#hb x reader

"Okay," you said to yourself, voice hoarse and shaky. "Okay. Get it together. You can't just... sit here forever."

Even if sitting here forever sounded really appealing right now.

You took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to think logically. You were stuck in some kind of nightmare. You had no idea how to get home. You were covered in trash. And you were very, very alone.

But you were alive. That had to count for something, right?

Your hands were shaking as you started going through your pockets, taking inventory of what you had. Maybe there was something useful. Maybe there was—

Your phone.

You pulled it out with trembling fingers, hope flaring in your chest.

The screen was cracked. Completely spider-webbed from one corner to the other. And when you pressed the power button, nothing happened. Dead. Or just broken. Either way, it was useless.

"Fuck," you whispered, shoving it back in your pocket anyway. What else were you going to do, throw it away?

Your keys were still there, jingling softly. Keys to an apartment in a dimension you couldn't reach. Keys to a life that felt impossibly far away.

You kept searching.

Your wallet was there, made of cheap leather that was now slightly damp. You pulled it out and opened it with numb fingers.

Twenty-five dollars. One twenty, and five ones. Your debit card, which would be absolutely useless here. Your driver's license with your photo looking back at you—you looked so normal in that picture, so blissfully unaware.

A punch card for the coffee shop near your work. Nine punches. One more and you'd have gotten a free latte.

The absurdity of it almost made you laugh. Or cry again. You weren't sure which.

Your other pocket yielded a pack of gum—spearmint, half-empty. Five pieces left.

So. You had twenty-five dollars that probably wouldn't work as currency here, some gum, a broken phone, useless keys, and the clothes on your back that were currently plastered with garbage.

"Great," you muttered. "Just great. I'm sure this will be super helpful."

You shoved everything back in your pockets and forced yourself to stand up. Your legs protested, shaky and weak, but they held.

You couldn't just stay in this alley. You had to... do something. Find someone who could help. Find a way home. Find anything that made sense.

Or at least find somewhere that wasn't next to a dumpster.

Stepping out of the alley felt like stepping onto an alien planet.

The street was wide and paved with something that looked like black glass, reflecting the neon lights in shifting patterns. Buildings rose up on either side, all curves and suggestive architecture, every surface covered in glowing advertisements that pulsed in time with the music.

And the music was everywhere. Bass so deep you felt it in your chest, mixing with synth and vocals that ranged from sultry to explicit. It created a soundscape that was overwhelming and disorienting and made it hard to think.

The sidewalks were packed with demons.

All kinds. All shapes. All sizes.

A couple walked past you, locked in an embrace that should have gotten them arrested for public indecency. The woman—at least, you thought it was a woman—had purple skin and four arms, all of which were occupied. Her partner was saying something in her ear that made her laugh, low and throaty.

You quickly looked away, face burning.

Another demon sauntered past, seven feet tall and built like a swimmer, with luminescent markings that pulsed along his skin in patterns that drew the eye downward. He winked at someone across the street and blew a kiss.

A group stumbled out of one of the establishments, laughing and groping and very clearly advertising what they were about to go do. One of them spotted you and called out something, you didnt quite catch it, but the tone and the hand gesture made the meaning pretty clear.

"Oh my god," you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself and walking faster.

Every building you passed was some variation on the same theme. Nightclubs with names like "The Velvet Rope" and "Euphoria." Boutiques advertising costumes and toys and things you didn't want to think about too hard. Hotels with hourly rates displayed in neon. Restaurants with names that were barely disguised innuendos.

A demon couple was pressed up against a wall just ahead of you, and you had to step into the street to get around them. They didn't even notice you. Or care.

"Excuse me," you mumbled uselessly.

The further you walked, the more overwhelming it became. The sounds, the sights, the smells—everything was designed to assault the senses in the most literal way possible. Your face felt like it was permanently on fire from blushing.

A sign ahead advertised "Couple's Massages" with a picture that made very clear what kind of massages they were. Next to it, "The Honey Pot" promised "The Sweetest Sin You'll Ever Taste." Across the street, "Seventh Heaven" had a line out the door of demons in various states of dress and undress.

You kept your eyes fixed firmly on the ground and kept walking.

You had no plan. No destination. You were just moving because standing still felt dangerous. Maybe you'd find... what? A police station? A church? That seemed unlikely. A hotel or a shelter where you could clean up and think?

With twenty-five dollars that probably didn't even work here?

You were so screwed.

You'd been walking for maybe twenty minutes—though time felt weird here, stretched and compressed in ways that didn't make sense—when you turned a corner and nearly walked into a massive crowd.

The street had opened again, clearly a main road, and at its center stood a building that made every other establishment look understated by comparison.

It was huge. Three stories at least, all curved walls and dramatic architecture. The entire facade was covered in lights—that pulsed and swirled in hypnotic patterns. And at the top, in letters that must have been fifteen feet high "OZZIE'S"

Fuck, FUCK ... You'd gone in a circle, a perfect little loop.

The entrance to this 'OZZIE'S' was grand—massive double doors thrown open to reveal a glimpse of the interior. Red carpet. Gold railings. Blues and Magenta's across walls. More lights. A line of demons stretched from the doors halfway around the building, all dressed in their finest, which ranged from elegant evening wear to outfits that barely qualified as clothing.

