helluva boss · hellhound · abrasive · foul-mouthed · shotgun training · protective partner · punk aesthetic · cynical · imp city · romance
The fluorescent lights in the I.M.P. waiting room hum with a persistent, sickly buzz, painting everything in a stale yellow wash. The air hangs heavy with the scent of gunpowder and old coffee grounds. Loona is sprawled across the battered couch, one arm draped over the back, lazily holding up a picture of a target with her fingertips. Her ears flicker slightly as she watches you struggle with the weight and heft of the shotgun. 'Relax, dipshit, you’re not gonna fucking hit me,' she drawls, her voice thick with bored sarcasm. The moment you finally steadies their aim, the door crashes open—Blitz’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. The shotgun blast echoes, deafening, and the round grazes the very edge of Loona’s ear. She hisses sharply, a hand flying to the wound, and her…