Summary: It’s been several months since the events of Doomstar, and Toki and Magnus are no where closer to talking about the events that took place in the basement. Only now Toki is, and after spending a drunken night together, he decides to use music as a potential means to reach out and hopefully communicate with a hesitant Magnus.
Meanwhile, Magnus deals navigating around his past mistakes, making a living and facing his rapidly developing feelings for the younger man, all while trying to come up with some original music.
Chapter summary: Inspired by his last conversation with Magnus, Toki decides to get his phone back.
Summary: After watching a short clip, Fizzarolli requests Asmodeus makes him a special set of limbs. As Asmodeus begins his work, he pieces together memories of putting Fizz's first set of limbs together, and the long term effects it has on him.
Characters/Pairs: Fizz/Asmodeus
Rating: Mature for language, surgeries and mild sexual content. Please read at your own risk.
There’s a whole headcanon in my head about Toki trying to prevent the metalocalypse from happening by becoming a priest in the church of the black klok but I don’t have enough a good vocabulary to word it ⚰⚰⚰
to the three mutuals who are still kicking it and don't want anything to do with my current helluva boss interests please feel free to block the tag "#fics with imps" and you'll never have to worry about seeing those works on your dash
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: The sin of lust reflects over a new feeling that's been creeping up on him, becoming ever more prominent whenever he so much as thinks about a certain imp.
Pairings: Asmodeus/Fizzarolli
Warnings: Implied sexual content
Click the link above to read on Ao3, or read below!
Asmodeus remembers the beginning. Many millennia ago, so far back only a select few could manage to recall, much less enact every detail with their words. A cruel and unfathomable period when the seven rings of hell were more intimately connected, and sinners oozed into the realms like dripping honey. Cursed, immoral and immortal flesh that could be chained and trained to endure. Bodies that cultured lust into a dangerous, but delectable contagion. A deep enough dive revealed fragmented images of tarnished human souls engaged, sometimes unwillingly, in a never-ending parade of debauchery. What few pieces Asmodeus could still string together evoked a deep and filling satisfaction. It was so far back, Asmodeus himself isn’t entirely confident he can put the sensation into words, but with some concentration and enough focus from all three minds, he can still pull forth the taste, the sheer delight of a delectable spice that could only be replicated through a sinner’s lust-laden soul. All of lust burned in a sea of raw energy, not a single bit of land wasn’t claimed by blue flickering flame with Asmodeus, the entity of lust itself, being the single blazing source.
Hellborn lust just doesn’t come close. He still thrives, promotes and encourages his denizens and worshippers to partake in carnal displays, and each night Asmodeus easily gets his fill before the second half of his shows. However, while he certainly enjoys his banquet halls filled with horny succubi and incubi, hellhounds in heat, puckish imps and the like, as far as flavor goes, the lack of an immortal spirit left something to be desired. A crucial ingredient was missing. Was it just the presence of the soul, or was it really just nothing more than a spice, one that could be replicated through alternative means? Though he’d never admit to it now, a far younger incarnation had fantasized, hypothesized and even gone as far as to research a means to replicate the addictive force of a sinner’s raw lust. Nothing ever came of it, and like the rest of his ungodly brethren Asmodeus settled and tempered his flames, adapted and refined his palate to the taste of the more sophisticated hellish desire and was satiated .
And for the longest time it was good enough.
A new flavor lingers in the back of his throat.
Asmodeus ceases the meticulous act of pruning his decorative feathers, his attention pulled from his vanity’s large mirror to the faint, subtle taste of something sweet. It’s past midnight, and while his club is still open for another few hours, Asmodeus has taken it upon himself to refrain from another night of overseeing performances in favor of preparing for a last-minute, practically impromptu meeting. Though he hadn’t made much of an effort on his part to feast, he was rather satiated. The saccharine sensation now slowly engulfing him is uncalled for, but not unwelcome. Upon its registry, the glow of his eyes briefly intensifies, and his usually controlled mane temporarily gives sway and flickers. It normalizes, as does the deadly sin, but unlike the brief shiver or twitch of the tail feathers, the energy produced stays and Asmodeus is rendered incapable of ignoring it.
