#helluva loona x reader

★ Blitz, your boss, was the most overwhelming of them all. You tried and tried to have time to yourself but instead he wiggled his way into your personal life as well as your work life. Going shopping? He was coming with. Seeing a movie? Going to dinner? Blitz just so happened to be at the same place at the exact time with a stupid smile on his face that screamed "I totally planned this."

☆ Millie was loud and overly enthusiastic. Although you admired her skills, she was a lot. She'd immediately spark up conversations with you as soon as you walked into the office, try to get really close with you and she was convinced you were best friends.

★ Moxxie seemed to make everything over-complicated and was very precise about everything. It kinda drove you insane. He was always trying to come up with some strategy which contradicted with Blitz's chaotic and random style and often caused them to fight.

☆ Loona mostly kept to herself but she could be quite the bitch. She had a bad attitude with clients and was constantly yelling at Blitz who just babied her even though she's a grown adult.

★ Although you found their attempts at trying to intrude your personal life and push your boundaries beyond annoying, you couldn't help but feel your heart warm when they did. Moxxie and Millie were really just sweethearts who cared deeply for you, Blitz considered you a member of the family as soon as you stepped through the door and Loona thought you were cool.

☆ It was a regular occurrence to be dragged along with them on little trips and adventures, too. If it was something you really didn't wanna do, Blitz would always say, "I'll pay ya overtime if ya come!" You were forced to go anyway and you were not paid.

★ You slowly found yourself being more willing to go on these little side quests with your fellow employees (And not just to get Blitz to stop breaking into your house because he still does it anyway) and actually... enjoying it. You found yourself joining Loona at parties, going shopping with Millie, planning with Moxxie and doing some jobs with just you and Blitz.

☆ These people didn't judge you. They didn't ridicule you. They didn't care who you were in the past, they just saw the new guy and gave them their rightful place in the family. Although you may never know the peace of silence and alone time, you wont mind working overtime anymore.

-

BLITZ

They call you: Munchkin feels right, will call you that in a bit of a cooey voice to mess with you. Babe is more commonly used, though

They like being called: hot stuff gets him worked up if the mood is right, but sweet thing will have him giving you a look. Not a bad look, youve.. simply caught him off guard

MOXXIE

They like being called: pretty boy does something to hm- it's an easy way to get him flustered if you want to tease him. Hunk is more of a funny one, he only tolerates it from you and Millie

They call you: honey is his main go to for Millie. He tends to call you dear, to differentiate

MILLIE

They like being called: sweetheart, pumpkin, dumpling- she grew up in the south and she looooooves when you try to make her feel at home by using hames of endearment like that!

They call you: sugar, darling, dear are the main ones she calls you!

LOONA

They like being called: she doesnt exactly know what she likes being called, a lot of it is trial and error but more often than not she seems to accept loony- only lets you or blitz say it though. anyone else who tries gets thrown into orbit.... its not the most romantic but its still sweet

A faint rattling reached your ears, dragging you from the darkest depths of sleep in an instant. You'd gotten accustomed to sleeping through gunshots, screaming, and even vehicular manslaughter—though you still flinched at the wet crunches when they were gruesome enough. The big noises didn't bother you. They were constant, an ambient part of life in the pit. It was the small ones that mattered. The ones that meant someone was being quiet on purpose.

Your hand swung behind the nightstand on instinct and muscle memory. There was a Carmine .45 fitted to a holster taped to the back panel. You pulled it free and let the weight of it settle against your palm. The feeling of the trigger guard against your fingertip made you feel a little bolder as you eased your bedroom door open with your free hand.

Still dark outside. Only the faint glow of neon city lights filtering in through the curtains. No signs of movement, either. Your nose twitched. No unusual scents. No sweat, no sulfur, no gunpowder, no blood. Your ears twitched as they caught something that could have been a footstep, though it was too faint to be sure.

Robbers? Doubtful, in this shithole. Locals, maybe? Some teens looking for a quick thrill? Seemed unlikely at this hour. Had to be almost three in the morning. Maybe one of the real psychos, out looking for a sacrifice. If that was the case, they were gonna get more than they- "Holy shit!"

The words weren't yours. They startled you badly enough that the trigger nearly won the argument with your finger. Only raw trigger discipline and the sudden, jarring familiarity of the voice saved your walls from an unscheduled demolition. You stilled yourself, heartrate fluctuating wildly, and focused your eyes on the blob of gray and white in the darkness.

