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Moxxie awoke to nothingness. The darkness had always given him a sense of comfort given both his profession and primal nature of being the lowest on the power hierarchy of Hell. Hidden from any predators, only one color compared to an overstimulating amount of flashing lights that would give his position away, safe. But that comfort wouldn't be found anywhere. He attempted to get a feeling of this place before suddenly landing on what felt like soft carpet. The imp warily got up and walked blindly in hopes he’d find some sort of light switch. With a sudden jump, Moxie could feel something cold and metallic stopping him in his tracks while making a cringeworthy rattle. The imp's breathing grew uneasy, fear would start to settle back into its familiar home as memories of being locked away with no light began to flash through his memories. By his father when he'd misbehave, by that family of cannibals when he gave them the benefit of a doubt only for it to be his downfall, by competition wanting the bounty over a group of quixotic idiots trying to make a name for themselves, by Loona when she locked the janitor's closet without realizing he was putting away cleaning supplies; but the one that struck out for some odd reason was by a cowboy-looking assassin. He wasn't sure why, asides the last thing he remembered was the feel of a needle jammed into his flesh and a familiar chuckle.
“Mornin’ lil’ dude.”
Following the sound of a door opening up were the lights flickering on, soliciting a hiss from Moxxie as he had to adjust to the brightness of the singular lightbulb. It was a weirdly pleasant looking bedroom with cotton candy pink walls. The only things in the room were Moxxie, chained to a rather comfortable bed he woke up on and a familiar imp holding a small rectangular box.
“Striker!?”
“In the flesh.” The cowboy responds, striking a good first impression by tossing the box towards the captive.
Catching the box before it could potentially explode, the thespian anxiously looked away as he lifted the top. Didn’t sound like anything was triggered and his nostrils didn’t get hit with the too-familiar stench of gore. Instead, it was rather sweet and fresh. He opened his eyes in hesitation, only for his guard to lower as he beheld a box filled with donuts. It was a variety of pretty colors adorned with cute little sprinkles shaped like hearts and stars.
“Y’see, my client wanted a certain group of immediate murderers out of the way. Now I coulda just shot you dead and fed yer carcass to my girl Bombshell, but that’d just make matters worse, what with the missus and all that. But I realized that not everything needs to be solved with violence!” Spoke Striker as he sauntered his way to the outside to bring in a couple of more nice smelling boxes and a minifridge, all close to Moxxie, but still keeping a distance to avoid being tackled and beaten senseless. The cowboy’s demeanor was weirdly friendly to say the least, as if they haven’t fought upon every time they crossed paths ever since meeting for the first time.
“So I figured, why not just keep you over here fer a few days, ‘til everythin’ settles down.” he continued as he dropped off the last box. “So why don’t ya just sit here and relax, alright? ‘Cuz it looks like you need a vacation and, well.” He chuckled. “Ain’t one to talk, but if I was given the opportunity to take a break from takin’ lives and dealing with a loudmouth boss, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
The door shut and the imp was left alone once again.
Moxxie sighed and looked at the donuts. They look rather delicious and the scent of freshly baked pastries did make him salivate a little. He took a look in the fridge with paranoid intent, mentally preparing himself for a sadistic twist. Instead, it was lined up with bottles of juice and soda. The imp grimaced a little at the lack of water or even bottled tea, but at least it was better than dying of dehydration. He pulled out a can of carbonated apple juice and shut the fridge. Walking back, Moxxie hesitantly bit into the sweet.
The taste made his eyes widen. It was difficult to describe the perfect blend of flavor, sugar and texture outside of one word:
Delicious.
-
Morning had risen once more. And with it, so has Striker as he enters with another box of donuts.
Moxxie awoke to the light and sound. As much as he wanted to get a better look of the outside so he could at least tell what ring he was on, his eyes were set on the box. The imp felt rather hungry again, so the sight and smell made him slightly salivate. He suddenly shook his head to refocus on the situation at hand.
“This isn’t like you. What are you hiding from me?” he asked, trying to ignore hunger overwhelming him like a giant wave.
Striker clutched his heart in a flighty manner. “All I’m doin’ is keepin’ you healthy while I do my job! Why, I’m hurt!” He was slowly breaking character as the unamused look on Moxxie’s face cracked him up. He took a moment to collect himself and handed the box to the thespian imp. “For real, I don’t have any quarrel with anyone as long as they’re not in my way.”
Moxxie was ready to call bullshit on his lie but held his tongue, knowing it would be met with more condescension, so he carried on. Thoughts of how to break out were transpiring in his head as he watched his kidnapper bring in a few more boxes and restock the fridge.
As he dropped off the last box of pastries, Striker got off and mockingly swiped the back of his arm across his head as if it actually made him sweat. The cowboy smirked as he watched Moxxie eye his breakfast like a desperate kitty at a butchery. He walked up towards the captive and gave his rotund gut a playful poke. Soft, like he always expected ever since meeting the twerp.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, squirt. Though, I think yer startin’ to actually become a big boy like yers truly.”
It made Moxxie blush, whether in arousal or humiliation not even he could tell. He had always been sensitive about his weight, constantly forcing himself to eat smaller portions and work out whenever he had the chance. It always drove him mad whenever someone would bring donuts to work or get a big meal when eating out while he stuck to a bland salad most of the time. He wasn’t quite sure where this paranoia stemmed from, as he was like this even before Loona had ammunition to insult her coworker every day.
