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The room was dark, stuffy, smelling of pheromones and madness. The infernal law gave no choice: compatible omegas and alphas, locked together until their bodies satisfied nature. It was for prevention, they said, we don't want any more alpha attacks, or violence against omegas, even in hell.
Alastor was leaning against the wall, his nails digging into the tissue paper of the room, his whole body ablaze. He knew the heat was abnormal, too strong, too fast, his thoughts jumbled. He had always managed to control it with suppressants, but this time…
A primal need to grab a pile of clothes with his alpha's scent and create a nest burned in his belly. Shadows stirred around him, like hungry tentacles, searching for something he couldn't even name.
In the corner, Vox smiled. Her red eyes sparkling, the electrical wires trembling across the room like impatient snakes.
"There's no point in fighting, Al." The tone was mocking, but also hungry. "It wasn't fate. It was me. Who else could manipulate tests as well as a Vee? The greatest of them all, I must emphasize. I immediately realized you were lying when you said you were an alpha. I knew just by smelling you, you never fooled me."
"I've wanted you since the first time I felt you, I want you here. And I want you now."
Alastor growled, but his voice came out hoarse, needy.
"You drugged me, you bastard."
"And I'd do it again," Vox replied, approaching, the metallic and sweet scent making everything worse.
Alastor tried to push Vox away, but his body wouldn't obey. The shadows wrapped around Vox's wires, pulling, mixing power and despair. Vox laughed, dirty, sliding the wires across Alastor's body, binding wrists, ankles, marking the skin.
“Look at you…” he whispered, moving closer to the other's ear. “The great Alastor, completely surrendered, completely mine. What are you going to call me? Your alpha, your master, your Vincent?”
Alastor groaned, his voice broken with desire and anger.
“You're a bastard.”
“And you're my toy. Three days, Al. You'll beg. You'll scream my name. You'll beg me never to let you go.”
The shadows pulled Vox on top of Alastor, and the clash of bodies was brutal, savage. Alastor wasn't a submissive omega — he fought back, bit, provoked, the threads tightening, leaving purple marks, scratching until they bled.
“Harder.” Alastor ordered, his mouth full of threats. “Mark me, bite me.” Alastor couldn't resist anymore. He grabbed Vox, the shadows holding the other's body against the wall, their mouths clashing, bites, saliva, and insults mixed together.
“You'll regret this… when this is over I'm going to destroy you” he hissed through his teeth, but it was a lie.
“I won't, no. You're mine, only mine. No one else will feel you like this. Repeat. Repeat, Alastor.”
The voice came out weak, full of need:
“Yours. Only yours. Damn it, Vox, don't stop…”
He felt the penis going in and out forcefully, each thrust going so deep that he could feel it poking his uterus. It was like a hot iron bar that got bigger and deeper, he could feel every vein in Vox's cock throbbing and his whole body trembled. He accepted the brutal thrusts, wishing that Vox would leave his knot there and never let go.
The three days were a cycle of violence and pleasure, marks and dirty promises. Between shadows and wires, the room became a battlefield: each moan a confession, each orgasm a surrender.
In the end, Alastor didn't want to let go anymore. And Vox smiled, victorious, licking the blood from the scratches on Alastor's arms, his entire body covered in evidence of how much he was desired—and how much he had won.
"Only me, Alastor. Only me." And they both knew: no one in hell would be enough to separate what was born to devour each other.
The room was a prison of shadows, desire, and wild scent, where time seemed to bend around Alastor's heat and Vox's hunger. The walls vibrated with the muffled sounds of provocations, threats, and moans that escaped even when they shouldn't.
Vox, even trapped by Alastor's shadows, smiled. It was the smile of someone who knows how to wait. Of someone who knows the game and has already written the ending before the first piece falls.
"You like playing alpha, don't you, Al?" he whispered, his red pupils gleaming. "But have you noticed? In the end, I'm the one who controls everything. I'm your alpha."
Alastor snorted, fighting against his own body, his mind scrambled by drugs, by the heat, by Vox's hypnotic gaze. But with each thrust, with each bite, his own instincts clamored not for dominance—but for something more primal, more dangerous: total surrender.
Vox let Alastor believe he was in control. He let the shadows tighten, let the marks appear on his skin. But, little by little, his threads infiltrated, sliding beneath Alastor's defenses, binding his wrists and ankles, until, in a single movement, Alastor found himself immobilized, his back to Vox, his breath caught.
"Now it's my turn," Vox growled, his voice hoarse, deep, full of promise.
Vox pressed Alastor onto the bed, his entire body pressed against his, the wires tightening, guiding, forcing him to arch, to yield, to lose all composure.
"Look at you…" he whispered, licking Alastor's spine, his breath hot and cruel. "An omega so proud, so snobbish, now moaning, begging to be taken."
Alastor tried to move, but the wires wouldn't let him. He felt Vox's hands exploring, squeezing, dominating every inch. Each word was a command, each touch a delicious humiliation.
"Beg, Alastor. Beg properly. I want to hear you plead for your alpha."
