns his head, looking back at Alastor with a pained, upset expression. “A-Al, what- w-why?” Vincent asks pathetically—not realizing the nickname he used for Alastor in his distress. 

Alastor cannot help the small twitch of his ear and the dilation in his eyes at the sight of Vincent. Oh, he couldn’t have asked for a better pet. He doesn’t think he can get enough of Vincent now. “What did I tell you, baby?” 

“T-That you’re going to take care of me.. you stopped!” Vincent says, feeling quite betrayed. Was this a bad idea after all? Why did he lie?

Alastor chuckles, “Correct. What else did I tell you?”

“I-I.. I don’t know?”

“I told you to relax. You did not relax. You didn’t let me take care of you. You tried to do some of the work. You aren’t allowed to do that, my dear.”

Vincent blinks as he realizes what’s expected of him. He has to completely submit, doesn’t he? He has to give in and let Alastor do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. That idea should terrify him. Alastor could edge him for hours. Make sure he never feels pleasure again. Instead, his cock only twitches in the thin restraints of his wet panties. 

“Do you understand now, sweetie? Do you want to try again and be my good boy this time?”

Vincent looks down at the man that had begun to thrash beneath him, quickly leaning forwards again to cut off his air. He couldn’t let Alastor down again. He didn’t want to be a bad boy. Vincent wants nothing more than to please Alastor. “Y-Yeah, I’ll be good this time, Al..”

Alastor hums, placing his hands on Vincent’s hips again. “Alright, baby. I’ll trust you.” Alastor says, leaning forwards again to place his face in the crook of Vincent’s neck. Slowly—slower than before, he begins to rock his hips into the tentacle.

Vincent bites his tongue to stop the complaining from pouring out of his mouth. He just lets Alastor do what he wants with his body, focused on watching the light finally leave William’s eyes. He’s been allowed to live for far too long. At least he’s been tortured throughout this entire deal. That’s the only point that saves him. 

Vincent whimpers as Alastor starts to move his hips faster. Harder. Just like he wanted. He’s panting heavily as sees William’s eyes flutter shut, and even then, Vincent doesn’t let up. He could be only unconscious. He can’t wake up. That would be terrible. 

“Is he dead, baby?” Alastor whispers into Vincent’s ear. He sounds utterly delighted at the concept that he could be deceased. 

Vincent moans louder at a particular angle that his hips got rocked at. They quiet back down afterwards. “I-I, ah, think so..?” Vincent does his best to keep his words as understandable as possible. Even when the pleasure is beginning to cloud his brain. 

Alastor stills Vincent’s hips, “Good boy~ I think we’re going to do something else now. Something better, for mon doux garçon.” 

Vincent still cries out from Alastor stops his hips. Even when he was good and didn’t do anything. The only reason he hadn’t started bawling was the promise of getting something better. What would happen?

A tentacle lifts Vincent up by the waist, placing him down beside the body—while Alastor went to take the position that Vincent was in seconds before. Alastor tilts his head over to Vincent’s confused expression, “I’m feeling rather hungry, my dear. Do you mind if I eat while you’re being prepared?”

Vincent was beyond confused now. He was lost. “U-Uhm.. I don’t mind? I guess?” He didn’t really know what would happen if he denied Alastor eating anyways. Would he be eaten instead? It didn’t sound pleasant. 

He’s distracted from what Alastor is doing momentarily as the tentacle that had lifted him up twists him so he’s on his hands and knees. He squeaks, especially when it goes around to his backside.

Vincent quickly turns his eyes to Alastor in question, but instead of getting an answer, he sees something that makes him pause. Alastor has grabbed William’s arm and bitten through his bicep. He had torn out a chunk with his sharp teeth and was chewing on it right now. 

When Alastor said he was hungry, he didn’t know that he already had a taste for humans. He thought that would be the punishment for him. But no—Alastor wanted human flesh. 

