Helluva Boss X Reader

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

"What would a fucking hellhound know about having a soul?"

The way they said "hellhound" made you want to leap over the counter and strangle them.

"That's rich! I might take that idea for myself. Not that you could stop me, MUTT."

(You were actually lucky enough to see that sinner try it, and promptly get his head caved in.)

"An interesting thought. I might've given it more credit had it not come from a slobbering dog."

That one in particular stung the most. You couldn't refute it because you were still pretending to be a hellhound to your boss.

"Where's my fucking coffee?"

Most conversations went like that.

Maybe one day you'd be able to acquire enough power to rise above your station, and finally be treated with the respect you deserve. Maybe you'd find a better job, where you didn't have to hide the fact that you were a sinner, or maybe you could seduce Demon Royalty, and live a luxurious lifestyle. Who knows? It could happen. At least then you wouldn't be treated like a fucking hellhound. You fucking furry.

XXX

It happened as you were serving a small imp customer at the counter. Your shoulders were slumped, and you looked at him with a bored expression as you listened to his incessant prattling.

"I'll have the Neapolitan cappuccino, More Cappa than Chino. Make sure it's got no more than 4oz of milk, The beans won't have the right texture otherwise. And make sure you spell my name correctly on the cup. You always put Voxxie or Roxy. I hate that. if you can't handle that, I'll have a Venti Traditional Misto. Please use soy milk with two blonde shots, Affogato and Ristretto. I'd also love three vanilla pumps at the very bottom. Then add the coffee after."

Good fucking Gods you hated this guy.

As the little imp droned on and on, you overheard two sinner patrons that frequented the place talking about this business that went up to the human world. Apparently, they charged you for killing anyone you wanted, granted they were still alive. One of the sinners was basically a ball of sweaty fat and muscle, with large, distended veins pulsing from every part of his body, and the other looked like he had been hastily assembled from broken dresser drawers. You had easily guessed how they had died long ago.

Their conversation intrigued you, because you had never heard of demons having access to Earth before. You perked up, ignoring the imp speaking as you handed him his coffee. It was probably wrong, but you didn't care. Maybe there'd be some sinner clients at this business, who were looking for immediate revenge after their death, and hadn't yet sold their soul. You looked around your workspace, wary if your boss could see you right now. You snuck two pastries as you came out from behind the counter, approaching the sinners having this conversation.

"Hey guys, boss wanted to give you these, on the house. You've been some pretty loyal customers, and he wanted to thank you for your patronage." You lied, mentally gritting your teeth, but still wearing a polite smile. These two knew you were a sinner, and often abused you like a hellhound despite this, for better or for worse. You were grateful that they had inadvertently kept your secret, even if they didn't know they were doing it. But you still fucking hated their guts.

"Aww, thanks puppy. Want a treat?" the veiny one mocked, as if he was speaking to a baby. You were sure he'd actually kill a baby if he ever met one. The drawer one piped up: "Yeah, you, uh...fuck. I can't come up with anything." Raising his wooden splinter hands in a shrug to his partner. In response, the sweaty ball rolled what you could only assume were his eyes. "Whatever, hellhound." He knew you hated that, and often defaulted to this insult when he couldn't come up with anything better. You actually gritted your teeth this time.

"Hey, I couldn't help but overhear you talking about some kind of business, where they kill still-living people?" You asked, smiling through your teeth, trying to give an air of being conversational. Your cold eyes gave away that you were filled with hatred though. The two noticed and scoffed, but luckily, they humored you.

"Yeah: I.M.P., you give 'em a name, and they kill your bitch." The broken drawer one said. "I had 'em kill my moving guy. You know, the one that let my furniture fall down some stairs onto me when I was still alive. Fucking prick killed me."

"Hey, FUCK YOU!" a disembodied voice called out from across the café. He was obviously the moving guy in question. All three of you ignored him.

"A very niche business." The veiny one said, continuing the conversation from his partner. "Not many sinners actually have someone that killed them. I should know, I died alone!" He laughed, but almost immediately broke down crying. You almost puked at the sight, silently gagging as you watching his fatty and fleshy body heave and pulse. Obviously, he had died of a heart attack.

"(Y/N)!!"

Your boss couldn't handle it anymore. He had overheard all of this, and had talked to one of your coworkers, who had obviously just ratted you out about the pastries. You flipped your coworker the bird, out of your boss's view, who himself was rapidly approaching. You could almost see the fumes coming from his ear fins.

He was Hellborn, hailing from the Envy Ring. He was short and chubby, having the appearance of a pufferfish. You towered over him, easily two or three heads taller than him.

"Giving a customer the wrong order, stealing, abandoning your position to fraternize with your friends!?" He shouted, not caring that everyone in the café immediately turned their head towards your little group.

"They're not-" You were cut off as your boss continued.

"Fucking hellhound! Can't follow directions for a single day! If I was your owner, I'd fucking put you down!" He said, shaking his finger aggressively up at you, furious. Your ears folded down as you heard that. Not out of fear, but out of anger, and the sudden bloodlust that ran through your veins. A loud, audible growl escaped you as you revealed your teeth from behind your black lips.

Everyone in the café who was listening gasped. Not at his statement of having you killed, but at the sound of your growl. It was unheard of for a hellhound to retaliate like that in a professional setting; there was too much a hellhound could lose socially. The two sinners you were just talking to inched themselves away, to the side of their seats furthest away from you. Your boss paused, second-guessing himself as he nearly pissed himself, slowly and unconsciously expanding, in self-defense as a pufferfish does. He noticed the general reaction of the patrons, then quickly forced himself smaller as he struggled to regain his composure, and take control of the situation. He raised his finger again. That stupid fucking finger.

"(Y/N), YOU'RE FIRE—" this time, he was the one cut off as you reared back and kicked him across the room in a fury, the hard and rough bottoms of your winter boots from your Deathday adding to the impact. He blew up fully this time, becoming lighter as he filled with air and bounced off several tables, poking holes in paper cups with the spines that stuck out of him.

Almost immediately screams came from the patrons, and you heard several people dial Hell's equivalent of animal control. SHIT. As people scrambled to get out of their chairs and run towards the exits, fearing you like some kind of uncontrollable monster, you sprinted towards the entrance; pushing past customers as you fled. You didn't have to push many; they eagerly jumped back as they tried to get away from you.

When you finally crashed through the doors of the entrance, you looked back to see multiple hellhound customers and coworkers look back at you with various shades of disgust, shame, and disdain. You obviously had just made their lives at this café a whole lot harder. FUCK. You weren't even really one of them, but you still felt horrible.

You sprinted down the street, away from the chaos that you had just caused. You hated being treated like this. Eternal torture was worse when even other sinner treated you like shit, and Hell's hierarchy was out to get you. You had to get out of Hell.

There was only one place on you mind as you ran: I.M.P.

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