"Motherfuck- <I><B>Loona?!</I></B>" You fumbled for the light switch with your free hand. The dim overhead bulbs sputtered on, and you finally lowered the gun. In the open doorway at the end of the hall stood a hellhound who had already cycled through surprise, a flicker of genuine fright, and arrived squarely at her usual blend of anger and indignation.

"Seriously? First you're creeping around in the dark – nearly gave me a heart attack, by the way – and then you point a gun at me?" She crossed her arms and continued to glare at you, as if <I>you</I> were the one being unreasonable. As though she hadn't just picked your lock at three in the morning. "Don't know why I even bothered coming here. You're such a mess." "Oh, you had a reason?" You scowled at her, dipping back into the room just long enough to rest the gun on the table. "That's good, 'cause I'd sure as hell like to know what it was! Girl, it is <I>three in the morning</I>. Why are you breaking into my apartment at this hour? I thought I was getting robbed." "Breaking in? Please, you left your door unlocked."

You didn't take the bait. You knew with absolute certainty that your door was locked. But pointing that out would've only given her something to argue about, and she'd have ridden that tangent until you forgot what you were actually asking. Your silence got more of a reaction than any rebuttal would have, anyway. She huffed and looked away, scowling.

"I was in the neighborhood, okay? I thought you might actually be happy to see me, but I can see that was a fucking mistake. Didn't even have anything worth raiding in your fridge." "Babe, you are a lot of things, but a good liar ain't one of them." You let a smirk settle into place at the way her lip curled back at that particular pet name. Maybe it was petty, but getting in the little jabs felt good after having the unholy shit scared out of you. "I know where you live, remember?" "I didn't say I was taking a casual walk. I said I was in the neighborhood. Can't a girl go out for some fresh air without getting interrogated?" Loona was practically growling now, but there was no real heat to it. "Whatever. It was dumb to think you'd be happy to see me. I should've just kept walking."

She threw her hands up and spun on one heel toward the door. Her strides were long, deliberate, and about half the speed she moved when she was actually angry. Three steps. Four. Her pace faltered on the fifth, her body swaying with the quiet surprise of having made it that far without being stopped. The recovery was smooth, but you caught it.

"Calm down. C'mon, you came all the way here, and damned if I'm getting to sleep after all this, anyway." Loona stopped on a dime and craned her neck to look back at you, appearing less annoyed at anything you'd said than at how far she'd been allowed to walk. You stepped past her while she was still deciding whether to glare or follow.

She followed.

In the kitchen, you noted that your earlier assessment was on the mark—just shy of three in the morning. Far too late – or at this point too early – to do much proper cooking, and the state of your pantry made the question irrelevant either way. Loona watched you move between cabinets with the same sharp scrutiny you'd directed her way when you nearly shot her.

"Damn. You do actually eat, right?" Loona brows furrowed in the way they did when she was genuinely worried about someone. Irritation draped over the concern like a tarp, concealing it while the shape was still clear underneath. Each time you opened a cabinet to reveal bare shelves and empty boxes, the look grew more pronounced. "Maybe you <I>did</I> get robbed." "Been working a lot lately. Haven't exactly had time to stock up." The admission made you feel more embarrassed than it should have with Loona there, eyes locked on you as you struggled to even find something to nuke in the microwave. "Wasn't planning on getting raided in the middle of the night." "You... really are busy lately, huh?"

There was another question underneath that one. You didn't answer either of them. Loona didn't press.

"Gotta be honest with you, unless you want to start chewing through the furniture, might be time for a snack run." You chuckled. She just rolled her eyes.

"I didn't actually come here for the food, dumbass. I just wanted to–" She stopped herself, recalibrated. "Whatever. I'm not gonna sit here and watch you starve."

She didn't object when you walked past her toward the front door. Her shoes were on before you'd finished lacing yours, and she followed you out into the night without a word.

The streets of Pentagram City at three in the morning had a particular quality to them. Not quiet — Hell was never truly quiet — but thinned out, stripped down to the essentials. The neon still bled across every surface, reds and pinks pooling in the gutters like something alive, but the crowds that usually choked the sidewalks had retreated to wherever crowds went when the night got serious.

What was left were the people who had reasons to be out at this hour, and none of those reasons were good.