“A-Al..?” Vincent asks without saying the words. He’s confused about everything going on. It’s weird, though, he should probably be terrified. Screaming and running for the hills. Instead, Vincent is staying in place like a good boy and simply just hoping that Alastor will explain everything to him. 

Alastor’s eyes slide from the meat over to Vincent. He can’t stop himself from chuckling, “Yes, mon chéri?” 

Vincent stares at the way Alastor’s claws have ripped open William’s shirt and is now beginning to rip open his chest to get to his organs, and Vincent decides he already knows the answer to his question. Alastor is a cannibal. He hopes Alastor won’t want to eat him. Or does he? Vincent doesn’t know anything anymore, it feels like. He feels insane. “I-I.. what is the tentacle doing..?” Vincent asks instead, shivering as it begins to pull the panties aside to reveal his bottom.

Alastor grins at the lack of questions as to what he’s doing. Vincent is such an interesting little pet. He hopes one day to have dissected him fully to know how he ticks. He’s sure it’s wonderfully complicated. “It’s preparing you—like I said, dear.” 

Just as Alastor says that, Vincent’s eyes widen as the tentacle presses against his hole. “I-I’ve never- I haven’t done this before, Al..” Vincent tells Alastor, quite intimidated by having something go inside him. Especially something like his tentacle.

Alastor stares at Vincent for a moment before his expression softens, "Don't fret, mon joli chiot. I’ll be gentle with you.” Alastor easily reassures Vincent that he won’t be broken, though at the same time his claw roughly plunges into the body’s chest cavity to start searching for a good enough snack. 

The difference between his words and his actions was stark, but Vincent relaxed his body regardless. He trusted Alastor. He hadn’t done anything bad yet. He’s done what he promised to do—protect and take care of him. That’s all he can ask for.

The tentacle teasing his hole suddenly thins out—feeling more like a finger than anything else. The consistency of the tentacle was still wrong, as it did not feel like skin, but the size wasn’t as intimidating. Vincent tensed up a moment as the tentacle finally started to slip inside, but he again forced himself to stop being so tense. 

After he relaxed his body, he was able to feel the tentacle inside of him much better. He focused on the slick, cool feeling that the tentacle made inside of him. It felt nice against the heat that his body produced—his skin blazing hot. It was mortifying to be opened up like this. As the pain started to recede, though, things started to feel better.

Vincent whined quietly, feeling like he needed more. He wiggled his hips, which made the tentacle go deeper. He gasped, the pleasure beginning to cloud his mind. He turned his head to look at Alastor, who was already looking at him. He gave Alastor his best pleading face.

Alastor smiled, taking a larger bite of the liver he had in his hand. “Are you ready for more?”

Vincent nods enthusiastically.

“Such a good boy..” Alastor breathes out, the praise wrapping around Vincent nicely. 

It helped him get through the feeling of the tentacle inside him suddenly growing larger. He gasped, staring wide eyed at Alastor. 

Alastor grinned, licking his lips of the blood that had gathered there. “Does that feel nice, baby?” He asked curiously, eyes dark with hunger. Vincent didn’t feel scared at that look, though. He just felt his cock throb more. He’s never been this hard in his entire life. 

Vincent can’t stop himself from nodding, “I-It feels really good, Al..”

“Yeah?” Alastor seems overjoyed, “Don’t get too overworked from that, my dear. You still have more to help me with.” He gestures towards his own crotch, which helps Vincent suddenly become aware of the large tent in the front of his pants.

Vincent gasps, his eyes darting between the bulge and Alastor’s eyes. “I-I’m- I can’t fit that!” He complains, suddenly very worried.

Alastor cocks a brow, enjoying the shiver and moan he gets as he makes the tentacle thicker once again. “You will, mon garçon courageux et fort. I believe in you. I’ll help you.”

He whines, tears beginning to build in his eyes from how thick the tentacle inside of him all of the sudden. The stretch hurts—but in such a perfect way. Vincent didn’t know he could feel this way. This was something he thought he would never try. He supposed being owned by a demon blurred some moral lines. 

