Warnings: Cussing and mentions of fucking. A bit sad for Lucifer.
ALASTOR — VOX’S ASSISTANT
Alastor would hate the fact he knew he is jealous. He would think it made him weak, but he hated the fact you were so close to Vox more.
Would constantly be petty towards Vox, and it would take the media overlord a moment to realize why Alastor was acting like that.
However, when Vox did figure it out, he would be non-stop laughing. He would even up how much he touch you just to piss off Alastor.
You weren’t aware of Alastor’s jealousy, after all he was always mean towards Vox.
The radio demon. Feared throughout all of pride. the strongest sinner in hell. There was nothing Alastor couldn't achieve, couldn't attain. He never thought his rivalry with Vox would bring him to you. He never expected to grow fond of your company.
The idea alone was weak, and he wanted to refuse that statement. However, watching you laughing with the media overlord, Vox himself, he knew the pit in his stomach was caused from that fondness.
You made him weak, and he should be trying to fix that. Instead, he put his priority on putting himself between you and the tv-demon every opportunity he got.
"Vox!" The second you noticed him you immediately jumped up from the chairs you and Alastor sat on.
Static emitted from the overlord, his irritation obvious to everyone else but you. Granted he had been strapped to a chair for a week so Vox could only assume it was all finally getting to him.
"How did the rally go?"
Before he could answer your question, Alastor pushed his spinning chair between the two of you. Rolling over Vox's toes in the process.
"I can't believe he needed a borrowed spy to get an advantage." His laugh was mocking. "I mean that's just pathetic!"
The two men narrowed their eyes at one another. An awkward silence pressed into the thick air.
Eventually the two of you ignored Alastor and started to walk away from him. Indulging in conversation between the two of you, completely leaving the radio star out.
Are you serious? Alastor bitterly thought.
He used his feet to push across the floor of Vox's bedroom. Trying to hurry and reach you before the door slammed in his face.
He continued to follow after you guys, constantly butting into conversation. Anything to piss off Vox and put himself in a better light.
It irritated him that you couldn't see that he was more deserving of your attention than some tv man that needed a partnership in order to have his status.
"Alastor, is your eye okay?" Finally, you stopped to look at him. "It keeps twitching."
"I must say the sound of tv strains my ears, perhaps we could go somewhere more private, alone."
Vox stared and suddenly started laughing. Full blown clutching his stomach in pain laughing. "Oh my-" Vox couldn't even get a sentence out much to your confusion and Alastor's annoyance. "You the radio demon?!"
Slowly he started to catch his breath again.
"I must say, old pal, green sure looks good on you."
VOX — VELVETTE'S PHOTOGRAPHER
Vox is possessive as hell, he already hates your working for Velvette, and not him.
So, when Velvette's shoot runs way longer than it should be, Vox didn't hesitate before marching down to Vel's side of the tower.
He expected a fire, a life-or-death situation — not you and her giggling like schoolgirls.
He would be petty all night long, and make snide comments about the two of you, and how you weren't even working. He'd partly be mean, but you would instantly catch onto what his problem actually was.
You were supposed to be down three hours ago. You spent all day, every day taking photos of Velvette and her models. Sometimes you would do Valentino or even Vox himself.
You were committed to your job, so when you started fucking Vox, CEO of Voxtek. you didn't think he'd be so whiny about it.
The man had stomped his way through Vee tower, workers immediately noticing his sour mood. He expected someone to be dead, and if someone wasn't he would make sure someone was before he left.
Who in their right mind would take away the only time Vox got to have with you? '
The answer: his own fucking business partner, Velvette.
The two of you were giggling, laughter flying from the two of you like two sirens luring a man to his death.
You two were huddled together, closely, and you didn't even have a camera in your hands. Sparks flicked from Vox's hands, anger lacing the air he breathed. He would be sure to punish you for making him feel this torturous feeling.
He grabbed you, not even letting you say goodbye to your dear friend. "We're leaving." Was all Velvette got, and in return Vox got a "Fuck you!" from her.
The entire walk back Vox wouldn't shut up, electronics glitching all around him.
"You're wasting fucking money, milking the clock like that." His lips tilted into a frown. "Your so fucking lucky you're decent at fucking."
"Who do you think you are, leaving me waiting like that?"
Before he could continue, you pulled his hand away from your arm. Your own anger getting a hold of you. "First of all, you don't get to speak to me like I'm some whore — because you're not that decent at fucking." Granted you liked when he talked like that when actually in bed, but that wasn't the point.
"Secondly, if I didn't know any better, I'd say your jealous." A blue blush formed on his screen.
