How your partner would react to you being a powerful overlord (w/Vox, Alastor, Lucifer, Charlie, Vaggie, Adam, Abel)
Warning: angst, betrayal, obsession
Genre: love and angst with betray mixed in
Summary: You’re an undefeated Overlord even Lucifer would step around carefully, but no one has ever seen your true face. Not until today. Can be read as Women reader, GN reader, Male reader.
Vox freezes only long enough for his software to catch up, then—
He EXPLODES into excitement.
Static flaring red,
eyes glitching like fireworks,
voice blown out by microphone distortion:
“BABE—OH MY FUCKING GOD, BABE—YOU’RE THE MOST POWERFUL OVERLORD IN HELL?!”
He literally storms into the Vees boardroom and demands a new sign be built immediately:
Velvet goes “why the extra V?”
He smirks:
“Vox. Velvette. Valentino. AND V(you).”
Next day?
Billboards.
Ads.
Commercials.
“VOX + THE STRONGEST OVERLORD—UNSTOPPABLE COUPLE OF HELL.”
He livestreams your relationship announcement like a wedding.
He kisses you on camera.
He flexes you like a trophy.
He posts fan edits.
He plays your clips on repeat behind him in interviews.
Normally you’d throttle him—
but you love him, so you allow it.
He literally hugs you from behind during broadcasts and whispers into your mic:
“Let Hell see we’re the apex predators. Together.”
Obsessed doesn’t cover it.
He’s delusional-proud.
He thinks you and him are Hell’s royal power couple.
And honestly? You kinda are.
Alastor’s smile goes dead still—radio static ringing behind him like a glitching memory.
He speaks slowly:
“My dear… you?”
His voice lowers into a dangerous velvet confusion:
“You—of all souls—an Overlord equal to the beasts I hunt?”
He genuinely cannot compute it.
It doesn’t match anything about you.
“You’re gentle. And hopelessly softhearted. And you laugh easily. And you feed stray demons. And you forgive everything…”
His head tilts, voice barely audible:
“…so why are you one of them?”
He stares like trying to read secrets written under your skin.
Then his smile returns—too sharp.
Too possessive.
“You should have told me.”
Not angry.
Not loud.
But wounded, possessive, hungry for truth.
“No more lies,” he murmurs, touching your cheek with gloved fingers. “You belong to me, and I cannot protect what I do not fully know.”
There it is—the yandere edge.
He steps closer, voice honey-sweet with ownership:
“You are mine, mon chéri. Every secret. Every power. Every ruthless part of you… I’ll love even those.”
His smile drops one more octave:
“And if Hell fears you… wonderful.
It means they’ll never dare take you from me.”
He kisses your knuckles like claiming territory.
Lucifer hears the reveal through a dozen screaming demon tabloids and televised reactions all at once—news choppers outside, sirens, gossip websites crashing.
He’s in his office doing paperwork and suddenly—slam—every screen broadcasts your overlord form unmasked.
Then sets his pen down very slowly.
He leans back in his throne chair, staring at the footage, eyes widening in growing realization:
“…oh my stars… she’s magnificent.”
There’s fear in his chest—not fear OF you—but fear FOR you.
The knowledge that you survived Hell alone, climbed higher than anyone predicted, became something colossal without help.
“What have you endured, my love…?”
When you return home Lucifer stands at his balcony, hair swaying in the wind dramatically (of course), heart pounding.
“You could’ve told me,” he murmurs, voice tremoring just slightly. “I’m ancient—I’ve seen terrors—but you… you frighten me in a way I don’t hate.”
Yes, Lucifer Morningstar is intimidated.
Yes, he loves that about you.
He steps closer, tracing your arm with gentle fingertips:
“I’ve always attracted powerful women… but you? You are a force Hell itself bows to.”
You start to apologize and he hushes you with a soft touch to your cheek:
“No, no apologies. Only… no more hiding. I want every part of you. Even the parts that terrify the universe.”
“And I hope… I pray… that when I can’t guide Charlie, you will. Hell needs people like her. And it needs people like you. Together.”
“My queen,” he whispers against your skin,
“I’ve never been more proud… or more afraid… and I love that.”
Then, joking shyly under his breath:
“I can’t believe I’ve bagged another terrifying goddess. Truly, an addiction at this point.”