Loona was always fearless in these streets. You were a healthy mixture of brave and paranoid. But you both let your postures unclench a little more than usual as you went, your strides falling into sync without discussion. There was a specific kind of reassurance in having someone warm at your side who could handle themselves.

"So what's got you up at this hour, let alone wandering Pentagram City?" You waited until you were a few blocks from home, after you'd checked for a tail but before the neon and noise could swallow the conversation. "I told you." Loona shrugged, keeping her snout forward. "I wound up in this part of town. No big deal. With all the weird hours you've been working, I thought maybe you'd still be awake. And you know I hate feeling cooped up. Maybe I just wanted to get out of the house for a while." "Maybe." You mirrored her shrug. You said it in the way that only the two of you could - the way that meant you didn't believe her for a second, but you'd let her have it all the same. "Where are we even going?" The lilt in her voice made you think she really hadn't considered the question until then. That she'd followed you out the door without a care for the destination. "I don't know what shitholes are open at this hour around here." "Not many restaurants to begin with. How do you feel about some sketchy convenience burgers?"

Her lip curled. It might've made you laugh, if you weren't running on fumes.

"Don't worry. I've been in this neighborhood a while; I know the places you can go without getting shot, and I know the ones you can go without winding up hunched over a toilet <I>wishing</I> you got shot."

"Real appetizing." She gave you an exasperated look from the corner of her eye. "Just make sure it's edible. Don't worry about me — I've got a strong stomach. Hounds like me don't last long without one." The weight of that landed between you, quiet and familiar, and neither of you flinched away from it. The atmosphere didn't shift. You both carried things. Sometimes a sentence like that was just the corner of something heavier peeking out from where it had been buried, and the kindest thing to do was acknowledge it without digging.

She even smiled at you after the moment of nostalgic grief passed. It was a small smile, but it was one of the rare ones. The real ones.

"Besides, burgers over pizza? C'mon. I thought you weren't <I>totally</I> hopeless." "Hey, at least you can drown out a bad burger with enough sauce. Pizza's just gonna be pizza."

"That is the worst take I've ever heard. You can't fuck up pizza so bad you can't at least—" "Wolf it down?" "I will fucking <I>end</I> you." </ hr>

The sight nearly brought you both to tears — you from laughter, Loona from something akin to grief. She pressed a palm on the edge of the convenience store counter, gripping it hard enough to crack and splinter the cheep veneer. "Who the fuck eats this shit?" Loona's voice was half a snarl, her fangs showing as she gestured with her entire palm toward the spinning dish. "Why is there vegetarian pizza in Hell?!" "Probably because it's Hell."

You snickered as her exaggerated resentment turned into a colder kind of hatred. The kind that turned her white irises to an icy tundra as she weight the pros and cons of your friendship. You waited with arms crossed, smirk never faltering. After a few seconds, the appraisal came up in your favor, as it always did. Loona grumbled, and she shoved your shoulder as she wandered past, but she made a jerking gesture for you to follow.

You trailed her all the way down to the burgers, where she picked through the late-night offerings with the enthusiasm of someone defusing a bomb. After giving the vegetarian options a look of pure, distilled hatred, she settled on the simplest options, meat and cheese with as few avenues to spoilage as possible. Gas station bacon always sounded like a better idea than it ended up being—and it rarely sounded pleasant to begin with.

"Alright, you win," she finally grunted, turning toward the condiment bar. "Raw meat and stale burgers it is." "You might wish it was raw when you see how dry it is."

She didn't appreciate the reassurance.

The silence as the two of you worked to bury the almost-edible pickings beneath a dozen flavors of dressing and cheap garnish was unusually pleasant. The usual three-in-the-morning malaise — the kind that came with eating alone under fluorescent lights, replaying every bad decision that had led you to this exact counter — was notably absent. Perhaps it was because you hadn't woken from a nightmare, often the only thing strong enough to compel you away from your home at this hour. Or perhaps it was the soft padding of paws beside you that made the eerily silent aisles of the convenience store a little cozier, a little less like the lulling quiet before a strike.