LUCIFER — A HOTEL RESIDENT
Lucifer is a very insecure man. His wife left him, and he isolated himself for so long.
He would try to hide his envy, embarrassed for such a feeling. After all, he's the sin of pride, and it really hurt when it was knocked out with jealousy.
You were kind and always understanding to others around you. You were the good this hotel needed, and Lucifer admired you. He just wishes he could speak up and not let that dumb radio take his spotlight. First his daughter, now you?
However, you immediately notice something off about the king.
The hotel was bussing with all kinds of sinners. Husk, the bar keep, was constantly making drinks, Nifty picking up after everyone, and Vaggie was taking on her role in the hotel spectacularly.
So, shouldn't Alastor, the bellhop, be doing his job as well? Instead, he was too busy spending all of his time with you. Whenever he didn't run off in his shadow, he was around you — directly in Lucifer view.
The king tried not to let it get to him, after all he couldn't dictate you. That was part of his gift of free will, you could choose to spend time with whoever you wanted. Even if it was some stupid red-looking Bambi.
He really did try.
That's why it hurt so much when the dread in his body didn't go away. You were laughing and smiling with Alastor, not him. What were you talking about?
You were clearly enjoying your time. But why couldn't you see that he could be so much more than him. Just look his way, just one chance, he only wanted at lease one.
Was he even allowed to be jealous, when he still wore his wedding ring?
Slowly he fell back into that pit of depression, like it was always waiting for him. He avoided you, tried not to listen to you thanking Alastor. He surrounded himself in the hollow emptiness of his room.
It hurt, seeing the man you were growing close to push back up his shell. Had you done something wrong? He only needed to talk to you.
You had missed your conversations, something you confided in Alastor.
Lucifer watched from the stairs, looking down at the two of you. Charlie approached her dad, noticing her father's change as well.
"Dad? Are you alright?"
Alastor hand placed on your shoulder, and he offered you a comforting smile.
No.
"Of course."
ADAM — AN EXTERMINATOR
Adam was many things, but jealous? He would never admit that no matter how true it was.
The thing is, he lost two wives to the same man, and he hadn't even intentionally done anything wrong. So, when he met you? His insecurities constantly picked at him in the back of his mind.
He honestly never expected to be jealous of Lute of all people.
The two of you would constantly team up on things, and while hot at first, slowly he felt his fear rise. You didn't pick up on any of his flirting, and when you finally realize, you're there. With him.
Adam often thought of Lilith and Eve. He questioned why they would do everything they did, he could only think; because of me.
It hurt, to be rejected like that, so no matter how many chicks he fucked that fear never went away. In fact, it flourished when he met you.
He liked the fact you and Lute were close, the two of you could rely on each other on the battlefield. But with battle came a closeness that teared at him.
Everyone knew the two of you, Adams lackies, but you were so much more — and Adam knew that. He knew you guys were more, and if you were more than him, how could you ever look at him?
He flirted, constantly talked himself up, tried everything in the book with you. You never noticed.
You always brushed him off to the side, never taking him seriously, but he was. He was deadly serious, and slowly even Lute started noticing it.
It wasn't until you found him drunk in his office when everything came to light.
Bottles littered the ground, and you took every step with precision. "What are you doing here?" His question was slurred; you were surprised he could even still speak with all the alcohol here.
"Bringing you home, Lute bailed." His eyes rolled at the sound of her name on your tongue.
"Lute, Lute, Lute." He mocked your voice, spite surging him on. "It's always Lute, and never Adam."
Your confusion was obvious, your brows furrowed. "What are you talking about, sir?"
A loud groan filled the office covered in gold. Even now, you still weren't listening to him. What did he have to do for you? He would do anything; he just needed guidance.
"I told you to call me Adam." He raised from his desk, blood rushing to his head. "I tell you we should go out," he wasn't stopping. "I tell you, that we would be amazing together, and you never fucking listen to me."
His envy came to light, "But you have no problem taking Lute at her word."
You were shocked, to put it simply. Had he really felt like this? Could you listen to drunken words? You wanted too; you really did.
He took steps towards you, stumbling over his feet. You were quick to leap towards him, catching him was harder than you thought.
The both of you trampled onto the floor, and you took the brunt of it. Adam hurried to roll off you but made no effort in getting up. Neither did you.
"If you ask me out tomorrow, I'll say yes." Was the last thing he heard before he passed out, missing the rest of your words. "You jealous buffoon."
LUTE — AN EXTERMINATOR
Lute’s jealousy would be obsessive. In fact, she would go out of her way just to ensure you never talked to Vaggie.