Two massive bouncers flanked the entrance, checking people as they entered. They were both easily eight feet tall, built like brick walls, with horns that could probably gore someone.

As you watched, a demon couple approached—they were holding hands and gazing at each other with obvious adoration. The bouncers waved them through without a second glance.

A single demon tried to enter behind them. The bouncer's hand came down on his shoulder like a vice.

"Couples only," the bouncer rumbled. "You know the rules."

"But I have a reservation!" the demon protested.

"Couples. Only." The bouncer physically turned him around and gave him a gentle shove back toward the street. "Come back when you've got a date."

Oh.

That was a problem.

Because for some reason—some absolutely insane, probably stupid reason—you found yourself drawn to that building. Maybe it was because it was the biggest, most prominent establishment you'd seen. Maybe it was because the name "Ozzie's" had a ring of legitimacy to it, like it might be safer than some back-alley club.

Or maybe you were just desperate for anything that felt like shelter.

The crowd around the entrance was thick, demons milling about, some waiting in line, others just hanging around. You edged closer, trying to stay inconspicuous, which was hard when you were the only person there covered in garbage and not draped all over a partner.

You studied the entrance, looking for... what? A way to sneak in? That was insane. You've actually gone insane. You couldn't just sneak into what was clearly an exclusive club.

Could you?

The bouncers were focused on the main entrance, checking couples as they came up. But there were other doors along the side of the building. Service entrances, maybe? You edged around the crowd, pulling the hood of your jacket up, trying to look purposeful, like you belonged here.

One of the side doors was propped open slightly. Through the gap, you could see what looked like a service corridor—plain walls, no fancy decorations. And no one guarding it.

Your heart hammered in your chest.

This was stupid. This was so, so stupid.

But where else were you going to go?

You glanced around. No one was paying attention to you—they were all focused on their partners or on getting inside or on the various public displays happening around you.

You slipped through the door.

The service corridor was blessedly quiet compared to the chaos outside. The music was muffled here, just a distant thump of bass. The walls were plain concrete, lit by buzzing fluorescent lights that flickered occasionally.

You stood there for a moment, back pressed against the door, heart racing.

You'd just snuck into a demon nightclub.

"What the fuck am I doing?" you whispered.

But you couldn't go back out there. Not yet. In here, at least you were out of sight. You could catch your breath. Figure out your next move.

You started walking, following the corridor as it wound through what was clearly the behind-the-scenes area of the club. You passed doors labeled "Storage" and "Staff Only" and "Electrical." Voices drifted from some of them—demons chatting, laughing, working.

You walked quickly, quietly, trying to look like you belonged here even though you absolutely did not.

The corridor eventually opened up into a wider hallway, and suddenly you could hear the music much more clearly. And voices. Lots of voices. The sounds of a crowd.

You found yourself at the edge of a curtain. Through a gap, you could see the main floor of the club.

It was spectacular.

The interior was even more lavish than the exterior suggested. The ceiling soared overhead, covered in lights that shifted through colors. Chandeliers dripped with crystals. The walls were draped in rich fabrics—deep bluess and purples and golds. Curved booths lined the edges of the space, each one private and intimate.

And at the center, a stage. Currently empty, but clearly the focal point of the room.

The floor was packed with couples. Drinking, touching, kissing. The energy was electric, charged with an atmosphere that made your skin prickle.

This was a mistake. You needed to leave. You needed to—

"Can I help you?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

A server stood behind you, carrying a tray of drinks. She was tall and curvy, with skin a deep crimson and horns that curved back from her forehead. Her outfit was... minimal. And she was looking at you with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

"I—I was just—" you stammered.

"Are you lost, honey?" Her expression softened slightly. "You look lost. And no offense, but you smell like a dumpster."

Your face burned. "I... yes. Both. I'm both lost and I fell in a dumpster."

She raised an eyebrow. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea."

She studied you for a moment, then sighed. "Look, you can't be back here. This is staff only. And even if you got onto the main floor, the bouncers would kick you out in a heartbeat. Couples only rule."

"I know, I just—" What? What was your excuse? "I just needed somewhere to... I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll leave."

"Wait." She shifted the tray to one hand. "Are you okay? Like, actually okay? You do—and I'm not trying to be rude—but you look pretty rough."

The genuine concern in her voice almost made you start crying again.

"I'm... it's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" She glanced around, then made a decision. "Okay, look. I'm not supposed to do this, but you look like you're about to fall over. There's a booth in the back corner—way in the back, where no one sits because the view's crap. You can hide out there for a bit, catch your breath. But keep your head down, and if anyone asks, you're waiting for your date, got it?"

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

"Come on."

She led you through the curtain and along the edge of the room, staying out of the main flow of traffic. The booth she indicated was exactly as advertised—tucked into the far back corner, partially hidden by a decorative pillar. The view of the stage was partially obscured, but you could still see most of it.

"Thank you," you managed. "Really. Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. I could get fired." But she smiled. "Try to blend in, okay?"

She disappeared back into the crowd, and you slid into the booth, making yourself as small as possible.

