Falling in love~ (Stolitz)-(Smut, fluff, & maybe angst)

~Something unusual~

A/N Nothing to put here, might stop doing it.

"You know what I fucking can't stand?"

Stolas blinked, only turning his head as the window to one of his guest bedrooms was shoved wide, a familiar form ducking in through the allotted space at an awkward angle.

That's right.

Full moon.

He'd forgotten after the first bloody hurdle of his day.

"I do believe the list is quite extensive," Stolas answered with a weary lilt to his tone, wondering how Blitzø had even known he was here and not in his bedroom. He was laid flat on his stomach upon the bed, out of every fuck to give in the universe.

"I can't fucking stand, fucking bad fucking days," Blitzø ground out, standing by the window with dripping wet attire. He looked marginally pathetic, save for the fact he was glaring at the wall opposite with his shoulders hiked up, spines jutting out and fists balled, pupils narrowed into slits.

Stolas lifted his head a little, never having seen the Imp so blatantly riled without mouthing off or tearing into something.

Or someone.

He knew he should move, help the soggy Imp just standing there but he was too worn down. "There's towels in the cupboard."

Blitzø trudged over to said hot press, sifting through several folded bed sheets before tugging out a pale blue towel. He unfurled it with a huff, roughly rubbing his face before draping it over his horns.

"You'd think after so many years of bitch-ass misery, I'd catch a fucking break, but nah. I can't catch anything but a shitty fucking bullet," he griped as Stolas squinted at the window, curious as to how exactly the Imp had managed to climb up there.

He was used to Blitzø scaling the balcony to his bedroom, but this side of the palace was barren for the most part.

There was a crack of thunder and Stolas shook his head as Blitzø growled, locking the latch as the storm outside continuing to rage on.

"Bullet?" Stolas echoed, giving the smaller demon a once-over as the admission registered.

Blitzø shrugged as he tilted his head into the towel he was using to dry off his horns before wrapping it around his shoulders. "Would'a been more effective if they'd shot me in the fucking face," he muttered, placing a palm over his left pectoral with a grimace. "Popped me one in the fucking chest. Do you know how fucking long it takes to fish out a bullet from your own fucking body? Too fucking long."

Stolas floundered mentally, confused by the information being relayed and the sight of Blitzø ranting on as though it were nothing to worry about.

"Are you telling me you climbed up here with a bullet wound?!" he finally exclaimed, exasperation biting at him as Blitzø glanced at the window then shrugged again.

"Yeah, fucking smarts," Blitzø stated flatly, staring ahead at nothing as he stood there idly. "Think I've torn my stitches. They weren't all that neat to begin with. Anyway I broke my fucking phone, and Millie confiscated my keys to the office so needed to let you know that you should go get your Grimoire from the safe since I'm fucked for the time being. None of those fucking assholes will let me back into work until I 'recover'."

Stolas dumbly nodded, watching as Blitzø slumped onto the edge of the bed, towel still hanging off him. "So what's your fucking grief?" he half-demanded, kicking off his boots and starting to undress.

"Ugh," was all Stolas could reply with, returning to face-planting the pillow. He waited a few seconds before inhaling deeply and shifting a little. "Call from Stella. Call from Father. Call from Andrealphus who called on behalf of Stella. Octavia turned a staff member to stone this morning by accident. She's now insisting on wearing sunglasses around the house and staying in her room as much as possible lest she 'petrify the populous of Pride'. I set my room alight by mistake and... oh yes. One of my plants swallowed my phone so we're both suffering in that department."