Vaggie had already taken Adam’s attention and now she was taking yours? She should be in hell.
You were clearly taken to the fact that Vaggie continued to get closer and closer to you was sinful. She enjoyed taking the woman’s eye, now she could no longer look at you.
All was good in heaven. That’s what Lute was told, and for a while she believed it. She met you here, fell in love. You were everything she wanted in a partner.
You yourself ranked up high in Adam’s army. Always impressing others, not only Lute. You couldn’t count how many times she had complained that others couldn’t mind their business.
So when she held rage in her eyes as she pushed between you and Vaggie, before the extermination, you weren’t surprised.
“Keep your head focus,” she muttered to you before turning her viscous glare to Vaggie. “And you need to stop distracting everyone.”
Vaggie never actually distracted people, you all knew that. Lute was simple unable to handle her emotions.
The woman just might be crazy.
When the portal opened to hell, Lute kept her eye on Vaggie rather than you. She followed her, waiting for her to make just one mistake. All she needed to do was make one mistake and then Lute would be free of her.
Adam immediately noticed Lute follow after, and he too agreed that the woman just might be a little crazy. Still Adam respected Lute’s decision.
The moment Vaggie let that little kid go, she had sealed her fate.
Lute’s sword swing down on Vaggie’s eye. That was for you. Then she ripped off her wings, that was for her.
VELVETTE — A VOXTEK SHOW HOST
Velvette isn't one to let her emotions simmer. She acts, because why would she wait for something she can just have now.
Would run smear campaigns against your co-host, until he eventually was kicked off. She wouldn't harm your image, however after all she posts online every follower she had agreed that you should do your show alone from now on.
Isn't one to admit it, and you would never acknowledge it, so long as it doesn't hurt you then you don't care what she does.
Velvette always has an eye for what looks good, what looks right. You two looked good together, you and your co-host did not.
Vox wanted to bash his head when polls about your co-host creditability plummeted all over hell. Velvette was making thing harder, all because she was 'getting her knickers in a twist.'
You couldn't help but laugh at how Vel was hanging around the studio. Making it a point to kiss you in front of the other sinner at the desk.
You didn't mind; you didn't much like your co-star either. So, when you showed up to work with the news you had your own show to yourself, you were ecstatic.
Velvette deemed it all worth it to Vox when she came home to your gratefulness'. You spent all night kissing away each and every single envious thought from her body.
Hazbin hotel soulmate AU where you and your soulmate can both share each other’s pain.
Growing up, you never cried from any phantom pain at all, and when you were taken to the doctor, tests said that you were one of the 0.001% that had a soulmate who was already long dead by the time you were born. This kind of ruined your life. Everyone else had someone, and you were stuck with someone you’d never even know. You got bullied a lot for being the outlier.
However, one benefit is that you were always able to get into a ton of fights. Sure it resulted in a bunch of shady stuff that got you killed, but you didn’t have it in you to care. No soulmate, no reason to live like you’re made of glass. The doctors at your local hospital knew you by name and practically reserved a room for you.
So when you ended up in Hell, it terrified you when pain shot through your arm and you’d done nothing. You guessed that because you were as dead as your soulmate, you two could feel each other’s pain.
You told this to one of your friends from the gang you’d joined, and she’d stared at you like you’d grown a second head before laughing.
“Oh, Y/N. No, the scientists got it wrong because Heaven and Hell exist. If only one of you is alive, the dead soulmate will still feel it.”
Ah. You’d lost quite a bit of empathy being down here, but you still felt kinda bad for your soulmate. You’d caused them a lot more injuries than they’d ever made for you.
Eventually, you would meet them for the first time. The bond snaps into place as you two stare at each other. You’re left speechless - but your soulmate speaks before you can even process what’s going on.
“You.” They point a finger at you in total shock and outrage. “What the hell is wrong with you, you masochist?! I’ve never met anyone who gets hurt as much as you did! What the fuck?!”
And that’s the very first thing your soulmate ever says to you.
To Alastor, you are pure entertainment. Your devotion amuses him, but it also intrigues him.
You are his "Eternal Listener," the only one permanently tuned to his frequency. You are not a servant; you are part of the animated props in his grand theater of horror.
He places you in dangerous or absurd situations to see how you react, as if you were a supporting character in his favorite plot. A "Great performance, darling!" after you miraculously survive a fight is his highest compliment. You are living entertainment.
He watches you crawl to him, with that bright, desperate look for his attention. "Oh, my little creature? Being so… clingy again?"