Alastor's pride shattered in waves. His voice came out shaky, a mixture of anger and desire: "Please… Vincent… don't stop… don't let me go…"
Vox turned Alastor's body to the side, then to the front, forcing him to face him. The shadows and threads intertwined, a power struggle, but now it was Vox who dictated the rhythm, the depth, the rules.
Vox bit Alastor's neck, leaving deep marks. The radio demon's ears trembled and drooped in pleasure; he was reclaiming what was rightfully his.
“Only me. Only I can see you like this, hear these sounds, feel this heat. No one else.”
With each change of position, with each wild restart, Vox made sure to leave Alastor breathless—sometimes pulling his hair, sometimes holding his face to force him to look into his eyes during each drawn-out confession of pleasure. Alastor, at the height of his heat, whimpered, trembled, begged, his entire body surrendered, marked, satisfied, and hungry at the same time.
When dawn broke, both were exhausted, sweaty, covered in each other's marks. Vox lay down beside him, pulling Alastor close, the wires still entangling the omega's body, as if to ensure he wouldn't escape even in his dreams.
Alastor closed his eyes, finally broken, finally safe in Vox's warm embrace.
Vox smiled, satisfied, whispering: "Now you understand who's in charge, Alastor."
And, in that silence, in the shared warmth, there was no longer any doubt: there, no one was submissive. They were made to challenge each other, to possess each other, to devour each other—in every way possible.
The room grew darker with each passing hour, Alastor's shadows spreading across the walls like a hungry horde. Vox, despite his electric gaze and defiant smile, now found himself pinned against the headboard, wires writhing but contained, subjugated by shadowy tentacles.
Alastor approached slowly, his eyes gleaming with cruel pleasure.
“You think you can manipulate everything, don't you? Just because you forged a piece of paper?” The tone was low, venomous. “You wanted an omega? Now you'll learn the price of having one.”
Vox's threads tried to wrap around Alastor's wrist, but they were crushed and tightly bound. Alastor leaned over him, pressing his body against Vox's, his warm breath on his ear.
“Look at you… dirty, desperate, begging for me. Where's all that arrogance, huh?”
Vox tried to fight back, but Alastor gripped his chin tightly, forcing him to look him in the eyes.
“Speak, Vox. Who's in charge here?”
Vox, always so insolent, bit his lip, his pride almost overcoming his heat.
“Stop it. I'm not your toy.”
Alastor laughed, low, dangerously.
“You're not? Then why are you trembling? Why are you rubbing yourself all over me, like a hungry little animal? Begging me to sit on you and bounce like a prostitute.”
He pressed harder, using the shadows to spread Vox's legs, exposing him, leaving him vulnerable and ready, but without giving him what he wanted.
“Say it. Say you're mine. Say no one else will touch you, you're my alpha” Alastor brushed his lips against Vox's jaw, biting hard just below his ear.
Vox groaned, trying to maintain his composure, but his voice came out weak, pleading:
“Alastor… please…”
“Please what?” Alastor squeezed even harder, his hand sliding over Vox's body, shadows tightening, controlling every movement. “Ask properly. Ask like a good, obedient alpha.”
Vox arched his back, the strands fighting, but surrender was inevitable.
“Only you. Only you can. Use me like this. Humiliate me. Do whatever you want, but don't stop…”
Alastor smiled, satisfied, and whispered:
“That's it. Like that. You're mine. Only mine. You'll remember that every time you look in the mirror. Every mark, every pain, every time you beg my name.”
While the shadows marked Vox's skin, Alastor murmured insults, dirty promises, words that would make anyone else blush or run away. Vox responded with moans, pleas, and that fury of someone who wants to devour and be devoured until they lose all reason.
“You wanted an omega, Vox? Now you have one. I'll be marked by the end of these three days, and when I get out of here, every demon will know that you belong to me.”
Vox was surrendered, his body arched and marked, the wires trembling on the edge of the control—but it was Alastor who dictated the rules. The shadows held, squeezed, explored, drawing the word "mine" on Vox's skin in bruises and scratches.
Alastor leaned in, biting Vox's jaw, his words sharp as a blade:
"Look at the mess you make because of me… You think you're so powerful, but now you're nothing more than an alpha desperate for the touch of your omega."
He dragged his nails across Vox's chest, leaving red lines.
"Speak up, Vox. Who made you like this? Who makes you lose your pride?"
Vox groaned, his head thrown back, his neck exposed, his Adam's apple rising and falling.
"You, Alastor… only you."
Alastor laughed, dragging his mouth across Vox's neck, marking every inch with bites.
"That's right. I want to see you leave this room, limping, covered in my scent, my taste. I want to see others feel what I did to you just by looking."
He lowered his hand, squeezing Vox's waist tightly, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"And you'll ask for more. You'll beg," he whispered. “You like it when I humiliate you, don't you?”
Vox gasped, the threads wrapping around Alastor's shadows, trying to pull him even closer, as if he wanted to fuse them together.
“I like it… I like it so much.”
Alastor reveled in it, his voice hoarse and dark:
“That's it, ask properly. Show who's in charge in hell now.”