Charlie freezes when the mask slips. Her smile falters—just once—because the thought hits her immediately:
How long were you carrying this alone? Why didn’t you trust me?
She tries to stay composed since millions just saw the reveal live, but you can see it in her eyes—confusion mixed with a sting of betrayal. Later, when cameras are off, she quietly asks:
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Not yelling. Not accusing. Just soft hurt.
She squeezes her tail nervously and avoids eye contact for a moment.
“When we decided to be together, I thought we promised honesty…”
Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t pull away from you.
Because Charlie isn’t someone who gives up on love easily.
But then, understanding floods through her:
“You must have had reasons… Hell doesn’t treat the powerful kindly.”
Her heart aches at the idea of you going through centuries of punishment ALONE. She gently takes your hand and smiles—wobbly but loving:
“Just…please don’t keep things like that from me again.”
And then—because Charlie always dreams forward—
“If you’ll help the hotel—with your powers—and with redemption… then of course I forgive you.”
She kisses your cheek and whispers:
“I love all sides of you… even the terrifying ones.”
When the whole internet of Hell erupts over your livestream identity reveal, Vaggie shuts the screen off before the comments could get hateful.
She doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t accuse, doesn’t raise her voice.
She just sits beside you quietly, knees touching your knees, and says in a painfully soft whisper:
“…I’ve hidden who I was too.”
At first, you think she means her life—she shakes her head. No who she was.
“No. That’s only part of it. I hid because I didn’t know who I was. And I thought if people knew, I’d be targeted, or used, or hated.”
A long pause.
A long inhale.
“I was an Angel, an exorcist”
I thought being honest would mean losing everything… I’m sorry my love”
And it hits you—she understands in a way almost no one else possibly could.
Then she takes your hands in hers, squeezing so tight her gloves creak.
“Thank you for surviving long enough to meet me.”
You blink—she’s crying silently.
There is no judgment in her touch.
Only empathy.
Only understanding.
Then she confesses:
“I’m terrified most days. I pretend I’m strong for everyone. But I know what it’s like to carry fear alone… so now that everyone knows your truth, let me share mine.”
She leans into your shoulder, voice small and fragile:
“Don’t hide from me. I won’t hide from you anymore either.”
She doesn’t kiss you.
She rests her forehead against yours—the most intimate acceptance she’s capable of.
Adam’s shock slowly turns into something forbidden and intoxicating. He laughs—half panicked, half flustered:
“Of course you’d be an Overlord. Because this relationship wasn’t already sinful enough.”
He paces, visibly stressed, visibly turned on, visibly annoyed with himself:
“I should condemn you. I should. But… I can’t. Because I love you and your—entire physical situation is—very distracting.”
Eventually, Adam corners you gently, voice dropping:
“But there have to be rules. If we’re doing this… you need to help me with exterminations.”
You cross your arms,
“Only if exterminations get cut in HALF—and only every two years.”
Adam scoffs, dramatic:
“That’s ridiculous…”
Silence.
Then quiet surrender.
“…Fine. I’ll make it work. But you owe me for this.”
His fingers slip around your waist:
“And yes, we’re still together. Even if Heaven would smite me if they knew.”
Abel looks at you with a shattered expression. His voice almost gone:
“You’re one of them? The ones they warned us about?”
He retreats a step, wings tucked back, trying to breathe through the disappointment, through fear of losing you:
“You killed, you ruled, you conquered—was any of it necessary?”
Your silence hurts him more than any confession.
Then you take him to your territory—
not violent,
not chaotic,
but structured, peaceful, organized.
Like a strange functioning kingdom instead of Hell’s chaotic madness.
Abel looks around, amazed:
“This is… civilized. You protected these people…?”
He turns to you slowly, expression softening into stunned relief.
“My love… maybe you were surviving, not destroying.”
He cups your cheek gently, voice breaking:
“But you can’t keep secrets from me anymore. Not when we’re partners.”
Then, with serious warmth:
“And I want something in return… join Charlie’s redemption plan. Help your people rise. Help yourself rise.”
Finally,
soft,
hopeful:
“I think… I can still believe in you.”
Hello this won the polll and I enjoyed writing this a ton!!! I hope you all enjoy it, request are still open I am trying to do 2 a day so please be patient with me!! 💗💜
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