Alastor finds it deliciously ironic that a soul would cling to him willingly. He turns your devotion into a private joke that only he understands. He sends you on impossible missions with a "Let's see how you do!" and then watches with static laughter as you desperately struggle to please him. Your suffering and dedication are the spice of his eternal boredom.
He never truly pushes you away. He allows you to follow him, sit next to his armchair, or lie at his feet while he plays his music. You are his oddity, a curious specimen he decided to keep.
It's not jealousy, it's a matter of ownership… and after a long time, he grows fond of you.
Listen… He highly values true feelings, and if you truly love him and care for him, he'll put you on a pedestal, like Niffty.
If you sacrifice your life for him, he'll do the same… halfway. You are definitely his favorite; he always emphasizes that.
When you found out about Rosie, you know the deal. You didn't know whether to kill her or treat her with respect. "I mean… do I have to kill her?" "No, Y/N!"
In his fight with Adam, you were supporting him but couldn't protect him. At his radio station, you healed him and blamed yourself for it.
Imagine: Alastor lying on the floor while you clean his wound. "I-I'm so sorry, I should have taken that hit." "Ha, no, no, look at me, don't cry for me." "But, my lord?" "No, give me that beautiful smile, please. It always makes me feel better." You look at him but don't smile, and he kisses your temple. "It's okay, as long as… you're here."
You talk a lot with Husk and Niffty; you're not jealous of them. However, he doesn't know if he likes or dislikes the fact that you put yourself in danger for him; he wants you safe and sound.
When the Vees kidnapped him, you ran into his arms and didn't want to let go. "Y/N is okay, he's okay. Give me that lovely smile, darling." You almost killed Vox after that.
If you defend him or put yourself in danger for him, his smile widens.
"Such… touching loyalty."
(Although secretly, he feels a pang of infernal pride.)
Vox
At first, he considered you just another toy. But then, your obsession began to fascinate him.
He loves you; you're definitely what he was looking for: a loyal follower who doesn't question him and doesn't hesitate to do anything for him. He'll constantly use you to beat Alastor or show off to the other Vees. "Look, Velvette! My pet would do ANYTHING for me. What about yours?" He'll film you taking risks and broadcast it on his channels.
Vox sees your devotion as a marketing tool. You want to risk your life for him? Great, but make sure it's recorded and in high definition. He'll send you on drone missions that broadcast your exploits live. "Make sure the angle is good and tag me!" he tells you before every dangerous mission.
Now you're his darling, always by his side like his loyal pet.
You're his living trophy. His way of "rewarding" you is to give you limited access to his technological world: better monitors, a corner of his studio, mentions in his streams. If you accomplish a particularly risky feat, he'll give you a quick tap on the head, feeling like the best master ever.
You crawl up to his screens, begging him to look at you, and he enjoys making you wait. "So my pet can't go a second without seeing me, huh? How adorable."
He likes having you close during his streams, curled up next to his cables or watching him from the floor.
"So, how's my favorite personal assistant doing?" He puts his arm around your waist and pulls you close. "Oh, hi boss. I hope you slept well."
You're close to him; he likes you as…as something. He doesn't know what he feels, but you're important to him now. And you've had sex more than once.
Vox becomes competitive and jealous of your affection. He doesn't just show you off to others; he needs the world to know that you're his, completely.
Anyone who tries to touch you or speak rudely to you will be… personally disappeared.
He will show you intense, possessive affection in public. He'll grab you tightly around the waist while introducing you or give you a "kiss" on the head that feels more like a show of dominance for the cameras. In private, he'll reward you with nights in his penthouse or let you spend time in his tech-filled "fun box," feeling like he's given you the world.
Sometimes he's scared of your face when someone talks trash about Vox. "Doll, it's okay, let them talk—" "No, my lord, no one will tell lies about you…only over my dead body."
If you put yourself in danger for him, he'll rescue you immediately. Not out of affection, but because he can't afford to lose his proof of superiority on social media. A loyal, obsessive pet has more media value than a dead one.
Valentino
He thought you were just another bootlicker.
Valentino is used to people groveling before him, but your platonic obsession, combined with your willingness to suffer, is incredibly seductive to him.
He treats you like an accessory, but one he doesn't intend to share.
His "affection" is a mixture of toxic attention and calculated abandonment.
He gives you crumbs of his time, whispers empty promises, and then ignores you for days, knowing that anxiety will consume you. You're a character in the movie of his life, and he enjoys writing your suffering. A "Well done, my dear" said with a caress under the chin might be followed by a brutal slap if he interprets your gaze as not submissive enough.
He always throws you onto the bed with his chain and makes you film countless videos, but something strange was going on… you never stayed; in fact, you were willing to do more… What a desperate whore.
