(Normal pov)
Alastor's sadistic pleasure in dominating Lucifer never wavered, but beneath the layers of cruelty and violence, a twisted sense of love began to grow within him. To Alastor, this love was not the tender, nurturing emotion most would associate with the word—it was possessive, all-consuming, and drenched in obsession. He didn't want anyone else. No one could compare to Lucifer, the once-mighty ruler of Hell who now lay shattered at his feet.
As much as Alastor reveled in Lucifer's fear, the trembling submission, and the way his power over him was absolute, there was something more. Something deeper. Alastor found himself captivated by Lucifer in ways he hadn't anticipated. The thought of anyone else touching, seeing, or even speaking to Lucifer made his blood boil with jealousy. In his own distorted mind, Lucifer belonged to him, body and soul.
It wasn't enough to simply have power over Lucifer. Alastor needed to feel him, to hold him, to have him close. The very presence of Lucifer, his broken form, his quiet breaths, and the occasional flicker of fear in his eyes were intoxicating to Alastor. He had reduced Lucifer to nothing, yet in doing so, he had become addicted to him. Without Lucifer, Alastor didn't feel alive. He could no longer imagine a world where Lucifer wasn't his to possess.
Late at night, when the violence subsided and the palace halls fell silent, Alastor would slip into Lucifer's room—if it could still be called that. It was a cold, dimly lit space that had once been grand but now reflected the same emptiness that had seeped into Lucifer's heart. Alastor would sit beside Lucifer, who would be curled up in the corner, exhausted, and too broken to react.
Alastor would pull Lucifer close to him, wrapping his arms around the smaller demon despite the way Lucifer's body stiffened, the way he shrank away from the touch. The once-great ruler now looked so fragile, so small in Alastor's grasp, and yet Alastor didn't care how much Lucifer hated it. In these moments, it wasn't about pain or punishment. It was about something far more twisted: a need to feel Lucifer's presence, to remind himself that Lucifer was his and no one else's.
"You're mine, Lucifer," Alastor would whisper, his voice soft, almost tender, as he held Lucifer close against his chest. "No one else will ever have you. I don't care how much you hate me. I don't care how much you tremble when I touch you. You belong to me."
Lucifer would remain silent, his body tense, his eyes staring off into the darkness, refusing to meet Alastor's gaze. He knew better than to resist or pull away. The fear of what Alastor might do if he tried to distance himself was far too great. So he let Alastor hold him, let the Radio Demon's possessive arms encircle him like a vice. He had learned long ago that there was no escape, no reprieve from Alastor's twisted affection.
At times, Alastor's grip would tighten, and his voice would drop to a low, dangerous murmur. "I know you hate this. I know you hate me. But that doesn't matter. I love you, Lucifer. In my own way, I do. And I won't let anyone take you away from me."
The words hung in the air like a curse, suffocating and heavy. Alastor's version of love was nothing like the love Lucifer had once known. It was suffocating, possessive, and it came with an iron fist. It was a kind of love that destroyed rather than healed, a love that caged rather than freed. And yet, to Alastor, it was the only love that mattered.
In the quiet moments between the cruelty and abuse, Alastor would sometimes simply watch Lucifer as he slept, tracing the lines of his face with a cold finger, marveling at the depth of control he had over him. There was something almost gentle in those moments, as if Alastor believed that, in holding Lucifer like this, he could make the former king truly his—not just in body, but in spirit.
But Lucifer would never love him. Alastor knew this, and it infuriated him as much as it fascinated him. He didn't care if Lucifer's hatred burned bright beneath the surface. That hatred only made Alastor want him more, made him crave that twisted connection even deeper. As long as Lucifer was near him, as long as he could hold him, touch him, and see the fear in his eyes, Alastor didn't care how much pain he caused.
Lucifer had become everything to him, and Alastor's world revolved around keeping that power, that control. He would never let Lucifer go, never allow him the freedom to leave. In Alastor's mind, this was love—the only kind of love he was capable of—and Lucifer was the center of it.
Lucifer, meanwhile, remained trapped, both physically and emotionally. There was no escape from Alastor's grasp, and the love Alastor claimed to feel was nothing more than another form of torment. Every night, as Alastor held him close, whispering his dark promises, Lucifer felt the weight of his captivity pressing down on him, crushing the last remnants of who he once was.
He was no longer a king. He was no longer Lucifer Morningstar.
He was Alastor's possession.
End of chapter
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When the radio demon loves
Romance"You're nothing without me, Lucifer," Alastor whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "Nobody would care about you if I wasn't here. They don't respect you anymore. They laugh behind your back. Without me, you're just... weak." A story of where Alas...