The seat was upholstered in velvet, soft and luxurious. The table was polished wood with a candle centerpiece that cast dancing shadows. It was the nicest place you'd sat in hours.

You were in Ozzie's. Somehow. Against all odds and probability.

Now what?

You'd been sitting there for maybe ten minutes, trying to become one with the upholstery, when the lights suddenly dimmed.

The crowd noise changed, shifting from conversation to excited murmuring. Couples moved toward there seats, drinks in hand, settling into better viewing positions.

Something was about to happen.

Spotlights burst to life, crisscrossing the stage in patterns of blue and pink. Music swelled—something jazzy and energetic with a burlesque edge. Smoke billowed from hidden machines, and through it, a figure emerged.

Your blood ran cold.

It was the robot clown from Loo Loo Land.

Same height. Same build. Same mechanical movements. Green and pink stripes spiraling across his form. Jester's hat with bells that jingled.

No.

No, no, no.

You pressed yourself back into the booth, heart hammering. How had it found you? How did it get here? Was it going to—

"HELLOOOO LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" the figure called out, voice bright and energetic.

Wait.

The voice was wrong. It was similar—same pitch, same cadence—but it was... organic. Real. Not synthetic.

"Are you ready to get your FREAK on tonight?!"

The crowd roared its approval.

You peered out from your hiding spot, studying the figure more carefully.

He wasn't a robot. He was flesh and blood—or whatever demons had. The movements were similar to that robot clown's, but they were smoother, more natural. His face, while it bore a similar jester-like appearance, was expressive in ways the robot's never could be.

His eyes weren't mechanical. They were real, bright and mischievous, scanning the crowd with genuine personality behind them.

This wasn't a robot.

This was... someone else. Someone he'd been based on?

"I'm your host for tonight, the one, the only, FIZZAROLLI!" He swept into an elaborate bow, limbs bending in ways that suggested he was either incredibly flexible or had some kind of... extendable ability? "And boy oh boy, do we have a show for you tonight!"

He bounced across the stage—literally bounced, his legs acting like springs. The crowd ate it up.

"But first, I need to make sure you're all warmed up! Can't have you pulling something important!" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and the crowd laughed. "So I'm gonna need a volunteer! Someone to help me with a little... audience participation!"

Oh no.

"Now I know what you're thinking," Fizzarolli continued, prowling the stage. "Fizz, I'm here with my smoking hot date, I don't wanna leave them!" He clutched his chest dramatically. "And I get it, I do! But this'll only take a minute, and think of how impressed they'll be when you tell them you were on stage with THE Fizzarolli!"

His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a victim.

You sank lower in your seat.

Don't look here. Don't look here. Don't—

His eyes locked onto your booth.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was looking at someone else. Maybe he was looking past you. Maybe—

A grin spread across his face, wide and delighted.

"Oh! OH! I see someone trying to hide back there! Don't think I can't see you!"

Fuck.

"Come on, don't be shy!"

The spotlight swung toward your booth, and suddenly you were illuminated like a moth pinned to a board. The entire club turned to look at you.

You shook your head frantically.

"Aw, come on! The crowd wants to see you! Don't you, folks?"

The crowd cheered encouragingly.

"I'll make it quick, I promise! Well... I mean, I'll try. Sometimes I get carried away!" He laughed. "But seriously, come on up here!"

You remained frozen.

Fizzarolli's expression shifted slightly—something calculating crossed his features. Then he was moving, bouncing off the stage and through the crowd with surprising speed.

Before you could even think to run, he was at your booth.

Up close, he was even more striking. The stripes weren't just green and pink—they had gradients, shifting between shades. His eyes were intense—yellow sclera, pink irises. And his smile, while big, wasn't threatening like the robot's. It was performative. Charming, even.

"There you are!" He reached out a hand—his arms extended, stretching like taffy, and you yelped in surprise. "Don't worry, I don't bite! Much. That's a joke! Come on, let's give them a show!"

His hand closed around your wrist—and before you could protest, he was pulling you out of the booth and toward the stage.

"Wait, I can't—I don't—" you stammered, but the crowd was already applauding.

"Too late! You're already committed!" He hauled you up onto the stage with him. "Look at this little cutie, folks! Let's give her a round of applause!"

The spotlight was blinding. The crowd was a sea of faces. Your heart was trying to escape through your throat.

As you stumbled onto the stage, you realized with a start that you were almost exactly at eye level with him. He was shorter than you'd expected—just under your height, actually.

"Now," Fizzarolli said, still holding your wrist. "What's your name, sugar?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your mind was completely blank.

"I-i don't know—"

"I dont know! Sounds exotic—I like it!" He winked at the crowd.

What followed was possibly the most surreal hour of your life—and considering where your day had gone, that was saying something.

Fizzarolli was a professional. That much was immediately clear. Even though you were clearly terrified and had no idea what you were doing, he worked around it, incorporating your nervousness into the act like it was planned.

"Okay, Cutie, I'm gonna need you to stand riiiight here." He positioned you center stage. "Perfect! Now, don't move. Seriously, don't even twitch."

"Why?" you managed to squeak out.

"Oh, you'll see!" That probably should have worried you more.