He will demand increasingly humiliating and risky acts of devotion from you, but he will frame it as if it were for "the movie" or "the perfect photo." He will make others jealous of the attention he lavishes on you.
You are his property, in the most literal and terrifying way. Your contract is probably the most restrictive of all. Your obsession amuses him, but it also infuriates him; the idea that someone else might set their eyes on you sends him into fits of violent jealousy.
However, he will not defend you; he will punish you for being "tempting," for making him "waste his time" with his insecurities.
You will receive his most direct (but superficial) attention. He will allow you to sit on his lap, brush your hair, or let you wear one of his silk robes. But you must understand that this "intimacy" is only granted when you have done something that benefits him.
I did notice that you always got possessive with him when another girl approached him. "Aw, baby, don't be mad, Daddy's all yours."
After a long time, he realized that you really wanted him and that you'd become obsessed with him.
"You really love me?… How do you care about me?" You nod euphorically. Val takes a long drag and blows the smoke at you, creating one of his chains. He pulls you close and whispers, "You're so desperate."
He loves watching you crawl towards him, seeking his cologne, his voice, his approval. "Look who's crawling… my adorable little mess."
Valentino's obsession with your devotion becomes a predatory and narcissistic attraction. You're the only person in Hell who's truly obsessed with him, not just with what he can offer.
Now he's gentler with you, letting you lie on his lap while he smokes, absentmindedly stroking you, enjoying how calm you become under his attention.
He'll punish you if you hurt yourself in a way that ruins your appearance. You're an extension of his image, and if you dare to have a wound that makeup can't cover, he'll be furious at your "lack of professionalism."
Velvette
So you're obsessed with her, huh?
Velvet finds your obsession a bit cringeworthy and exhausting, but she recognizes your usefulness as a lackey.
She tests you, exploiting you to the fullest because at first she's not really interested in another crazy fan. After all, she has plenty of them who only seek her out for ridiculous crap.
She'll use you as her personal high-risk assistant. Need her purse off a dangerous ledge? Need you to serve her drink in the middle of a Sinners battlefield? There you are. She doesn't care if you fall, as long as the purse or drink doesn't get damaged.
You don't wait for her to ask you for something. If she has a rival, you're already creating the most toxic memes to bring them down. If she mentions liking something, you've already researched how to get it and planned a spectacular unboxing for her. Your value lies in your creative initiative and your willingness to be cruel online.
Her "affection" is measured in mentions, tags, and shares. A gift from you isn't valuable in itself, but rather for how photogenic it is and the engagement it generates. A gesture of devotion from you is met with a "That's it! The audio is perfect for a reel!" rather than a "thank you." You're a resource for her public narrative of power.
She makes you search for the same things thirty times, carry heavy things: "Hey, I need those boxes in my room, now!" "Yes, yes, boss, right now."
She loves how you go out of your way to please her: putting on makeup, posing, smiling even if you're shaking. "Awww, look at you! So dedicated to your favorite Overlord~"
Until, when she was walking towards the tower, one of her haters was silently about to attack her, and you lunged straight at the hater: "What the hell…?"
After that, she scolded you for being such an idiot, according to her, but then she tended to your wounds.
Imagine: Your boss is scolding you for being so "reckless" while searching for a first-aid kit and leaving you on the couch. You can't stop staring at her with those lovesick, silly eyes.
She exposed that hater to the fullest.
She calls you "my sweet bug" and lets you sleep among her fabrics when she's in a good mood.
If anyone criticizes you, Velvette publicly destroys them in seconds. Nobody messes with her pet.
She constantly records you on her infernal social media. You're her "influencer pet," even though all you want is her approval.
Velvette is surrounded by people. You're not next to her chatting; you're filming her from the best angle, lighting her with your phone so she looks flawless.
Suddenly, a drunken demon approaches her roughly. Before security can react, you've already stepped in front of her with a sweet smile but killer eyes, while your other arm keeps recording vertically. "Honey, you're ruining the shot," you tell the intruder, before he disappears into the crowd. Velvette doesn't even blink; he just adjusts his pose for the camera.
Rosie
Rosie loves devotion. She sees you as a cute little puppy that needs to be pampered and fed. Your obsession is charming.
She appreciates your efforts to win her affection and will "reward" you in kind. If you take a chance on her, she'll seat you at her drawing-room table and serve you the best pieces of her dinner (which you probably won't want to know where they came from).
Reinforce your obsession with kind words. She's a master manipulator. She knows that a compliment from her is worth more than an army. Phrases like "Only you truly understand the importance of keeping up appearances," or "You're my most trusted pair of hands," are the fuel that feeds your fire.