He swallows in the near silence, but not before gathering the raw sweetness that he’s come to recognize and associate with a certain work associate. The bull’s head turns and stares beyond the confines of the bedroom, through the thick doubled doors. The ram perks its ears and registers –and by extension Asmodeus– something along with the growing flutter developing in his stomach; the faintest ring of metal lightly hitting marble.
The second it takes for Asmodeus to absorb this realization lasts forever. A second later, and he returns to his grooming, a slightly mischievous smiling being the only indicator of the mounting nerves. His chest plumes up, but he carefully hoists his robes over his shoulders to cover himself. The rising heat spreading across his form is manageable. His aroused senses are nothing.
It’s the trickle of sweet dew dripping into his heart that leaves him nervous.
It’s him, an excited thought intrudes from his left.
So tasty, came from his right.
More, both plead, and before long Asmodeus finds himself thinking the same.
Asmodeus takes his hands away from his mane to bring his attention to the warmth filling his gut. Though it makes him tense, it’s nothing new. It’s been there a while now, coming and going at the rise of a thought, of a certain name that haunts and consumes Asmodeus’ minds more and more.
It’s getting harder to control.
The door creaks open. Both ram and bull go wide-eyed and Asmodeus has to remind himself not to get too excited. All three sets of eyes turn away as he becomes increasingly aware of the energy spilling to the room. It's the same energy now tormenting him, but from an entirely different source. The not-so-mysterious swell of buttery tenderness drowning his heart tells him to break and call forth the name, but as the king of lust he refrains and instead focuses on keeping his composure. Lust is an art, and while the lust beating from Fizzarolli gives his position away in this dark room, Asmodeus knows better than to spoil a mood.
The gentle clink of metal hooves are graceful. Asmodeus feigns ignorance and masks the careful steps with a low hum. Back to preening, he insists to himself, but when he meets his reflection he can see what a flustered mess he’s become. Why? This isn’t like him. Fizzarolli isn’t the first hellborn to lust after him, nor would be the last. Asmodeus rams the thought as far deep as he can, but nothing smothers the rosy quell aching in him, the anticipation for something greater than unmet arousal.
Need, need, need , the lesser minds echo, but before Asmodeus can take command he’s taken off guard by a wave of overwhelming sweetness, followed by the smooth and cool touch of metal swirling up his waist.
“Hey, Ozzie, ” a raspy voice asks in the darkness. Long, black robotic arms spring and coil around his body, dragging some of his loosened robe back down one of his broad shoulders as it stretches and springs forth from its end shimmering black claws. One reached for the neck while the other playfully went for the eyes, doing a poor job to clever his vision.
Asmodeus shuts his other two sets of eyes while a cackle plays behind him.
“Guess who?” he hears Fizz brazenly whisper to him, igniting a bright swirl of color, a delicate frenzy of something Asmodeus gets closer to understanding, but refuses to bring the words forth.
After all, how was it possible that this little imp produced such delectable flavors? And what was Asmodeus feeding off of, if this wasn’t the standard hellborn lust? Because it was something else, and what it was–
“Oh, I wonder?” Asmodeus tilts his head as far as his gentle restraints will allow.
The metal encircling his neck starts to squeeze. This time, Asmodeus tastes lust and ulterior motives. The familiar mixes with the frighteningly new. Asmodeus’ mouths water at the delectable combination, but with two distinct flavors across his mind it’s undeniable what he’s feeling is more than just lust.
A complaint and jingle of bells removes him from his line of thought. “C’mon, give us a guess.”
The begging is adorable. The smaller body that held him in place wriggles. Asmodeus barely holds in a coy grin as he listens to Fizzarolli’s legs spring up from the ground. The cybernetic arms tighten their grip, giving an almost possessive hug while his lower appendages retract, tiny pinpoints for feet landing and bouncing excitedly against the arch of Asmodeus’ back.