Vincent couldn’t help himself from trying to rock himself on the tentacle. He felt the pleasure shoot up his entire body, causing a few tears to fall down his cheeks. “A-Al- can you, ah..!” Vincent whines out, his arms shaking from the effort of holding himself up as he looks at Alastor. “I don’t wanna w-wait any longer..” The tentacle felt nice, but he was beginning to just want Alastor instead. He wanted him to stop paying attention to the corpse.

Alastor shivered at Vincent’s begging. Barely noticeable, but there. His ear flicked and his grin widened. “Oh, sweetie.. such a good boy.” He cooed out, getting off the corpse to make his way towards Vincent. The tentacle slides out of him, which makes Vincent whine from the emptiness, before he’s suddenly being flipped over.

His eyes are wide open as Alastor forces his legs spread wide open, hips slightly tilted up for Alastor’s bulge to press against his bottom. He can very easily feel how big it is now.

Alastor groans as he undoes his belt and zips down his pants, allowing him to reach in and pull his cock free from the restraints. His cock lands right next to Vincent’s leaking, red cock—them being right next to each other. 

Vincent was embarrassed by how much bigger Alastor was. He is a demon, and already a lot taller, but it was humiliating to see the difference like this. However, that was quickly pushed down by fear as he realizes that it’s going inside of him. He’s never wanted anything more, but Vincent can’t help but worry that it’s going to tear him open. 

Alastor smiles at Vincent’s fear, humming as he takes his cock and positions it right at his entrance. “You asked for this, my dear. I’m going to fuck you so well. You’re not going to be able to think by the time I’m done with you.” Alastor purrs happily, enjoying his increasing worry, before Alastor pushes the head inside.

Vincent cries at the stretch. It’s already bigger than the tentacle was. It might not be able to reach quite as deep, but the stretch more than makes up for that. It’s also a lot hotter. Vincent can feel it twitch inside of him.

Slowly, Alastor pushes inside of Vincent. Inch by inch. Vincent would relax, and Alastor would push his hips forwards. It was slow, and meticulous, but Alastor did it because he didn’t exactly want to break Vincent so soon. As lovely as it would be to have him down in Hell already—it was impractical. 

Vincent gasped when Alastor thrust in once again, feeling the last of his large cock fill him up. He looks down with his teary vision, seeing a small bulge in his stomach where Alastor is inside of him. He shivers, looking back up at Alastor.

Alastor looks at him, his ears relaxed and grin lazy. He places his hands on Vincent’s hips, giving himself some stability for what he’s going to do. “Are you ready, baby? I’m going to take care of you very well.” 

He doesn’t think he’s ever going to be ready. So, instead of pointlessly waiting, Vincent whines and nods his head. “P-Please, Al..”

Vincent screams as Alastor pulls out to the tip, snapping his hips back up against his skin. His eyes roll back at the same time his back arches into the pleasure that’s assaulting him, moaning helplessly.

Vincent is completely unable to do anything but take Alastor’s cock as he fucks him mercilessly. He feels his mind steadily melt from the pleasure, hands grasping at the ground for any kind of purchase. When Alastor leans down, his back becomes what Vincent’s holds on to. He grips onto the fabric of his jacket tightly, his eyes squeezed shut from the bliss. 

Vincent babbles out Alastor’s name over and over again as his cock carves a home inside of his hole—one that won’t accept anything smaller than Alastor. Alastor is making a home inside of him and Vincent can’t say he minds. He welcomes it.

Alastor’s mouth presses against his shoulder, and as Vincent gets fucked, one thought suddenly appears in his head. A thought that he assumes Alastor has been wanting to do for a while, considering how he loves to press his mouth there. “A-Al! Bite me! P-Please, bite me..!”

The demon blinked, pulling back a tad to look at Vincent. His thrusts slow down ever so slightly. “Are you sure, baby? I’m not going to hold back.”