She calls you her "sweet little mouse" and allows you to rest near her armchair.
She gives you a homey warmth. She allows you to cuddle up to her and will let you attend her teas with Alastor or her social gatherings, treating you like a sort of strange niece or nephew. This is the Overlord most likely to give you a genuine pat on the shoulder and whisper, "You're such a sweet little thing."
He doesn't condone your destructive impulses, but he understands them. "My dear, affection isn't earned with wounds. But I appreciate your devotion."
You arrive at his emporium with your arm bandaged and hand him an elegantly wrapped box. "A little gift for trying to spoil your tulips, Mistress Rosie." She opens the box and finds the culprit's pocket watch inside. She smiles. "What a thoughtful young man. Now, sit down, my dear. I've made your favorite cup."
If you put yourself in danger, he'll worry in a strange and twisted way. "Oh, darling, no! Don't ruin such a fine cut of meat with an ugly bruise! Come here, Rosie will patch you up and give you a piece of that silly Sinner who caused you trouble."
He feeds you, he takes care of you, he teaches you manners. You are, secretly, her experiment to test whether affection can survive in Hell.
You don't bring her flowers. You bring her things you think she'll appreciate: a tiny porcelain vase stolen from the ruins of a burned-down palace, the personal journal of a demon who plotted to betray her, or a rare kind of tea you found in an abandoned shop. Each gift is an offering, proof that you think of her constantly.
When she strokes your hair, she murmurs, “So obsessed, so lost… yet still capable of love. What a tragic miracle.”
When a group of intruders threatens Cannibal Town, you're first in line, fighting with desperate ferocity. From her balcony, Rosie watches, a cup of tea in hand, muttering to herself, “Look at him. He's so… devoted. He really breeds the best, doesn't he?”
Missi Zilla (Zeezi)
Missi reacts with a mixture of surprise and amusement to your obsession.
Missi loves it! It's just another thing to consume or manipulate. You're her loyal little servant.
Her affection is real, but in the same way someone loves their cat. She'll pat you on the head (careful not to hurt you with her claws), call you condescending but affectionate nicknames like "My Little Soul" or "My Personal Toy," and sometimes buy you shiny or unnecessary things just to see your ecstatic reaction.
Your pathetic obsession strikes her as adorable and often hilarious. She loves telling you about her exaggerated problems just to see you rage in her defense. "See? Even my pet understands how annoying Vox is. You're so loyal…" she says, chuckling as she watches you whirl around in indignation.
She takes advantage of your devotion. She's pragmatic. Why run her own errands when you're right there, desperate to help? You're her personal messenger, the one who gets her favorite drink from the farthest bar, the one who intimidates her lesser debtors (your obsession with defending her gives you unusual courage), and her biggest fan at her impromptu performances.
You don't see her acts of condescension for what they are. To you, that pat on the head is a divine blessing.
She'll use you as a shield, bait, or food taster quite regularly.
She treats you like a curious creature who's decided to worship her; sometimes she throws you challenges because she's entertained by watching you fight for her attention.
You know EVERYTHING about her. You know her favorite song, the type of energy she most likes to consume, the exact rhythm at which she likes her scaly back massaged, and which other Overlords she despises. You're a living archive of Zeezi.
Even though you're her pet, she's your goddess. If another Overlord, or even one of her servants, pays you too much attention, Zeezi will step in with a menacing smile and a "Hey, hey, that's mine. Find your own toy." Seeing you interact with others irritates her, not out of romantic jealousy, but because it shatters the fantasy that you live only for her.
Zeezi is in the center of the dance floor. You're not dancing; you're on the edge, watching. You reach for her drink the exact moment she extends her hand without even looking. A demon gets too close to her, and you silently step in with a look that promises violence. Zeezi sees you out of the corner of her eye and smiles, flattered.
Carmilla Carmine
At first, she distrusted you, simply thinking you were trying to curry favor and use her. Carmilla is protective and pragmatic. Your risky behavior strikes her as a sign of instability.
She'll keep you at arm's length. She'll only use you for high-risk assignments that don't require emotional connection or critical skills. If you grovel, she'll simply sigh and ask, "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?"
You're like a devoted puppy, following her even into war zones. "You again, you little rascal? If you die, I'm not bringing you back to life."
Her affection is shown through professional trust. There are no pats on the back or empty praise. Instead, there's the quiet acknowledgment of assigning you a critical task, or the rare "Well done" after a particularly dangerous mission. To you, those two words are worth more than anyone else's speech.