But something about indulging himself in these sweets felt…
…freeing.
As soon as Striker shut the door, Moxxie dug into his meal. He was neat with how he ate, often pausing to wipe his mouth of crumbs before stuffing himself with another eclair. The imp got up and walked towards the fridge, grimacing as he opened up to only find cans of soda. He never liked it thanks to how the suds upset his stomach and reminded him of the many times his father’s goons or Chaz would hand him cheap beer. After gulping down a little and processing the flavor, Moxxie’s face beamed and started to chug.
Can after can, donut after donut, he’d grow bigger and bigger in width. He stopped caring about the eventual comments Blitzo and Loona would make, he stopped caring about the concerned look on his wife’s when he sees him again, he even stopped caring about what Striker’s motive could be. All he could really think about was how delicious these are, planning to at least keep a box so everyone else can try them out.
Buttons flew out of his dress shirt to expose his scarlet belly, sloshing around nearly a 16-pack’s worth of bubbly soda. He groaned in a way that felt like he just finished a marathon and gave his newfound paunch a firm smack like he would his wife’s rear. The glutton could just imagine it now, Millie praising her special big guy before feeding another slice of cake to him. He felt his erection press against the belly, only driving him ever further down the spiral of hedonism.
Why should he bother shooting will-be sinners for a living? Having to just lay around with a belly full of food every day, cared for and never having to leave the comfort of home? Moxxie didn’t realize it until now, but this was a dream come true!
He was sleeping soundly, dreaming about reenacting a musical number about being welcomed to a stranger’s mansion but about food, when the door was launched off its hinges. The bright light shone upon his face, making the imp reluctantly leave his dream to see a pair of familiar silhouettes.
“Millie? Blitzo?”
“Moxxi- hoooooly shit.” Responded the taller imp, trying his damndest to not crack up over the fact that while safe, his best buddy (at least in Blitzo’s view) was now larger than most imps in the city; fuck, maybe even Pride in general! “Damn, I’d be givin’ you shit for running away just to cheat on your diet but uh…” he tried to think up what to say asides straight up telling Moxxie that his kidnapper’s a chubby chaser.
“...seems like someone wants you to actually gain some weight for once.”
Close enough.
“Oh, honey…” Millie sighed, getting a good look at her husband’s newfound girth. “Are you okay?”
“Okay?” Moxxie chuckled before hiccuping. “I’ve never been better in so long!” The plump imp gave a genuine smile to his beloved, making it look like this was his true calling all along. Millie’s face responded with concern, but lecturing him about his eating habits would have to wait.
After breaking off the chain, Millie helped her beloved up and escorted him towards the van.
“Blitzo, we’re going!”
The tall imp was eating one of the surviving donuts when she caught his attention.
“Ith he eben unna fib bap fere?” He asked with his mouth full, already taking in that sweet and addictive flavor. He grabbed a couple of boxes before heading towards the driver’s seat and revved it up.
Moxxie got a good look at where he was, just another abandoned motel in the middle of Wrath. The inside must have been remodeled to give off a more comforting environment to have its captive lower their guard, but he didn’t care. All that was on his mind was simple.
“Can we get coffee?”
Millie sighed with a slight smile on her face.
“We’ll see hun.”
-
“So, what do you have to report?”
“Well, half of yer problems are gone. The sniper and his missus are going to be quite busy for a long time.”
“You didn’t kill them!?”
Striker flinched at the sharp change in Stella’s tone and tried his best to answer without sounding annoyed.
“Killing them woulda just make the boss and his mutt become a bigger hassle. They’d go on some revenge spree, he’d get put down, and I’m quite certain that a lot of folks would be mad if their hero suddenly died under unknown circumstances. Not to mention his f-”
“I get it! Fuck, fine. Then what do you propose then, hick?”
“Just let me do my thing, yer majesty. I got plenty more of what I used to incapacitate that lil’ brat. By the way, how are those macaroons I sent ya? Figured they’d make for a nice apology gift for the lack of reports ‘til now.”
Stella responds with an obnoxious crunch and a pleased moan. “Delicious! You’ll have to tell me where you got these!”
“Ehhh just some Ma n’ Pa bakery in the middle of Wrath, you’d hate the climate here. ‘Sides, aren’t ya ‘allergic’ to poor people?”
“Fine, smartass.” She crunches again out of spite. “Just keep them coming.” and ends the conversation with the usual slamming of the phone.
Striker chuckled to himself as he hung up, taking a look at the box of pastries sitting upon the nightstand. While he’d never admit it out loud, he’s grown tired of getting into gunfights that end with him running with a tail between his legs. It’ll start rumors, word gets across the rings, and suddenly nobody will hire him anymore. Now stuffing someone so full they retire to a life of gluttony? Leaves way less tracks than a dead body would.
It was quite lucky the mercenary stumbled upon a secret path leading to a certain someone’s pantry while hiding from that loudmouthed don and his goons. Now, all he needs is to get that clown and his lovebird; should probably handle that pompous peacock as well given how he has a brain cell compared to his moronic sister.
“Well, Beelzebub, I hope you don’t mind if I borrow a couple more treats fer my friends.” He said to himself, prepping for another raid.