Vincent whines, moving his hips to meet Alastor at each thrust. He wants his cock so badly. He wants his teeth. He wants everything that Alastor wants to give him. What has Alastor done to him? “P-Please! I’m sure!”

Alastor growls, “Alright, mon cher. You asked for it.” Alastor reminds Vincent as he leans in, teeth scraping against the meat of where his shoulder and neck meet, before he’s biting down. 

Vincent yelps, his moans getting louder as Alastor begins to fuck him even harder. He feels Alastor’s tongue lap at the blood pouring from the wound, making sure to not waste a single drop. He feels Alastor groan against his skin and he can only hope that he tastes good. 

Quickly, he feels his weeping cock twitch against his stomach as an orgasm rapidly builds. He pants against Alastor as he continues licking up his blood, fucking him deep and fast. “A-Al! I’m gonna-”

Alastor seems to fuck Vincent even rougher after he’s been warned, which makes Vincent’s eyes roll back into his head. He arches into Alastor, his noises getting louder and more frequent, until eventually he spills against his stomach. He screams Alastor’s name, body trembling through the orgasm.

As he finishes, he suddenly feels Alastor still inside him. Vincent gasps as his insides are flooded by something warm, whimpering at how good it feels. He didn’t even know Alastor was so close. He’s happy he was able to make Alastor feel good too—even if he didn’t do much. 

Vincent’s body goes completely limp as soon as his orgasm is over, feeling completely boneless. He suddenly feels overwhelmingly exhausted. He supposes murdering two people and then getting fucked out of his mind did a lot to his body. He whines quietly as Alastor pulls out of him, feeling everything flood out of his body. He wanted to keep it a little longer. Now he just feels strangely empty. 

Alastor coos, peppering kisses all over Vincent’s face as he rubs his sides soothingly. “You did so perfectly for me, my dear.. you’re such a good boy. I’m so lucky to have found you today. I’m going to have so much fun taking care of you for the rest of eternity.” Alastor whispers, making Vincent melt.

Vincent likes the sound of that. He likes that Alastor wants him so bad—that he won’t think that taking care of him is a chore. Vincent wants Alastor to have fun. If spoiling him is fun, Vincent is absolutely in no position to complain. “Mm.. t-thank you, Al..” Vincent whispers, his voice rough after so much screaming.

Alastor chuckles, pressing a final kiss to Vincent’s forehead after swiping away his messy hair. “Of course, mon cher. Why don’t you sleep? When you wake up—you’ll be in your bed. All nice and clean.”

Vincent blinks, frowning. “Wait.. but how will I know this was real?”

“Hmm..” Alastor hums, thinking of how he could prove that this was reality when Vincent wakes up. He looks at the bite mark, “This will still be here when you wake up. So just trace this spot and you’ll know that you’re all mine.”

Vincent relaxes as he brings his hands up to trace the bite mark. It’s deep, painful, and incredibly real. “O-Okay. G’night then, Al..”

Alastor grins, “Goodnight, Vincent.”

With that, Vincent completely passes out on the cabin floor.

Alastor snaps his fingers, and in the next second, Vincent is tucked into his bed. He’s wearing his favorite pajamas with absolutely no evidence as to what happened in that cabin on his body. At least except for the bite mark. True to his word, it remains there. Just as Vincent wanted.

Vincent curls his bed, unaware of the way the shadows shift. The shadows are never going to be normal around him ever again. Not until he dies and falls down to Hell. 

But Vincent won’t mind the feeling of being watched when he wakes up. He’ll welcome it with open arms. 

Hopefully he dies soon. 

He wants to be with Alastor for the rest of his life. He’s such a good caretaker. He’s sure, once there aren’t any limits, things will be even better. 

The time will come eventually. Sooner than he thinks it will, even. But until then, the shadows will follow him closely. As a watch dog.

Alastor isn’t going to let his pet get hurt.