You learn to anticipate her needs. You don't wait for orders to neutralize a threat. If you sense danger to her, you act. Your value lies not in following orders, but in fulfilling her will before it's even spoken.
But when you rushed to save her daughters without hesitation, she knew that perhaps what you felt was genuine.
She can't stop your suicidal thoughts, so she trains you well, for everyone's sake, haha.
The pinnacle of your existence wouldn't be a hug or a kind word. It would be if, in the midst of battle, she trusted you to watch her back. Or if, in a rare moment of vulnerability, she assigned you the unspoken but sacred mission of "watching over my daughters if I'm not there." That would mean you're more than a servant; you're part of her strength.
Her word is law. Her philosophy of "fighting for love" (to protect) becomes your personal gospel. You fight for your love for her, which manifests itself in protecting everything that is hers: her business, her territory, and, above all, her daughters.
Her greatest sign of affection is teaching you how to defend yourself better. If you insist on putting yourself in danger, she'll show you the proper falling technique or give you an upgraded weapon. She doesn't want your devotion; she wants your survival because waste irritates her.
Her daughters adore you, but they always tease you, "Oh come on, you're in love with Mother, aren't you?" "By Lucifer, girls, stop it, Carmilla might hear."
If you're seriously injured, she'll provide you with the best medical care on the condition that you stop being so foolish. She doesn't want her investment ruined by a "favorite" obsession. Her primary concern is that a weak Sinner around her might pose a risk to her daughters.
Carmilla is in a tense meeting with another Overlord. You're not in the room; you're on the rooftop vigil, with an angelic steel sniper rifle pointed at the guest's head through the window. She knows this, and that's why she can negotiate so calmly. Your devotion is her silent deterrent.
Zestial Morde
Zestial finds it confusing and a little… modern. In his time, loyalty was bought, not offered so recklessly.
It's rare for one of his pets to be so close to him; he always forgets about them. But when you decided to stay close to him like a good girl, he knew you wanted something.
"You don't have to be near me all the time, Little Firefly." "No, Master, I always want to be with you. It's a pleasure." …"Master"—that word had echoed in Zestial's mind as he sipped his tea.
He doesn't flatter or encourage you the way Rosie or Zeezi would. Instead, he observes. Your obsession is a social experiment to him.
He studies you with the same patience he would an ancient text, analyzing the patterns of your loyalty, the limits of your recklessness, and the depth of your adoration. A whisper of "Interesting…" from him is the highest praise you can receive. The former Overlord, despite his initial disinterest, begins to see your devotion as a fascinating connection to the past and a reminder of old-fashioned loyalty.
He sees you as the last vestige of an era. He doesn't possess you physically, but claims you as his vassal of honor, his one true soul he doesn't need to doubt.
He doesn't need to be jealous; his mere presence makes others retreat. You are his possession, like his cloak or his hat. Any being foolish enough to try to harm you or recruit you simply… vanishes.
Zestial never mentions these incidents, but you know it's his doing. It's his way of saying, "No one touches what belongs to me," without uttering a single word.
He lets you sit on his lap; you snuggle up to him like a kitten with its wicked master.
You are very jealous and toxic. You don't like anyone getting near him. You stand between the person and your master. "Stay away from him if you don't want to die." "Firefly, it's fine, he's no danger at all."
Your "random gifts" are not received with joy, but with critical evaluation. You bring him the soul of an enemy, a lost relic, or valuable information. He takes them with his long fingers, examines them in the dim light of his lair, and, if they please him, nods almost imperceptibly. An unworthy gift is simply ignored, which for you is the most devastating punishment.
He will never ask you to risk yourself for him. In fact, he rarely asks anything of you. The beauty of your devotion, in his mind, lies in the fact that all your reckless acts must be your own initiative. If you rush to protect him from a threat, he will simply watch, with his four arms crossed, to see if his "investment" (you) is strong enough to survive. If you succeed, you will have proven your worth.
At first, Vox masks his worrisome through a sharp grin. Nice tuxedo, smooth clean shoes, nothing different about em. You might just have a dead phone, visiting family - friends, hell maybe he said the wrong thing and you needed a break. Who is he to go around and control you and where you go? As he told Valentino, how would the Vees look if they were following whores around hell? Oh who is he fooling. You’re not any whore. You’re his. And every second he spends meticulously watching the cameras around pentagon city that doesn’t find you, is an issue.
Valentino texts occasionally, at least that’s what he’s been telling the Vees, but the 200+ unread messages he sent shows otherwise. He’s furious, upset more than anything else. He makes no excuses for you, taking his anger and frustration out on those around him. When he gets his hands on you he swears you’ll be punished for this, or anyone else involved in the matter! If you were going to disappear, at least a conversation, fuck- even a message would’ve been nice! But maybe you knew, he wouldn’t have gave you an option to leave them in the first place.