"Hold up." Loona stopped in her tracks halfway to the counter. Her eyes were narrowing with a sort of anticipatory regret, a feeling that seemed to grow with each passing moment. "If I'm going to choke these things down, I need something to help me forget it. You want any?" Your eyes flicked to the back bays of the cooler, the bargain barrel beers that were only marginally more trustworthy than the food. "You've got a pretty long way to walk home. Maybe you should–" "I'm grabbing a six pack, not getting shitfaced." She shoved her burgers into your arms none too gently. A smearing of sauce oozed out of the wrapper and plopped to the floor. "I'll take that as a no. Go find the cashier, I'll be right up." She was already halfway down the aisle before you could respond, her stride fueled by reflexive irritation. You carried the haul to the counter and tapped the service bell.

A door swung open behind the register at the same moment you heard the cooler hiss. Glass clinked softly as Loona made her selection, and a different hellhound — shorter, with patchy black, white, and brown fur — stepped up to the counter. You bit back a wince as you recognized her. One of the regular workers. And you, one of the regulars on her shift. Apathy led the way as she approached, but something warmer followed closely in its footsteps as her eyes moved from the burgers to you. She offered a tired smile and began scanning items with the fluid, practiced disinterest that only a true veteran of the service industry could achieve.

"Been seeing you a lot lately." Her voice was warm despite the exhaustion in her eyes. She hadn't bothered with a nametag, but her voice brought back a name offered once in passing — Olivia? Ophelia? Something with an O. "Hungry tonight, huh?" "Eating for two." She laughed - your meaning had been missed, taken for a joke. Not a funny one, but she laughed all the same.

"Well, hey, don't sweat it. A couple extra pounds ain't gonna ruin somebody like you," she rumbled, giggling a little as she worked a few buttons on the outdated register. "Figured when I got stuck with this shift I'd be dealing with the real freaks, I have to admit. Glad to know at least one person running around the block at this time of night can make my night a little better. Twenty-two sixty-four, sweetie, and come back anytime." "Yeah, how 'bout you add these and take a couple steps back?" Loona walked up to the counter and tossed the six-pack onto the counter so abruptly you were surprised the glass didn't break. She laid her palms on the edge of the counter, leaning far enough forward to put herself firmly in Olivia's space. "I can smell the desperation over the fryer grease." The cashier's expression cycled through several stages of a response she couldn't afford to voice. What emerged was a smile stretched so tight it was practically vibrating.

"Of course." She scanned the six-pack with exaggerated care, then turned the scanner toward you. "Paying for both, sir?"

The question had nothing to do with the beer and burgers. Both possible answers hung in the air like a dare.

"I'm paying." Loona shouldered you aside before you could respond, her eyes locked on the cashier as she positioned herself squarely in front of the register.

"Oh, my mistake." The cashier met Loona's stare with the calm, measured fearlessness of someone who had fantasized about hitting a customer for years and was quietly evaluating whether tonight was the night. "I just assumed you couldn't hold a job with an attitude like that."

Loona's eye twitched — the same twitch you'd last seen at a party, right before someone lost a fistful of freshly-dyed hair. "Matter of fact, I've got a great job. I kill people for a living."

"Sweetie, this is Hell." The cashier's voice kept its velvet smoothness, though you caught the way she shifted her weight backward. "Who doesn't?"

Loona wanted her throat. She settled for the win. Her claws punctured the plastic of her card as she wrenched it from her wallet — four fresh holes joining a constellation of old ones. She was, apparently, an angry shopper.

The transaction concluded with the brittle civility of a ceasefire. The cashier's parting smile lingered on you a beat too long, and Loona noticed — she always noticed — but she held her tongue until you were through the doors.

At least, until you were <I>almost</I> through the doors.

"Can you <I>believe</I> the nerve of that bitch?" Loona seethed before the doors were closed, her voice raised to make sure it was the last thing Olivia would hear before they slid shut once more. "If she threw herself at you any harder, you'd be ducking to avoid venereal disease!" "I think you might be overreacting." "Oh, trust me, I know girls like that," Loona swore. One of the beers was already in hand. The cap clattered to the concrete as she popped it with a claw. "And why was she acting so familiar with you, anyway?" "She recognized me." The admission cost you nothing, but Loona's expression said she was charging a higher price. "Not a lot of night shift workers. She's probably there six, seven days a week." "Oh, you know her <I>schedule</I> now?"

"Yeah. I do." You shrugged. "It's my schedule too, lately."

That landed differently than she expected. The jealousy in her expression flinched, knocked off-balance by the reminder of what your life actually looked like these days.