Want, want!
What is it?
Him! Him!
What was pouring out from Fizzarolli? What was eating at his heart? What was this new, addicting sensation?
Asmodeus wants to open his eyes, free himself of his bindings and ask the imp if this is real, if what he’s sensing from the two of them is real, or if he’s looking too deep into places where he shouldn't meddle.
“Hmm? Well, judging by all this hopping,” Asmodeus begins, then gives his shoulders a shake to purposely have his capture slip and stumble over him, “...I’m guessing a talking beelzebufo ?”
The hand vanishes from his face. The other untwists as the rest of Fizzarolli crawls up his back and rests upon his shoulder. As Asmodues opens his eyes, he’s greeted to a glowing set of eyes full of mirth and a toothy grin set upon him.
“Did you just call me a frog? I’m offended.” Fizz feigns a hurt expression as he glides one of his glistening claws down his face to mimic a tear.
Kiss!
Kiss!
It takes all the energy in the world for him to deny the intrusive thoughts and continue the game.
Asmodeus raises a brow. “Am I wrong?”
Fizz raises a finger at him, ready to remark, but Asmodeus purposely jolts his shoulders before there’s any opportunity for smart remarks. The gesture, though intended to be playful, turned out rougher than anticipated. The imp slips forward, and without thinking Asmodeus breaks from his pose to catch Fizzarolli. In the seconds it takes for him to snatch him up, for the two of them to look at one another with widened eyes, recover, smile and laugh at their behavior, it all becomes clear. In their shared stare the world ignites like a match, lighting up and burning Asmodeus worse than anything he had felt in a long time, and as they laugh and blame one another it only gets worse. His and Fizz’s shared fervor does more than satiates. It satisfies. Fulfills. It burns and soothes and it aches to pretend that it’s anything other than what it was.
Love, he thinks. He’d been in denial for a while now, but with Fizz looking up at him, it was obvious what was blazing through his veins.
But how?
How was it possible that this tiny little hellborn being could saturate him in something so pure it mimics the power of an immortal soul?
A cool, solid palm places itself against Asmodeus’ face. All three sets of eyes drop down to the colorful imp lying in his arms, staring up at him. “Hey, Oz, you alright up there?”
How could they? How could he , the King of Lust and desire?
Asmodeus’ inability to answer leaves him on edge. It doesn't make sense. He’s a deadly sin who thrives off lust. That’s what he was, so how?
With Fizz below expecting an answer, Asmodeus reaches down and, making sure not to let his size and strength get in the way this time, teases the imp with a prod. “ Yeah , and why wouldn't I be?”
It’s enough to change the mood, for his tiny jester to return to form, hop off of him and replace his once concerned look with a cheery performance. Asmodeus waits on his host, pretending to care about a few split feathers as Fizzarolli entertains him with a line of excuses as to why they needed to meet this late at night, and how they definitely ought to make the most of it with some wine he just so happened to pick up along the way, and maybe a bit of fooling around. Arms glow as they stretch and retract to exemplify each justification, and although it’s become obvious to Asmodeus this is all a ruse, he smiles along and plays along to this new rendition of their game. If there is any consolation to this queer revelation, it's seeing that he’s not in it alone. It frustrates Asmodeus to not understand the situation, but knowing he’s sharing this private hell with Fizz and that these exquisite flavors are a result of their shared obsession with one another makes their predicament feel less treacherous.
Fizzarolli once again steals away his attention, coming into Asmodeus’ view with a jump. In his hands was a bottle.
“Wanna taste?” His wide and puckish grin cannot hide the soothing sweet energy that already leaves Asmodeus intoxicated and hungry for more.
The embodiment of lust, feasting off love?
Ludicrous, he thinks.
Neither of the lesser heads seemed to agree. Taste, taste!
So, he does. He kneels down, skipping the bottle held up to him to instead rest a hand on Fizzarolli’s cheek.
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