Velvette plays it off way better than the other two. As the level headed one of the group, she taps away, acting indifferent in her chair. Though keeping her pampered hands clutched onto her phone just tight enough; actively checking her notifications. Just incase it’s your photo that finally blesses her screen. Though it doesn’t take long before her legs start bouncing, her nails begin chipping, and her styled hair starts frizzing from the thought, you just might be gone forever.
OOOOOO! May we please have Vees fluff where they come home from the battle with Alastor & reader was worried for their safety? However discovering they're not only okay but got Alastor, she embraces them all in a kiss and hug. (From Reader is from the Vee au)
The Vees x Reader
The clock on the wall had ticked itself hoarse. Every second since they’d left had dragged like hours. You’d tried to sit still, but the silence of the penthouse was unbearable—too big, too cold without them.
A battle with Alastor wasn’t some casual street scuffle. Even for the Vees, it was dangerous. The Radio Demon didn’t play fair.
You bit your nail, a nervous habit. You'd almost pleaded with them to take you with them.
"But I won't even participate! I'll just watch from the sidelines, and be very perfectly hidden." You'd tried to reassure them.
"Uh-huh nope, babe. You're not going anywhere near danger." Velvette shook her head. "Don't worry about your sweet little head over it. It's just a walk in the park!"
"That's right! No need to leave the comfort of our place for that smiling freak." Vox's claws came on your shoulders. "And besides, we need someone here to hold the fort."
You'd sighed as you adjusted Vox's bowtie and reloaded Val's guns and handed it to him.
"Gracias, querida." Val grinned.
You startled out of your thoughts as you heard the V tower's door bang open, and relief swept over you as you saw Vox and the other two Vees wall behind him.
“Holy fuck! Everyone out—look who I have! Ah-ha-ha!” Vox spun a chair into the middle of the room.
Seated in it...arms tied neatly behind his back, a thick blue plate clamped over his mouth, was Alastor. The metal plate on his mouth had a drawn-on frown.
Your body finally moved before your brain did—you ran forward, half-angry, half-relieved, and threw yourself into Vox’s chest.
He caught you with a startled “whoa!” as you buried your face into his suit. His screens dimmed slightly, the usual glitchy static softening to a low hum. “Easy there, sweetheart.”
"I'm glad you're all okay." You turned towards the other two.
You threw yourself at them, wrapping your arms around whoever you could reach first. It ended up as a messy pile—Vox’s arm circling your waist, Velvette leaning in with a laugh, Val’s huge hand settling over all three of you.
Vox was still speaking to others, giving orders, but the moment you cupped his face, the gaze steadied on you. You pressed your lips to his.
Velvette snorted. “Gross. Move over.”
She leaned forward before you could even turn, hands on your cheeks, grin softening. Her kiss was quick, playful, and a little glitter-sticky from her lip gloss. When she pulled back, she winked.
Then came Valentino.
He was watching you with that familiar glint—half-predator, half-man-on-the-verge-of-melting. You could already see the possessiveness flickering in his eyes, the way his gloved fingers twitched like he was holding himself back.
When you stepped into his space, his smirk faltered for the briefest second. You cupped his jaw and kissed him slow, deep, tasting smoke and iron and adrenaline. He growled low in his chest, one hand gripping your waist.
Behind you, a disgusted grunt broke the moment.
You turned. Alastor sat exactly where Vox had left him, chair scuffed from how hard he’d tried to twist free. The metal plate on his mouth muffled what sounded suspiciously like a groan of disgust.
“Oh—sorry um Radio Demon...sir!” you said, taking a small step back from the Vees. “No PDA, got it!”
Reader being the fourth vee in this whole mess and just straight up nopes out when you see just how UNHINGED Vox is getting and you know his ass is going to get you, y'know, actually killed?? Like your shit is racing because there's no after-afterlife like fucking hell this motherfucker is gonna send angels to your fucking doorstep with the bullseye he painted himself.
Valentino and Velvette?? Hot at your heels and just fucking nopes out too because this shit isn't funny anymore and the idea of "overthrowing" and "ruling" heaven too?? Excuse me, a holy-fucking-war?? BE FR. That ain't the cosmopolitans and margeritas and modeling and runways and EVERYTHING THEY WORKED HARD FOR!! JUST TO BE THROWN OUT!!! BECAUSE SOMEONE IS WAAAAAY OVER HIS HEAD!!!!!!