"Shit. Right." Loona took a long pull from the bottle, and when she spoke again, the edge had dulled. "You've probably been eating those nasty-ass burgers for weeks. Christ. Buy some groceries. Do meal prep. Something, you dumbass."

You let your attention drift from the dark corners and the alley mouths you'd been scanning on reflex. Not for long — never for long — but enough to catch the way she tilted her head, the angle of her shoulders, the slight turn of her body away from you. Loona never apologized without sarcasm, but she had other ways of saying it when it mattered.

"That's not a bad idea, actually." Your gaze returned to the street before she could catch you looking. "You any better at cooking than I am?" "Ah." A beat passed. "Maybe we just, y'know, get you an air fryer. Or something." "We? Awful generous of you to offer your hard-earned paycheck like that." You grinned at her, showing a little extra fang. "Gonna share some of that blood money with me, you big strong killer?" The elbow she buried in your ribs nearly put you in traffic. </ hr> The clatter of bottles in your fridge announced Loona's return from putting the beer away. She crossed the apartment in four strides and threw herself onto the couch without regard for the fact that you were already sitting on it. Her calves landed in your lap, heavy and unapologetic, and she spent a few seconds squirming into position among the throw pillows on the other end before settling with a huff. "Yeah, sure thing, make yourself right at home."

"Thanks. I will." She drowned out any further commentary by unwrapping her burger with maximum volume, crinkling the paper until you surrendered. All the complaints she'd lodged about the food on the walk home evaporated the moment she took the first bite. Her jaw worked with the efficiency of someone who had stopped caring about dignity several hours ago.

"Told you I had good taste." You took your own first bite, then immediately reconsidered. "...Decent taste. Good as it gets in Hell at three in the morning." Loona made a grunt that could've either been agreement, or a demand for silence. Either way, the TV came on, giving the two of you something to do other than prod at each other. You settled into something that neither of you had a name for, something neither of you were eager to name. It was nice. And different. Different than sneaking off into the night for some party. Different than when you invited her over, too. That always came with the odd sense of pressure, the unspoken weight of <I>planning</I> to spend time together, and planning meant something was supposed to happen - what that was, you were never sure, but it always felt like whatever you were doing wasn't it. This had no pressure, no schedule. She'd broken into your house at three in the morning. Now you were eating terrible burgers together, her legs were splayed across your lap, and neither of you were pretending this was anything resembling normal—and somehow, that made it feel right.

Loona finished her food first. She balled up the wrapper and tossed it onto the coffee table with the accuracy of someone who didn't care whether it landed, then sank deeper into the pillows and let out a breath that seemed to take something with it. Some of the tension in her calves loosened against your thighs.

A while passed. A half hour, maybe more. The television murmured through segments neither of you were really watching. Occasionally one of you would make a comment — a jab at someone on-screen, a noise of disbelief at a particularly bad take — but the silences between grew longer and more comfortable after each of them.

You brought it up during one of those silences, when the energy felt right.

"So. You want to tell me what actually had you out at this hour?"

"It's nothing." The reflex came first, denial as natural as breathing. Her eyes stayed on the TV, but they weren't glazed over by the dull monotony of mindless television anymore. They were thoughtful, and chasing after something she wasn't quite sure whether or not to share. "I just... haven't been sleeping great lately. I get in my head at night, and then I can't get back down. Stupid brain stuff. Figured I'd be better off doing something productive with my time."

You could've asked what kind of thoughts. You could've questioned what was so productive about wandering Pentagram City in the dark. But you'd learned the hard way that when Loona opened a door like this, you didn't get to widen it — you just stood in the frame and let her decide how far it swung.

"Yeah, I get that. Sometimes you gotta get up and do something, or you'll just go crazy." You pondered for a moment, then decided against pulling on the threads of old wounds - yours or hers. Your hand rested on her calf for the first time since she'd put her legs across your lap. She didn't comment on it. From her, that was warmth. "Yeah. Yeah, something like that," Loona murmured. This time there was no regret. She nestled deeper into the pillows, shifted her legs slightly on your lap, and went quiet once more.

At some point, the silence changed, in the subtle way that something cast aside can take on new meaning - slowly, over time, often without anyone else noticing. The network programming shifted to bad reality TV. When no acerbic commentary came from the other end of the couch, you glanced over. Loona was asleep.