He bounced away, pulling juggling clubs from seemingly nowhere. "Now, folks, some of you might know I also work in the circus! True story! And one of my specialties is—"

He threw the first club. It spun through the air, passing so close to your head you felt the breeze, and he caught it with his other hand without even looking.

"—juggling around people who really, really hope I don't fuck up!"

The crowd laughed. You made a sound that might have been a whimper.

"Don't worry!" Another club, passing on your other side. "I've only hit someone, like, twice! This month!"

"Oh my god," you whispered.

"And they barely needed stitches!"

More clubs joined the pattern. Four, five, six. They spun through the air around you in a dizzying display, coming close enough that you could feel each of them whooshing past but never quite touching you.

You stood perfectly still, barely breathing, convinced you were about to be concussed by a juggling club.

But Fizzarolli never missed. His hands moved in a blur, snatching clubs out of the air and sending them back up in an endless cascade. And while he juggled, he kept up a running commentary that had the crowd in stitches.

"You know what I love about juggling? The existential dread on people's faces! Look at this cutie here! Absolutely certain she's about to die! It's beautiful!"

You couldn't even be offended. He was right.

"But see, here's the thing—" He caught all the clubs in rapid succession, one after another, until he held them all in his extended arms. "—when you've been doing this as long as I have, it's like breathing! I could do this in my sleep! While drunk! While high! While—well, you get the idea!"

He tossed all the clubs behind him without looking, and they landed perfectly in a waiting bucket you hadn't even seen.

"Let's hear it for our gorgeous volunteer folks! She didn't faint OR piss herself! That's a new record!"

The crowd applauded. You were shaking.

Fizzarolli bounded over to you, threw an arm around your shoulders. "You did great! Seriously, you were perfect! I mean, you looked like you were about to have a heart attack, but that's what made it funny!"

"Can I... can I sit down now?" you managed.

"Of course! But first—" He spun you to face the crowd, his arm still around you. "One more round of applause for our brave volunteer!"

The crowd cheered. You caught glimpses of smiling faces, demons raising glasses in salute.

"You can head back to your seat now! Or the bar! First drink's on the house for being such a good sport!"

He released you, and you stumbled off the stage on shaky legs. A server appeared out of nowhere and pressed a glass of water into your hands. You took it gratefully and made your way back to your booth as Fizzarolli launched into the next part of his act.

You collapsed into the seat and downed half the water in one go.

What the fuck just happened?

Above the crowd, in a private booth that was more luxurious than most people's apartments, Asmodeus lounged on a velvet couch and watched his boyfriend perform.

He was magnificent, as always. Fizz had the crowd eating out of his hand—working them into a frenzy before the main show even started. It was a gift, really, the way he could read a room and adjust his performance on the fly.

Ozzie took a sip of his drink—something expensive and burning—and smiled.

The door burst open with Fizzarolli's trademark energy.

"Did you SEE that? Did you SEE? I fucking nailed it!" Fizz bounced into the room, practically vibrating with post-performance energy. "That one guy in the third row almost fell out of his chair! And the couple by the bar were so into it they—well, let's just say security's gonna have to hose down that section!"

"I saw, babe." Ozzie's voice was deep and warm, amused. "You were perfect, as always."

"Damn right I was!" Fizz flopped onto the couch next to him, sprawling across Ozzie's lap like a cat. "Though I gotta say, that volunteer I pulled up? Cutest fucking thing I've seen all week."

Ozzie raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She was so scared!" Fizz laughed, but it wasn't mean. "Like a little puppy that doesn't know if they're gonna get pet or kicked. Just standing there shaking, trying so hard not to bolt. It was adorable."

"Since when do you go for adorable?" Ozzie teased, running a finger down one of Fizz's arms affectionately. "Usually you like them confident. Bratty, even."

"Hey, I appreciate all types!" Fizz protested. "But seriously, Ozzie, you should've seen her up close. So, cute and like, basically my height, which you know doesn't happen often with non-imps. And soft-looking. Not like... demon soft. Different."

"Different how?"

Fizz sat up slightly, his expression thoughtful. "I don't know. She just... didn't feel like they belonged here. And not in the 'wrong club' way. More like... fundamentally wrong place." He shook his head. "I'm probably overthinking it. But she was cute! In that 'lost puppy' kind of way. Reminded me of the quieves, actually. All big eyes and nervous energy."

Ozzie's expression shifted, a grin spreading across his features. "The quieves? Really?"

"What?"

"Froggy, honey, babe, light of my extremely long life—" Ozzie's grin got wider. "You're blushing."

"I am not—" Fizz touched his face. His cheeks were definitely warmer than usual. "Oh. Huh."

"You thought she was cute."

"I mean, yeah, objectively—"

"You're blushing about someone being cute." Ozzie's tone was playfully incredulous. "You. The demon who literally performs in a lust club every night. Who's seen every body type, every species, every possible combination thereof. And you're blushing about a scared little thing in the back booth."

"Okay, first of all, fuck you." Fizz pointed at him without any real heat. "Second, it's not like that. I just thought she was... you know. Sweet? In a weird way?"

"Uh-huh."

"Also, can we talk about the fact that she's alone? In Ozzie's? How did she even get past the bouncers?"

