Helluva Boss X Reader

Introduction Part 1: Welcome to Hell, and to Your New Body

You had FUCKING BEANS!

Thank the gods they didn't completely cover the underside of your fingers; you retained the flexibility in them. In fact, your fingers felt almost more flexible. You closed your hands into fists, feeling an amount of strength that was alien to you, as you flexed your arms underneath your jacket, causing it to strain against your new muscle.

"Damn." You thought. "At least being a furry comes with some upsides. Wait. AM I A FUCKING FURRY!?" You screamed internally. "No, I'm not a furry," you told (lied to) yourself. That was what you called deranged people who wanted to fuck animals and dress like them. Just because you suddenly looked like all of the pictures of people's furry personas didn't make you a furry. Did it? Fuck.

Your mind still racing with questions about your furry status, you looked past your hands and saw that the lower half of your body was almost unrecognizable. Your legs bent at unfamiliar angles, pants straining against the new form. Your feet were still in the winter boots you had worn when you were alive. You were too scared to take them off and see what your feet looked like.

"Yup," you thought to yourself again, "This is Hell."

XXX

As you spent more time in Hell, you discovered it was unlike what you had been taught to fear in life. This was, not, in fact, a flaming pit where demons tortured sinners. This was just a flaming pit with sinners that tortured each other, through the inevitable continuation of consciousness and societal expectations. So basically, just Earth again.

You discovered though, that Hell was even more classist than Earth; there was a whole fucking hierarchy. Demon Royalty was at the top, followed by sinners forever stuck in the Pride Ring, followed by most Hellborn, then imps, and then finally hellhounds. Sinners ended up taking an appearance, unwillingly, related to the manner in which they died. And holy (unholy?) crap did you pull the shortest fucking straw that you had died to wolves; you looked like a hellhound, and were treated as such. Sinners and Hellborn alike treated you like refuse; you were barely able to convince the few "people" you actually took the time to talk to that you were, in fact, a sinner, and not a member of the species at the bottom of the FUCKING totem pole. Not that it mattered. Most people didn't want to listen to some excuse a hellhound tried to give them to not treat them like shit.

Hellhounds were treated like pets, security, rabid animals, slaves. You were spat at, kicked, petted without consent, scratched, teased, FUCKING MUZZLED at one point. You were expected to have an owner. If you didn't, people would treat you worse, given that you had nobody to report them to. Hell, if you hadn't been older than 20, you might've been kept in a fucking pound.

Luckily, this worked in your favor, if only to give you a fraction of convenience. Because almost everyone thought you were a hellhound, you had been able to find multiple jobs that didn't ask you to sell your soul to an Overlord. At least, not one that didn't take it by the hour regardless. That was another position on the totem pole; Overlords. Overlords were able to amass power by making deals for souls. Honestly, the idea intrigued you enough that you were willing to try and become one yourself over time. Not like you didn't have plenty of that in eternity. You just had to come up with a pitch that would convince sinners to actually give up their soul to you.

These kinds of ideas swam in your mind as you tried to get through your shift at the off brand "BarkBucks." Christ on a stick was that name condescending. You had oodles of time to come up with pitches as you talked to the patrons, much to the chagrin of your boss at this particular franchise. You were always able to play it off as a curiosity of Overlords, rather than actually trying to get people to sell their soul to you.