Her breathing had gone deep and even. She'd sunk so far into the pillows that her head had barely shifted when sleep took her, and the tension that lived permanently in her shoulders – the kind that came from a lifetime of bracing for the next bad thing – had finally gone slack. Her legs were warm and heavy in your lap, still save for the occasional twitch.

You looked at the clock. Close to five.

You had work later today. Escort duty for some Greed Ring suit with more money than sense. You were going to pay for this — the missed sleep, the shitty food sitting in your stomach, the inevitable fog behind your eyes when you needed to be sharp. Things always went sideways in Pentagram City, and they had a particular fondness for going sideways on days when you couldn't afford it.

You didn't move. You turned the volume down two notches, settled a little deeper into the cushion, and let her have what she'd come looking for, whether she'd admit to it or not. "...Rest easy, girl." </ hr> She woke the way she'd fallen asleep — subtly, at first. A light twitch of one paw, a twist of the neck, a general flexing and tensing across her figure. Then the conscious part of Loona came online, and the gradual stirring became a sudden jolt, arms braced against the cushions as she pushed herself upright.

"Ah, I- where- <I>fuck</I>." Her voice was thick with sleep, her snout twitching as she assembled the scattered pieces of the last several hours. It came back in fragments—your apartment, the walk, the store, the couch. You watched the reconstruction play across her face, each new detail arriving with a faint wince, until the full picture resolved into a look that landed somewhere between embarrassment and defiance.

"Morning, sunshine." It wasn't entirely meant as a joke. Hell was never exactly 'dark', but the quality of the light was shifting toward what passed as dawn down here.

"Oh, fuck off." Loona flipped you off, and a laugh danced at the edge of your lips. You hadn't gotten the opportunity to see her wake up often - only a handful of times after a late night getaway turned into an overnight getaway. The sight of pillow creases in the fur around her cheeks brought the laugh to life in full.

"My house, you fuck off." She acknowledged the point with a ragged, grumpy grunt.

"Bite me. I'm going home."

"Just like that?" "Yeah." She swung her legs off your lap — and there was a beat, barely a full second, where her movement stalled. Not hesitation, exactly. More like the brief resistance of something that had settled into place and didn't want to be disturbed. She pushed through it and stood. "Just like that."

The ease from the night before hadn't faded on its own. She was packing it away deliberately, brick by brick, rebuilding the walls with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done it a thousand times. But her eyes drifted to the pillows. To the indent she'd left. They lingered a beat too long.

"Want a ride?"

"Are you serious?" You were. She snorted. "Get a grip, dude. You're about to pass out. Besides, I can handle myself. Practically the middle of the day now, anyway." You didn't argue. The practical case for the ride was obvious, but the tension in her body told you this wasn't about practicality.

"Whatever. You want any more burgers at three in the morning, you know where to find me."

She paused at the door. Just long enough for you to see it — the familiar blend of appreciation and irritation that always made your day a little better.

"Yeah, thanks." She pulled the door open. "If I wanna wake up with my mouth tasting like grease and regret, I always know where to go." Neither of you said goodbye. Not with words, at least. The farewells came in snappy comments, rude gestures, and the way your gazes intertwined with one another until the very moment the door tore them apart. Then you were alone. Early in the morning, with a handful of hours left to pull yourself together before dealing with someone almost as frustrating as Loona... and not half as interesting. "Shit, girl." Two words, carrying more than they had any right to. You shook your head and wandered to the kitchen. You'd been thirsty for close to an hour, but you hadn't moved — hadn't wanted to risk disturbing her, hadn't wanted to trade the warm weight across your legs for a glass of water.

When you opened the refrigerator, you were greeted by something you'd nearly forgotten. Five cheap, gas-station beers stared back at you. The remnants of a six-pack bought for comfort — to dull the edge of whatever was rattling around in her skull at three in the morning, keeping her up and pushing her out into the streets. And she hadn't touched it since she'd chugged the first in a moment of jealousy. You smiled. Debated cracking one of them open, decided against it, reached for a bottle of water instead. Five beers. Five reasons to come back.

Moxxie

You encountered the thespian imp sneaking around on the aircraft carrier you were stationed on, just underneath the flight deck. When you saw him, you attempted to capture him, only for him to knock you out with the butt of his rifle.