"Good question." Ozzie pulled out his phone and typed something quickly. "I'm asking security now."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment while they waited for a response. Fizz had curled back into Ozzie's side, his jester hat bells jingling softly as he shifted, and the larger demon absently stroked his back.

"You know," Ozzie said slowly, "I don't think I've ever seen you this interested in someone of the, ah, fairer sex? Usually you're all about the pretty boys."

"I can contain multitudes," Fizz said dramatically. "I'm a complex imp with varied tastes."

"You told me last week that women were 'nice to look at but not really your thing.'"

"Well maybe this one's different! I don't know! She was just—" He made a frustrated noise. "She looked so lost, Ozzie. And scared. Like she'd stumbled into the wrong dimension and didn't know how to get home."

Ozzie's phone buzzed.

"Hm. Security says there's no record of them coming through the front. No reservation, no name on the list."

"So she snuck in."

"Apparently."

Fizz sat up fully now, looking at Ozzie with an expression that the King of Lust knew all too well. It was the same expression Fizz got when they'd first found the quieves—a stray pack of the hell equivalent of puppies that had somehow ended up in Lust. The same expression that had resulted in them now having a pack of the yapping creatures living in their home.

It was the 'can we keep it?' expression.

"Fizzy," Ozzie said warningly.

"I'm just saying, maybe we should check on her? Just to make sure she's okay? She's probably still out there, all alone in that booth, confused and scared and alone—did I mention alone?"

"You want to invite a random demon who snuck into our club backstage."

"When you say it like that it sounds weird."

"It IS weird."

"But also kind of nice?"

Ozzie sighed, but he was smiling. This was why he loved Fizz—his boyfriend had the biggest heart of any demon he'd ever met, hidden under all the crass jokes and performer's bravado.

"Fine. But if they turn out to be some kind of stalker, you're dealing with it."

"Deal!" Fizz bounced up, excited. "I'll send someone to invite her back! Oh, this is gonna be interesting!"

"That's one word for it," Ozzie muttered, but he was already curious himself.

Something about this situation felt... unusual. And in a realm of sin and excess, unusual was always worth investigating.

Five minutes later, you looked up from where you'd been staring at your water glass, trying to process the last hour of your life, to find a server—different from the one who'd helped you earlier—standing there with a professional smile.

"Excuse me," she said politely. "Mr. Fizzarolli and Mr. Asmodeus request your presence backstage."

You blinked. "I'm sorry, who?"

"The owners they'd like to speak with you. If you're willing."

Your brain struggled to process this. "Owners? Like... the owners of the club?"

"The very same," the server confirmed. "Will you come?"

You should say no. This was definitely a trap or a trick or something bad. You should absolutely, definitely say no.

"Um," you said instead. "Okay?"

What in the hell were you doing?

The server smiled. "Excellent. Follow me, please."

—scissoring with Stolas on Blitz’s desk.

Y’all’s boyfriend had been gone foreverrrr! You and Stolas were beyond bored, too excited for the ‘fun night’ Blitz had promised earlier.

Ever shameless, Stolas suggests a head start on the ‘fun’ since a certain imp was running behind. And who were you to deny your pretty boyfriend?

“O-oh!” Stolas was loud as ever, prompting you to shove your tongue in his mouth so quiet him. “Y/n, it’s—“

“I know.” You whispered against his mouth. Your fingers gripped at his thighs, keeping them flush against his chest, while you basically sat on him like a chair and rode him.

The sounds of your combined slick was almost obscene, making even Stolas flush. But all he did was beg for more, fingers needily grabbing at any part of you he could reach.

“Please don’t stop, you’re making me feel so good, my love..” Stolas was gasping and whimpering, kissing at you messily yet lovingly. His hips were bucking up, feathers ruffled, pupils in the shape of hearts.

Obliging, your pace increased as much as it could without slipping off due to the mess between your bodies.

Just before Stolas was about to cum, the door slammed open, startling both of you.

Blitz just stands there for a moment, eyes a little wild and his tail flicking, darting his gaze over the scene in front of him.

“That is so fucking hot-“ Blitz groaned, a sound from deep in his throat, as the door swung shut. He prowled over to his desk, eagerly crawling on top to sit beside your and Stolas’ tangled up frames. “Keep goin’.”

You took the opportunity to lean forward and sloppily kiss Blitz, murmuring your appreciation for his return. Stolas complained a little— at least until Blitz leaned down (leaving you bent in half, chest against Stolas’) and kissed Stolas too.

Blitz gripped your hips tightly, massaging the skin, as he began to move you himself; fucking you over Stolas with mutters and growls of praise and filth.

“Look at the two of you..fuckin’ messy. Couldn’t wait for me, huh? Fuuuck..” Blitz’s tail coiled around your throat. “Ridin’ our pretty boy good?”

“Uh-huh. Making him feel sooo good.” You preen, glancing down to see Stolas’ fucked out face— though yours probably mirrored his. You left a kiss against the owl’s mouth for emphasis.

Stolas smiled dazedly, eyes barely able to peek open. He was close and the tingles of heat shooting up his spine made him arch.

You and Stolas each pressed a hand over the straining bulge in Blitz’ pants, squeezing and rubbing in time with each of your thrusts.

