When the radio demon loves

Chapter 5 (Complete control)

(Normal pov)

Alastor's obsession with Lucifer deepened as the months went by. The fear that radiated off the former King of Hell became a source of twisted pleasure for the Radio Demon, feeding his darkest desires. Alastor had always been a manipulator, a predator who thrived on power and control, but now, with Lucifer reduced to nothing more than a trembling figure cowering in the shadows, that power had taken on a new dimension.

Lucifer's fear was intoxicating to Alastor. It was in the way Lucifer's body would freeze at the sound of his footsteps, how he would curl up in the corners of the grand palace, trembling and helpless, hoping to go unnoticed. Alastor relished every moment, savoring the sight of Lucifer—once proud, once powerful—reduced to a shadow of his former self. The very idea that Lucifer Morningstar, the mighty ruler of Hell, was now too terrified to even look him in the eye filled Alastor with a sick, sadistic satisfaction.

But it wasn't enough for Alastor. He wanted more. His control over Lucifer, the fear he instilled, was not just physical but psychological. And as that control grew, so did Alastor's cruelty. The abuse shifted from mere violence to something darker, something more perverse. Alastor wanted to own Lucifer completely—to break him, body and soul, until there was nothing left of the once-mighty king except a trembling, broken soul.

It started with small, invasive touches—at first, seemingly playful, but always with an undercurrent of menace. Alastor would corner Lucifer in the vast halls of the palace, running his fingers along the other demon's skin, watching with dark amusement as Lucifer flinched, recoiling from his touch. The look of terror in Lucifer's eyes only encouraged him.

"Why do you tremble, Lucifer?" Alastor would purr, his voice low and taunting. "I thought you were supposed to be the proud one. The king."

Lucifer never responded. He couldn't. The words were trapped in his throat, swallowed by fear and shame. His body betrayed him, shaking uncontrollably whenever Alastor was near. He felt violated, exposed, knowing that Alastor could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted—and no one would stop him.

The touches grew more frequent, more aggressive. Alastor would force Lucifer into his arms, pulling him close, whispering dark promises into his ear. There was no escape. Each time Lucifer tried to pull away, Alastor would only tighten his grip, laughing softly at Lucifer's futile attempts to resist.

Then, one night, the abuse escalated. Lucifer had been hiding again, curled up in a small, dark alcove in the palace, hoping—praying—that Alastor wouldn't find him. But he did. He always did.

Alastor dragged Lucifer from his hiding spot, his hands rough as he pulled the trembling demon to his feet. There was no kindness in his touch, no mercy in his eyes. He shoved Lucifer against the wall, pinning him there, his body pressed too closely, his breath hot against Lucifer's ear.

"You're mine, Lucifer," Alastor whispered, his voice cold and possessive. "You belong to me. Your fear, your body... all of it. I'll never let you go."

Lucifer's heart raced, his chest tightening with terror. He wanted to fight, to push Alastor away, but his body wouldn't obey. The fear had paralyzed him, leaving him helpless in Alastor's grasp. His mind screamed for him to move, to run, but there was nowhere to go. No one to help.

Alastor's hands wandered, his touch no longer playful but invasive, cruel. Lucifer's skin crawled as Alastor's fingers dug into him, exploring every inch with a sickening sense of ownership. There was nothing tender about it—only violence, control, and degradation.

Lucifer's breath hitched as Alastor's touch became more intimate, more forceful. He could feel his body shaking, his heart pounding in his chest. Every part of him wanted to scream, to resist, but the overwhelming fear kept him silent, kept him frozen.

"Don't pretend you don't like this," Alastor hissed, his voice dripping with cruelty. "I can feel how afraid you are, how weak you've become. You were once a king, but now... now, you're just my pet. My toy."

Tears pricked at the corners of Lucifer's eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn't give Alastor the satisfaction, even though he knew that it didn't matter. His resistance was meaningless. Alastor had already won.

The sexual assault was the final step in Alastor's complete domination over Lucifer. It wasn't about desire—it was about power, about control. Alastor took what he wanted, when he wanted, and there was nothing Lucifer could do to stop him. Each violation stripped away more of Lucifer's spirit, more of the pride he had once held so dear.

Lucifer no longer felt like himself. He no longer felt like anything at all. He was Alastor's possession now, a broken, trembling figure that existed only for the Radio Demon's amusement. He no longer ruled over Hell—Alastor did. And with each passing day, Alastor's hold over him grew tighter, more suffocating.

There was no escape. No hope. Lucifer had become a slave to his own fear, trapped in a nightmare of Alastor's making, his body and soul shattered beyond repair.

And worst of all, he knew that Alastor would never let him go.

End of chapter

Next chapter tomorrow 12Am