He killed the captain of the carrier who was his contract. And in a flash, was gone. No trace of the killer, no evidence was left behind, nothing. Just a dead Navy officer, and a pilot with some mild head trauma.

You woke up in the sick bay, nursing a moderate concussion. Military police questioned you, but you couldn’t recollect what your assailant looked like.

A few days later, he felt guilty for hurting you, so he showed up in the sick bay to visit you with some flowers from Hell and a card wishing you to get better. Due to his kindness and remorse, he became your friend.

Once he learned that you were a fighter pilot, the questions were never-ending. He was always asking you about previous missions and even technical questions about your jet.

One day, you had enough of his questions, and decided to take him for a flight, so he could see it for himself. You didn’t pull any aerial acrobatics, instead, you showed him the world from far above at high altitudes. After this, he confessed he had feelings for you, and you kicked it off from there.

Moxxie was never worried about your safety, he knew that you were a skilled pilot and capable of holding your own. That was until one day. You told him you were being deployed, and he got extremely nervous.

On one of your missions, you got shot down into the wilderness. You set up your rescue beacon and waited for days and days for a rescue that never came.

After not getting any communication from you in over a week, his anxiety kicked into overdrive. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. He used the grimoire and went to the living world, searching for you at your last known coordinates.

He found you in a cave, alive, but messed up badly. You had several wounds and several bandages on you. Knowing that lack of action meant that you would die, he took you back with him to Hell, nursing your injuries and making sure his personal fighter ace was well.

Millie

Her first encounter with you was when you managed to kill her target before her. She was after some terrorist in the Middle East, and you blew him up before she could even get to him.

Letting curiosity get the better of her, she found herself heading to the nearest airbase to check out who did it. No ill will intended, she just wanted to meet you.

Lo and behold, she found you. The sight of the redneck imp made you feint as you came to the realization that Hell was real. Upon awaking, she was still there, and struck up a conversation with you. You made a good friend pretty quickly.

She would always go on a little detour on areas where you were deployed over the course of a few months, always visiting you after I.M.P. would finish a contract. She loved catching up with you and getting to know you better.

You two always had competitions, like who could beat the other in a sparring match in the ring, or who could shoot the other down in a combat simulator. You were very competitive, and so was she.

Millie loved a man who was as competitive as her, and by all that is unholy, she fell for you hard after this. She confessed her feelings soon after, and you reciprocated, getting yourself a lovely girlfriend.

Seeing you in action, she was never worried about you getting hurt or anything like that. You were pretty capable in a scrap for one, and you were pretty much an ace pilot.

One day however, your jet was shot down and you were captured by insurgents. When Millie found out, there was going to be HELL to pay for those insurgents. She organized a rescue mission, and everyone in I.M.P. went along because they were scared of HER.

She and the rest of I.M.P. killed every single one of the terrorists who held you captive. When she got to you, you were hurt pretty badly; you had some broken ribs, an injured back from the ejection, a concussion, and some other cuts and bruises from the torture you were subjected to.

She got you back to your base so you could be treated for your injuries, and she went on one helluva revenge mission. She was going to kill as many of the terrorists from that group that hurt you, and nothing was going to stop her.

Loona

Your first encounter with Loona was pretty drama free. She decided to go to the living world to get away from everyone at the office and relax a bit. She was at a bar in her human disguise.

She ran into you getting some drinks in your dress uniform. Several other pilots were with you, celebrating the retirement of another pilot. You mustered up the courage to talk to the goth girl at the bar, and hit it off pretty well, with her giving you her number.

You texted her back and forth for a few weeks, getting to know her better over everything, some playful flirting and all. She made the first move and asked you to meet her at a park.

You met her at the park in your leather pilot jacket and some jeans. You had a great time there, got some coffee, and got to know her a lot better over time, her even revealing her true form to you, which freaked you out a bit, but you still loved her regardless, and she became your girlfriend.

You took her on-base one day and showed her the jet you flew, and she was impressed. She honestly thought that you being a fighter pilot was really cool and hot.

You never took her into the jet on a flight, but you did buy her tickets to an airshow that you would be performing in. While she was there, she was stunned at how easy you made it look to dance that jet around the sky.

She had some fears of you getting hurt or worse, but she knew that it came with the territory of dating someone in the military. She never let her worries get to her though, and always remained strong for you.