Blitz was unapologetically the loudest, cursing out how good the two of you were. Stolas matched his pitch, breathlessly babbling out praise and begs to cum. You made some pitchy noises here and there, but kept your mouth occupied so you could listen to your pretty boyfriends instead.

And when you all came? Genuinely sounded like a porno.

He will babytrap you, 100%

As I have said before, Mammon likes the idea of having complete control over you, your life, and everything you do. And what better of a way to do that than making you bear his child?

He gets this magical, invasive idea when talking to one of his work buddies. He was talking about how annoying you were, even though he cannot live without you, when his co-worker mentions how much responsibility and care a woman has for her children. And the idea hits him. If you are just going to sit around lazily all day like a spoiled brat, why not add a child into the mix?

So he will have you prowled up against his chest, his cock basically stuffing you full, as he pistons in and out of your already sore pussy. Seemingly out of nowhere, telling you

"You'd be such a good mother, wouldn't you babe."

"'Wanna see you swoll with my kids, wouldn't that be somethin'-"

Which makes you feel physically ill. Raising a child with Mamm would be basically impossible. You would never raise a child with this man. Would he support you? Would he genuinley care for your baby? Oh Satan, would he even care-

Your thoughts are abrupted as Mammon stuffs you with his seed, finishing inside yours walls and painting them with a loud groan. He gives your ass a harsh slap, as he watches his cum spilling out of you. He looks you in the eyes, and gives you a daunty chuckle. He forces you to look up at him with your tired, exhausted eyes, as he tells you ohoho babe, we aren't finished until i'm done, alright?.

And he keeps that promise, with the goal of getting you pregnant. He knows the public would go feral. The King of Greed? With a child? It gives him a publicity boost, which in turn, is good for his business, and his image.

Once you find out you are pregnant, you have to eventually tell Mammon, to your dismay. Every day, he makes you take an on brand pregnancy test as he watches. He will hold the test while you pee. Yes you heard me right. So when the test says positive one day, he is over the moon. Not at the fact that he is going to be a father, but at the fact that he is now in complete control over you, and that he can use another part of you as a pawn in his twisted fantasy.

The paparazzi have a field day over this news, because he ends up almost immediately making an announcement. There are headlines, candid photos of you going forcefully outside by mammon, etc. Its like a never ending nightmare. And dont be mistaken, he would never let you out of his sights, or get an abortion. He thinks this is too good of an opportunity.

Behind closed doors, he will actually treat you very well. Feeding you, paying attention to your every need, and not letting you lift a finger. He may even go out of his way to find some stuff by himself at the store. He'll will make you go outside with him. But at times he has to do a meeting, or host an event, he will have his goons escort you places, making sure you go public routes, to get a really good look at your swollen belly.

Brings you to meetings during this time, and picking your outfits carefully. He cant have his darling wearing any disgusting maternity clothes. So he will have you perches on his lap while he sits in his seat, embarrassment eating you whole as you see the sins/overlords snickering and bickering presumably at you. He has one hand rubbing your round belly, and one hand rubbing your shoulders as Mammon discusses his newest buisness plan.

He would create a Mammon Baby Care line. He knows he will profit off your pregnancy

"Alright fellas, so i was thinking for the ladys, a Mammon breast pump, hm? Its great right? Oh! And Mammon themed bibs, ha! Sure to make me a bunch, right babes?"

People think, how could you let Mammon knock you up? Of course, millions of girls idolize Mammon, and would want to be with him. But sometimes it feels like you are the only one who is infatuated with him. So you will try to look past the fact that he got you pregnant. You'll just try to be hopeful. But it is literally impossible with the way he keeps sweet talking you, as you snap back into the sad reality that you will be having Mammons child, and raising it. No questions to be asked.

He will lead you to subconsciously feel insecure about you and your body. He will squeeze your newly chubby cheeks, glaze his fingers over your stretch marks newly littering your body, etc. And he definitely does that on purpose.

As you reach up to the half full Nutella jar in the high cabinet in the kitchen, you hear a pair of loud footsteps coming behind you. Its Mammon. You try your best to ignore him, but you cant help but feel uneasy when you feel a pair of familiar eyes on you. It is currently 1:30 AM, and he is in a really tired mood.

"You need help sweets?"

He said with a suckle voice, knowing its affects on you are vast. He looks you up and down, admiring your perfect body in his mind. Your curves, belly, and the look your giving him. It makes him want to just bend you over and fuck your brains out likes theres no tomorrow. But he cant, he just has to be extra agile with you.

"Mamm..."

"Yeah?"

"Do I look fat?"

Ohhh boy. The question you always ask when you feel like he's eyeing you up. he hates when you ask that, because then he has to make up some half assed excuse to why he's looking at you a certain way. When your pregnant, he basically has to walk on eggshells around you.

"You... look like your carrying my child, and I like the sight of that."

"Okay, do you love me?"

He pauses. One wrong answer, and you'll refuse to talk to him for weeks. You two, as of your relationship, are in a really good spot right now. You will basically do anything for him. But you are really sensitive emotionally and physically, due to your hormones.

As he walks up behind you, he lifts you up by your waist, and hold you up to the cabinet, letting you reach.

"Y/N."

He says in a low, gruff voice.

"Yeah Mamm?"

