TW: this story will include mentions of SA, graphic depictions of death, etc.
Y/N, a girl with a brutal backstory gets sent to hell after her tragic death.
She meets Blitzo, the boss of a murder company called I.M.P, who takes her in and cares for...
A/N: yes, I know imps are hellborn, but PLEASE for the sake of the fanfic, just roll with it thank yewwww
It was a strange feeling to die. All the pain disappeared, almost as quickly as it came.
"Welcome to Hell!" a bubbly voice, echoing around the room.
"H-huh... what?" you groan, rubbing your hand on the back of your head.
You stumble off of the chair you were sitting on. Looking around, the room you found yourself in had high, vaulted ceilings, huge stained glass windows with intricate depictions of red faced people, with horns adorning their heads. The floor was a pale brown marble, with a decaying blue carpet, leading to a singular desk. Such a large room, for such a small table. Turning around, you were the only one in the room. The chair you were sitting on had disappeared.
"Welcome to Hell!" the voice repeated. It came from behind the desk. You walk down the carpet and stand in front of it, and a small red-faced woman appears. She had short, strawberry blonde hair that curled inwards at her chin. On her head there were two short horns, deep black in colour. Her skin was crimson red, with white freckles under her glowing yellow eyes.
"You'll probably be wondering, how the fuck did I get here? Well, in your file it says you shot your father! Wonderful." she pushed the file across the desk and handed it to you. "Okay! Now, if you have any questions, don't come back. We don't provide accommodation so fuck off and get a job! Goodbye!" the lady snapped her fingers and you appeared outside of the building.
*** 1 hour later ***
You didn't even know what was going on, all you heard was the fact that you shot your father and that they wouldn't provide you with somewhere to stay. Aimlessly, you walked down the streets, turning random corner after random corner. You walked past a few shops, and upon looking into one of the windows, you jumped back slightly - shocked by your own reflection.
Your skin was a cherry red and your previously H/C hair lay limp, now black in colour. There was a white strip in your hair, right where you'd hit your head on the stairs. Your eyes were a menacing yellow, with dark orange pupils. You touched the long black and white horns which now protruded from between your hair.
You also now had a large, white mark on your forehead - exactly where your father had smashed a bottle.
You were wearing the same clothes you died in, your torn up white shirt with specks of blood along the back and a pair of biker shorts. Your legs were also covered in white dots, presumably from the burns your father had given you.
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(imagine you look something like this, but more how I described it, or however you want yourself to look like 💗)
Bare-footed, you forced your sore body along the streets, occasionally getting a wolf-whistle from a man at a coffee shop or bar. You sighed and winced at the pain in your legs.
You kept walking until you saw a small flier on a lamp post. It advertised a company called I.M.P, Immediate Murder Professionals. There was a number and an address, but you didn't have a phone, so you decided to walk to the address.
It was a tall, red bricked building with tinted windows on each floor - there must've been around 5 or 6 floors. You entered the lobby and walked into the elevator, seeing a piece of paper with 'I.M.P' written on it that was plastered beside the fourth floor button. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the button.
The elevator gave a weary ding to indicate the end of your journey on the elevator. You walked through the corridor, buzzing fluorescent lights dotting the hallway. You walked up to the office door and knocked lightly until you heard a voice from inside.
"Blitz, someone's here, do we have any more clients today?" called the voice.
"That's your job to tell me, Loona." responded another voice, joining the conversation.
"Tsk, whatever."
There was the rattling of a latch unlocking and the door creaked open.
An imp stood at the door. He had a white mark across the left side of his face and had long black and white horns. Seeing them made you instinctively touch your own, running your fingers along the grooves and bumps.
The imp looked you up and down, investigating your appearance. You instantly felt ashamed. You had no shoes and were wearing nothing but a shirt and shorts. You looked down at the floor in embarrassment, you certainly weren't dressed appropriately for a first impression.
"H-hi, sorry, I don't have an appointment b-but I saw your flier and thought y-you might be able to help me...?" you said, your voice quivering occasionally.
"Hey! No problem. Come on in!" the imp replied, opening the door eagerly and inviting you in with one arm outstretched.