Vox, his eyes brimming with lust and surrender, descended, the shadows forcing him to obey, his voice faltering with desire and humiliation:
“Please, Alastor…”
Alastor smiled victoriously and pulled Vox up, their mouths clashing in rough, suffocating kisses, the shadows and threads fighting, intertwining, vying for space and power, until there was no longer any difference between who commanded and who obeyed—only the savage certainty that, in that room, that night, Vox belonged only to Alastor. And he loved every second of it.
When the heat finally subsided and they both collapsed exhausted onto the bed, Vox still clung to him, possessive, the marks on display, his whole body trembling from how much he had been desired and humiliated.
Alastor whispered, satisfied, in his ear:
"No one will ever fuck you like I do, Alastor."
And Alastor fainted from exhaustion, his eyes shining, finally at peace.
The early morning hours were approaching and the room seemed even smaller, saturated with the scent of heat, sweat, and marks. Alastor, now lying down, felt Vox's hair sliding under his skin, guiding his hips and forcing him to stay in the exact position the alpha wanted. Every muscle in his body vibrated between surrender and insatiable desire.
Vox knelt behind him, his hands firm, holding his waist, his nails digging in possessively.
"Like this, Alastor. I want to feel you open up to me, I want to see your body accept everything I'm capable of giving." With one movement, Vox pulled Alastor back, fitting him tightly, thrusting deep, their entire bodies pressed together. Alastor's shadows tried to envelop Vox, but were tamed, quickly trapped by the threads that climbed up his back, tightening around his shoulders, guiding the rhythm.
Vox accelerated, the sound of the thrusts filling the room, each movement deeper, more precise, until it elicited hoarse and desperate moans from Alastor.
"Look at me, omega," he ordered, leaning forward to bite Alastor's nape, marking him, forcing him to feel each thrust.
He changed position, turning Alastor on his side, one leg thrown over Vox's hip, their bodies intertwined. The rhythm was fierce, possessive, each thrust eliciting sighs, whimpers, muffled pleas.
“Tell me whose you are” Vox growled, his voice deep and full of power, his hand squeezing Alastor's throat lightly, in a delicious threat.
“Yours… only yours…” Alastor replied, his voice faltering, his eyes glazed with pleasure and humiliation.
Vox smiled, satisfied, and didn't stop until he was sure Alastor couldn't take it anymore—only then did he allow pleasure to drag them together, absolute possession etched into every exhausted muscle, every mark, every silent promise that echoed in the dark.
In the end, Vox pulled Alastor close, their breaths mingling, their bodies still intertwined, the threads and shadows tired but still hungry.
"I'll never tire of dominating you like this," Vox whispered, and Alastor, exhausted, knew it was true.
Time in the room seemed distorted, each second stretched by the heat, the smell, and the sound of their bodies colliding. Vox, now completely in control, kept Alastor under total dominion—threads tightening around ankles and wrists, shadows struggling and yielding, the bed creaking under the weight of the struggle.
"On your stomach, Alastor. I want to see you writhing for me."
The order came firmly, and Alastor obeyed, his muscles tense, his face already marked by the pillow. Vox positioned himself behind him, his hands gripping his waist tightly, guiding the rhythm, the quick, deep thrusts, making Alastor groan and grip the sheets tightly.
Vox leaned in, his mouth close to Alastor's ear, his voice deep and dirty:
"Do you feel this? Every time I enter, every time you hold me deeper… There's no point in fighting, omega. Today, tomorrow, always, you are only mine."
Alastor whimpered, now without pride, begging for more, pleading for mercy and intensity at the same time.
"Don't stop… no… anymore…" his voice faltered, between moans and sighs.
Vox didn't stop. He shifted position, pulling Alastor back onto his lap, forcing him to sit, their bodies pressed together, Vox's hands guiding the rhythm, compelling him to move, to bounce and beg.
"Look at me while you come, Alastor. I want to see your face, I want you to know it's my name you're screaming," he growled, his eyes gleaming with power and lust.
Alastor's shadows tried to entwine themselves in Vox's grasp, seeking control, but were always subdued, squeezed, dominated. Vox marked every inch of skin, biting, scratching, leaving bruises, showing that there was no room for anyone else, only for him.
"Tell me who you are," he ordered, his hand gently squeezing Alastor's neck, without hurting, just to show who was in charge.
"Yours… only yours, Vox… please…" Alastor whimpered, his whole body vibrating with pleasure and surrender.
Vox smiled, satisfied, and didn't stop until they were both exhausted, collapsed on top of each other, the scent of heat and desire filling everything.
When he finally stopped, Vox pulled Alastor to his chest, still intertwined, the shadows and strands of hair resting together across the room. When he withdrew, the knot was still swollen in Alastor's womb, and semen spilled from the omega's pink hole, forming a puddle.
"This time, you won't forget," he whispered, his voice still hoarse, his lips brushing against Alastor's marked neck.
And that night, there was no more doubt or dispute: Vox was the only alpha capable of breaking Alastor—and the only one he wanted to belong to.