"What the hell kind of question is that. Of course I love you."

He says as you look at him, face to face. You watch his eyes never leave yours, which makes you break off eye contact in a flustered state. You then realize that he is holding you, which makes you feel insecure.

"Okay, I love you too Mamm"

"Alright, now get your sweet treat, and get the fuck to bed, and hurry up. We've got a busy day tomorrow sweets."

He sets you down, and leaves the kitchen, leaving you with yourself, your Nutella and a spoon in hand. You look down at yourself, and your huge stomach. You wonder how you got yourself into this twisted predicament. You mostly worry about your baby's future as Mammons child. Because you are aware that Mammon will only use them for his own monetary gain. You cannot escape this man, even if you try. But you can always pretend you have your own free will, and you could always just eat your silly thoughts away, as Mammon always told you.

He prefers to dominate, doing most of the work- he wouldn't call it work though, due to the size difference.

It's unfortunate that the physical differences between Mammon and yourself are too great for traditional sex, but that only encourages creativity in his mind.

He's a bit of a feeder, he likes to see you full and happy. Mammon also has a sort or oral fixation, likes to watch you snack on grapes or chips or chocolate. He thinks it's silly and adorable when you bite off more than you can chew. He won't feed you to the point of discomfort. Mammon's not going to forgive himself if you're upset over your body changing. But he'll be quietly enjoying when you gain just a couple pounds

You finishing will almost never mark the end of a session with Mammon. He likes to watch porn with you, have you lay on top of him while he touches you. He loves to see that overstimulated look on your face when you cum and he just doesn't stop the little ministrations, little tears in your eyes when you grip onto his hands and squirm

Once he decides that's enough, he'll pick your limp body up and sit you on his face, making sure to clean you up. If you're not twitchy and whimpering by the end, he didn't do well enough.

The sins were… mixed in theirs attendance

Satan was a rare appearance, and usually a brief one, his temper and interest was not upper class friendly enough for the parties to keep his interest, the dragon was getting better at it after Belphegor's therapy imp indication however, perhaps one day the wrath sin would learn to enjoy these parties

But today is not that day, he can bee seen giving a brief goodbye to the hostesses and walking purposefully out of the door, already tugging the tie lose, right behind him an imp flies happily out of the danger zone that is a party full of snakes

Beelzebub is rarely allowed to join Levi's parties, and when she is it usually doesn't end well, she was a lovely person but her way of parting was not compatible with the hostesses etiquette… at all, which tended to end in a public discussion of one of Leviathan's head and the wolf-bee chimera, so for today the queen of gluttony was not present, a shame, she is always a wonder to photograph, always full of energy

Asmodeus was not a rarity to see, more social and manageable than other sins, especially now with Fizzarollys participation, the worse kept secret of hell, their relationship, never spoken out loud but clear for anyone who has eyes to see, keeps the roster attending many social events for his little lovers sake

You take advantage of this fact and make sure to have both types of photographs, formal ones were they are apart and sometimes interacting in a more casual manner, as well as more hidden ones, ones were they clearly are more to each other, those were a treat to have, they could cost a fortune on shipping forums, but also would make good gifts for the jester

After all you were a comum freelance employee of Mammon, a photographer, cheap and quiet, however brief your interactions were you did make a short of friendship with the imp, the perks of respecting people's boundaries made you a safe heaven to the young celebrity, who would have guess

Belphegor and Lucifer haven't attended these events in… eons, that's what you've heard at least, and sadly you never met them, which means less work for you, but also less money, you wonder if one day you ever get to photograph one of these two the pictures would cost a fortune

Continue your job, you slide around the corners and stairs of the place, taking atmospheric pictures, interactions, and small moments that could never be captured with a previous warning of a lense. You enjoyed those most, the quiet mundanity of it all, and no social interaction, you had to save your energy for later, were the official photoshoots would start, there one by one the guests that remained would have a chance to properly pose for their official pictures

Then you took notice of a booming laughter, bearing the obnoxious, no were near you last saw him, Mammon, the sin of greed, the jester was formally dressed, as demanded by all of Leviathan's parties, surrounded by goetia and high class demons alike, he seemed to have left Fizzarolly to roam the place unsupervised, and was now being the social butterfly of the event

You snort and take a picture of him, the big smile with sharp teeth took the most of his face, black lips giving emphasis on his expression of mischievous joy, the joke must have been at someone's expense, his eyes though closed still shined the green through the smallest of space between his lashes

It was rare to take a picture of the king of greed without him being goofy of stock commercial possed, but you had a knack for those, you knew these photos you took wouldn't be commercially used, years of working for the sin teached you his usual image marketing strategy, but those were not for work, those were not even for selling to his massive fanclub, no, those were yours

You and Mammon were… a thing, well, you thought you two were a thing, and he never gave you reason to think otherwise, honestly you really though that was one time thing, but it seemed not, slowly, but constantly, the king of greed seeked, more like demanded, your company

And just as slow you too sought him out, and it was a pain the ass, the sin was selfish, extremely so, you did expected this, him being greed incarnated and all, but Satan's fat tittis, it was hard to always be ready to give but rarely, if ever, receive a flicker of attention back

