All That Work and What Did it Get Me? (Hazbin Hotel x oc reader).

You're Hired!

You and Talia were just working at the bar. Or rather, you were working and she was asking a hundred questions. Then, the cook came out.

"Talia, you are doing- whoa, who's this?" he asks.

"I'm Gia. I've been helping her out for the past couple days,"  you explain.

"You two, there's a problem," he says.

"Which is?" Talia asks.

"Boss is coming in today. And if he sees that you aren't working and she is, we'll all get in trouble," he says, "I'm Spencer, by the way," he tells you. 

"Well, what do we do?" Talia asks. 

"I'll just act like I'm a customer, and you'll work," you say.

"And get me fired?" she asks. You continue to make drinks until the boss comes in.

"Talia, darling, sweetheart, baby, love, what is going on here?" he asks. The guy was tall, kinda. Not like, tall how Valentino and Angel Dust were tall. More like, I guess the average height in hell. Which was roughly 7ft tall. The same height as the TV guy that you saw two days ago. The boss wore a lime green suit, and was theatric. His voice was kind of high, but he gave off hype vibes. 

"Uhh-I-uhh," she stumbles and stutters. You keep doing your work. You're not going to let the bar get too crowded just because Talia couldn't form a coherent sentence. 

"Darling, who are you?" the boss asks you.

"Giovanna Starrling, why?" you ask.

"Nice to meet you, Starrling. I'm Liam Dicollo. Also, you're hired!" he says.

"Huh?" you ask.

"Listen, I run this joint. And you're working harder than any of the people I pay. So, I'm giving you a job. You see, we barely manage with only one bartender. So, you get this job. Congratulations. Don't worry, you don't have to sell your soul or anything, just work here," he says, super energetically. You don't know how someone can have this much energy.

"Really?" you ask. You hadn't really thought of it, but of course you needed a way to get money.

"Yes, darling, of course! You need this job, obviously! But do tell me, why are you working behind the bar?" he asks.

"Only way the bar could keep moving," you say truthfully.

"Ah, brutally honest, I see. I admire that, you're not afraid to hurt people's feelings. Good, we need that on our team. You start tomorrow, you get $30 an hour, unlimited sick days as long as you actually need them, paid maternity leave, all that good stuff," he says.

"Great! Thank you," you say.

"Sure thing, darling. Now, I'll leave, have fun on your last day of unpaid work!" he says, turning on his heel and leaving.

"Damn, that went way better than I anticipated," Spencer says.

"You're going to be a very single man if you use 'anticipated' at 10am on a Saturday morning," you say, wiping down some tables.

"Actually, I'm married," Spencer says.

"I'm sorry," you say.

"She's converted to monogamy!" he says.

"Really? Hm, sorry for her," you say, then proceed to clean.

"Ouch," he says.

You all continue to work, until a girl walks in. She was wearing a waitress uniform and looked less than put together.

"Sorry I'm late, traffic!" she says.

"Who're you?" you ask.

"Clarissa, Clarissa Barbier, who are you?" she asks.

"Giovanna, Giovanna Starrling, darling," you say.

"Well, Starrling, why are you here?" she asks.

"I work here, kind of. I start being paid tomorrow, long story," you say.

"And I don't have time, we have work to do," she says.

"I know, I've been covering for you since you can't find a proper backup route to dodge traffic," you say.

"You don't have to be such a bitch, you know," she says.

"I know, but I happen to match the energy of the person I'm talking to," you retort, before going back to work at the bar.

You all worked your asses off, until Angel Dust came into the bar. 

"You want your usual?" you tease.

". . . Yeah," he said, quietly. You recognized the scars and bruises on him.

"You, all right?" you ask, making the drink.

"Rough day at work, is all," he says.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" you ask.

"Sure," he says.

"My new boss, he said something about me 'not having to sell my soul'. Is that a thing?" you ask.

"You really are new, aren't you? Lucky, you didn't sell your soul five seconds into being in hell. Most people don't make it that far," he says, chuckling dryly.

"Well, what is selling your soul? What happens?" you ask, still confused.

"Okay, so, pretty much. You know how Val offered you to act for him?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say.

"So, if you agreed, he'd have made you sign a contract. A 'Shelter and Fame' contract. In that contract, it says you agree to give him your soul for shelter and fame. With that, he has complete control over you, and he can hit you or kill you or whatever as long as he owns your soul. There's no way to get out of it, and it lasts forever or until he decides to let you go," he explains.

"And, are you under that contract?" you ask.

". . . Yeah," he answers.

"Rough day at the studio?" you ask. He doesn't say anything, but he does nod. Poor kid, you didn't even know him but you felt bad for him. He was probably caught unawares, and desperate, cornered and manipulated into signing the contract.

"Well, you can vent to me about it. The bar isn't that crowded. So unless your boss decides to come into here for the third day in a row. . ." you say.

"It's nothing you need to worry about, toots. Just, harsh kinks, little aftercare, and getting beaten if I fuck up," he says.

"I can get that," you say.

"Huh?" he asks.

"Well, when I was alive, I worked for my parents. And when I fucked up, they'd hit me. So, I know what it's like. To, be hit for a mistake," you explain. That broke the ice. Both of you could relate to abuse. It felt nice, to be understood. You continued to give him drinks until Val came in.

"My God, when will this man stop coming to this bar?" You mutter to Angel, making him laugh.

"Hey, amorcito~," Val says to you.

"What can I getcha?" you ask, trying to keep things professional.

"A night with you~," he says, his top set of hands were on the bar. sliding towards yours.

"I meant drinks, Val, what do you want to drink?" you ask.

"Your arou-" he starts.

"NOPE! Fuck that! You can order a real drink from here or you can leave. I don't need you wasting my time with your stupid flirting when I could be serving a bunch of customers. It's never gonna happen so just give up already!" you snap. He looks dejected, but also, a little turned on by how confrontational you were.

"Fine, then, sweetheart. Make me a black russian," he says.

"You have an unseemly addiction to those," you comment, making him one.

"I have an unseemly addiction to you, too, darling," he says.

"Get in line, man," you say, sliding him his drink.

"Why, someone else after your heart?" he jokes.

"Good God no, but that doesn't mean I'm interested in you of all people!" you say.

"Ouch," he says.

"Sucks to suck, man," you say.


A few months pass. Daily, Val would come to the bar, ask for a black russian and hit on you. This day was different, his associates, Vox and Velvette came with him. He didn't flirt with you, just asked for his drink.

"Hm, finally picked up a work ethic, or did you realize it'll never happen?" you ask.

"More like I'm here on business," he says.

"Mmh, so you decided to come to the dingiest bar in the Pride Ring for business with two other overlords. Sometimes I question the thought process of men. This is one of those times," you say.