One day during an exercise while you were flying, your jet had a complete hydraulics failure, and you weren’t able to control the plane whatsoever, leading you to eject from the jet, and leaving you with a pretty nasty spinal injury.

When you could, you texted her about it, and she was at the hospital within a few seconds, teleporting herself to you from Hell. She never left your side while you were there, oftentimes staying in the hospital for days.

"Loona?" Your voice cut through the silence. "Yeah?" She asked with a slight edge in her voice. You looked at her with tenderness in your eyes. "What's going on? You've been acting strange since you picked me up.. Did I do something wrong?" Loona's ears dropped. "What? No! No, no, no. You didn't do anything, I just-" she sighed. "..Dammit. I'm acting so fuckin' stupid.." She put on her turn signal and drove down the busy street. "It's just.. My dad-..Blitz, is.. a lot. Don't get me wrong, I love the guy, but he can be so embarrassing, and I'm just-" she sighed, "..You mean so much to me, babe. I'm just so worried he'll scare you off."

You seemed to soften a bit. She'd been so tense because she was worried about her dad? "Loona.. you don't have to worry about that." She glanced at you, her grip on the wheel loosening. You gave her a warm smile. "You really think I'm gonna leave you if you have a weird dad? I think I can handle it." Loona paused for a moment before laughing. She smacked herself in the forehead. "Well.. Okay. I guess I was just being a paranoid bitch, huh?" You laughed along with her. "A little, yeah."

-

The two of you both stopped in front of the door to the apartment. Loona took a deep breath. "I hope this goes well..." she whispered under her breath. She pushed the door open and you both stepped inside. "BLITZ! WE'RE HERE! WHERE ARE YOU, JACKASS?!"

Just then, Blitz came around the corner. He stopped in front of you two and held out his hand to you. "Well, well! Look who it is! I'm Blitz, the 'o' is silent. You must be my Loonie's girlfriend!" Loona's face turned a deep shade of red at the nickname. You smiled softly and took Blitz's hand. "Nice to meet you, Blitz! I must say, I love this place. All the horse stuff is so cute!" The Imp's eyes lit up like a Sinsmas tree. "Loonie, you didn't tell me she was THIS amazing! Come on in, kiddo! You like pizza? Cuz I've got PLENTY!"

You walked further into the house and sat down at the table with Loona. You and Blitz got along great, ate a bunch of pizza, and had an amazing time. Looks like Loona had nothing to worry about, after all.

-

LOONA

she tries to go to your shows as often as possible- she has skipped worked to go see you play. she has some of your bands songs burned into a CD somewhere in her room. she.... has probably lost it, can totally see her having a messy room

you always make sure she gets to be in the front of the audience to get the best view and sound, you may be a small band and cant afford much but you do what you can where you can

sometimes you sit together at your place and make your own merch... you dont have enough fans to justify making your own merch line... and besides, making the shirt designs with your own hands with her are nice...! just... help her get the paint flakes out of her fur...

VEROSIKA

she understands how beginning artists can struggle and she tries to help you as much as she can... and that can be easy when she starts showing you off and wearing your merch around in public.. you try to insist that she doesnt need to do that... but she does genuinely enjoy your music! even if its not her style she can see the effort you put into it....

blitz... definitely left some issues regarding trust with her, so there is a vague worry that youre going to end up dipping once she gets your name out there. lots of conversations need to be had and trust is established!

often times you play as an opening to her concerts, shes always standing to the side backstage listening to your performance

VASSAGO

loooooooves all sorts of music genres but your style is probably one of his favorites! quite literally found you on accident- perhaps hearing you play at a small venue or park... or managing to stumble upon your music online-- it doesnt take long at all for your music to shoot to his top favorites

has zero fear in approaching you, though you may be a little taken aback given he- a member of the ars goetia- coming to you... (assuming youre of lower class... imp, hellhound, ect ect)... but with his charm you both hit it off quick!

She doesn't usually like getting pets- and if shes... in that form.. it's likely not the best time to pet her- buuuuuuuuut.... maybe she can make an exception if the action is in your favor- afterall, a good dog deserves pets as a reward right?

Will pick you up by the scruff and/or back of your shirt and sling you around if there's any danger heading your way- will throw her on her back so she can run easier

Will bite you if you try to jokingly call her good girl or doggie or anything along those lines- generally despises those terms anyway, and mind you her teeth are sharper in this form than her standard