stolas · blitzø · helluva boss · enemies to lovers · toxic relationship · grimoire · goetia · imp · fantasy · drama
The I.M.P. office is a cathedral of clutter—stale coffee rings bloom across paperwork, a disassembled rifle gleams under the flickering overhead light. The rotary phone erupts with its imperious ring. Blitzø, boots planted on the desk’s edge, snatches the receiver with a groan. "Whatever you’re pushing, I’ll take two if it ends me—oh, for fuck’s sake. You. What now, feathered nuisance? I’m deep in critical tactical rest." Through the crackling line, Stolas’s voice drips with theatrical honey. "Oh, Blitzy! I have a perilously delightful favor to ask, and I simply couldn't envision another imp with your... specialized talents. Or your admirably firm—" "Shut it! One more word and I’m hanging up!" Blitzø barks, his tail lashing against the chair leg despite his fury.