You wished he too had joined the band of sins that started to mitigate their nature to keep a better social life before you were even born. For the average demon the nature of the sins was otherworldly, almost gods, you too though of them like that once, but now with you interacting so close with them you noticed how different and yet normal they all are

Defined by their sin, and yet, it is possible for them to grow around it, the best example being Asmodeus, you have heard from Mammon the old stories of the lust King, and in the start you doubted them, Asmodeus? The famous “consent is sexy” guy? Was not like that some centuries ago? Sure, whatever you say big hairy ball of a centipede

But then you started to notice expressions, reactions, of demons and mortals alike, as well as the king of lusts himself, and it all pointed to be the truth, Asmodeus wasn't always this courteous. This change of heart was recent, in sin years at least, and soon after you learned that most friendly sins were also like this

Gluttony and Greed were once thick as thieves, two sides of the same coin, until Beelzebub started to change as well, Satan is the most recent example, you wondered how it was the transition for the others, how hard it was to be defined by one personality trait that will always demand your full attention

You didn't expected Mammon of all sins would change anytime soon, if he ever does that's something for another someone to enjoy… but unholy Lucifer you wanted to, he can be nice, you have seen it first hand, he can be so much more, he is learning to be caring about you for fucks sakes

The day you turned out extremely sick to work, the bastard had the gown to pick you up like a sack of potatoes on his shoulders and just disappear from sight. When you woke up you were rolled into a cocoon of blankets inside a big ass room. The comical attempts of the greedy king trying to take care of you and being weirded out by your unexpressive humor still makes you giddy, and the soft clicks he made in sleep comforted you immensely

You wanted that, so badly, just for yourself, the excited giggles of mischief, the endless gossip and rambling of plans, the many, many, nights sleeping on his soft fur, the purrs, the pouts, fuck you really wanted to call him yours… but you can't own the king of greed can you? No, he owns you, it would be impossible for a lowly imp ever achieve that… but who said you can't want it, dream of it even, everyone needs an ambition to keep going and yours was this

With a final look at the frame you noticed that Mammon was looking directly at you… oh shit he noticed you slacking, with a apologetically grin you scramble to the side going back to your photoshoots, not noticing the sins eyes following, his expression blank, some could even say silently shocked in awe

To be a sin, is to constantly be aware of said trait effects on others, that's what made him an excellent salesman, greed is a want of more, but it always starts with a want, a want of something, anything, attention, money, home, stability, confort, all of it building more and more into an overflow of avarice

Mammon is constantly aware of others' greed as much as his own, he paints a web of connections to said want, hipotesis to why that person desires that specific thing and builds his persona accordingly. Levi's parties are a wonder of greed as much as envy, both feeding off of each other like leeches, a place to boast your own accomplishments while being pampered by less successful bitches that obviously want what you have but will never acquire it? Count him in baby that's his territory!

But funnily enough despite his status as sin, king, royal and too many other fucking titles, he never once has been the direct desire of someone's greed, people are greedy for his money, his status, his influence, people want to be him, to fuck him, to be fucked by him, all above, but never want him especificaly. People don't have enough taste to want him anyway, absolutely, that's the sole reason and nothing more… anyways

The prospect of people wanting to fuck him is amusing for the jester, he can see around him in the eyes of demons a subtle hue of purple, green and blue. His libido is low, putting aside that season of the year, so it's fucking hilarious to watch others make a fool of themselves to even try to get a reaction, even more funny is when he ignores it all togheter, the frustration in their eyes is a free entreteriment for the big guy

And then he feels a piercing gaze from above, sure every goetia and demon is looking at him but this gaze escificaly calls to a familiarity he has a hard time identifying immediately. So he looks ups, and… there you are… his little imp

A playfully smile graces his lips, aren't ya adorable working so diligently pass your clock, he can't wait to see all the gossip you've stored in that camera, he hopes you also captured disastrous moments for the tabloids lines, that gives him so much money

Thinking over how best to mess with you from down there he decides a simple call out would be enough embarrassment for you, if you weren't scrambling out off his sight right now means you are distracted in you thoughts, maybe it will be even funnier and you'll fall down and he can catch you, isn't that romantic of him

What are you even thinking anyways? You aren't usually this care-

Your eyes shine green…

Mortals have a saying, green of envy, it is not necessarily wrong, but demons know that green is for Greed, his green, his greed, you were being greedy. A part of the jester though he would see you being envious this night after all you both hardly interacted in the event, too formal and too public for even a small token of affection without drawing suspicions, and he was basking on the attention of everyone, so usually this ignites envy or better yet jealousy, what would you do if jealous he wondered the day before…

But never did he imagine you would feel greedy, he can feel it too, the sensation of the sin fueling him was different, because you were not greedy by proxy, but directly, you were feeding him straight to his damned soul. Your greedy desire was him, you wanted him, in every shape of form, and that sensation was surreal for Mammon, he couldn't breath, what did he do to make you feel that? What were you thinking that prompted that much want? How can he make you look at him like that again-

With a blink you were gone, and the king of greed was left there speechless, a shocking warmth making its way through his face, for once not from anger. He quickly slaps the nearby goetia and laughs once more, praising the mid attempt of a joke, more to ground himself than to please the bird, what the fuck was that…