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reptilian-angel · 3 months

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The Cafe' Prince & The Killer Cook Pt. 1:

Chapter One - "Egg on your Face" Mega-Omelet

ME: Blitzø, having suffered a the worst day of his life, finds an unexpected silver lining when he awakens inside some random cafe hosted by a sweet (if oddly articulate) little girl, Via and her chef daddy, Stolas (Who looks like Hell on Wheels and cooks just as good, but who gave a shit.)

Later on after this chance encounter, a completely unanticipated offer might just be what Blitzø needs to turn his trashfire of an existence into a lifetime of amazing food, exciting moments and maybe even . . . Love?

Stolitz fluff, food chain puns, good food and healthy doses of angst await you at the Stars & Stir-Ups Cafe’!!! (Yet to be named)

Inspired by Pink Lomito’s ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE Stolitz Cafe’ AU fanart and written with their blessing, so I can only hope this will live up to the hype! (Displayed Below)

Full disclosure, I DO bake as a hobby, but I am NOT a career baker so most of descriptions of any foods mentioned, cooking and otherwise, will totally be written by an author completely in the dark, so please be gentle with any criticisms regarding any of the cooking displayed here. (Also see the end of the chapters for the recipes used, or at least the closest comparisions.)

Get Your knives and forks ready, you sinners & saints, and please enjoy!! I owe nothing!!!

Normal P.O.V.

When Blitzø woke up, he was automatically confused.

He had expected to be face flat, ass up on the shitty, grime covered flour of the bar he had trudged into last night like he had only hours to live. It had been a record-breaking shitty-ass day for him and he decided, like the many, many bitchy broke losers out there who had had their dreams squashed and trampled on like gnats in Hell, to drown his sorrows. Burning $ouls like tissue paper, he had began going for broke, mooching off other patrons and drunkards, earning petty shots in impromptu contests and maybe even performed a small strip tease for a gaggle of succubi and incubi.

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure how it ended, although he did have a vague recollection of plowing his dick into one of the incubi in one of the nasty as fuck bathroom stalls and wondering if the greasy pump soap could be used as lube before fading to black.

Christ on a Pogo stick he had REALLY gotten fucked up, didn’t he?

That said, he wouldn’t have been shocked in the slightest if he had found himself upside down, half- naked and definitely robbed of his wallet and phone in some shady alley at the crack of dawn. Yeah, that would have been normal for him.

Waking up in a plush, fancy-pants booth with a soft, comfortable quilt thrown on top of him was not.

He began leaning up to try and get some sense of where the fuck he was, but everything between his ears immediately started to bitch at him with an acute, relentless thrum that felt even worse than the headaches Moxxie gave him while bitching at him. On a good day.

He gave a low groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes in a sorry attempt to dull the throb. He swore everything was hurting, his horns were hurting, his scars were hurting, fuck, even his brand was hurting -

“Fudge.”

That innocent correction almost made him tumble out of the booth. He barely smacked his palms against the floor to keep him from actually falling face flat on its surface. Points for highly trained trapeze instincts. Centering himself, he found a pair of big, bright pink, and admittingly cute eyes of a little owl demon looking right at his.

Even with him being upside-down, he could tell they were a girl; maybe four or six, with a messy nest of long dark hair let loose save a small ponytail tied up on the side of her head with a scrunchie covered with moons and stars and a simple pink jumper with white stars of various sizes printed all over it.

It had taken a second for his hungover brain to figure out she was an owl, the white heart-shaped frame of her face like that of an owl’s a dead giveaway. The way she blinked at him only cemented that conclusion. She blinked calmly at him, despite how fucking weird he was sure he must’ve looked as a middle-aged, hungover, hot mess sleeping in what he just know fully realized was a restaurant booth.

Feeling caught off guard for a number of reasons, he could only respond with, “Sorry?”

The Little owl gave him a reproaching look, or at least as close to one as a toddler could manage. “‘Fudge’. You said it wrong.” She stated in all seriousness. “You’re supposed to say ‘fudge’ when you say the ‘F’ Word. Otherwise, it’s not polite.”

“Says who?” He asked.

“Says my daddy.” She said proudly as if she was referring to Lucifer himself. “He says ‘Politeness is the-” She paused, her face scrunching up in concentration, “- ‘Per-Ah-Get-Ive’ of sensible young demons’.”

He gave her a small smirk. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“Whatcha just said – Know what it means?”

He had expected her to respond with a "yes" as all little hellspawn do to prove they were just as smart as their parents who most of the time are dumber than the garbage man, and of course be all snooty and snobby about it too.

But, amazingly, she shook her head so much her hair flew in both directions. "Nope! But my daddy taught me that word. Which means it must be a smart grown-up thing to say. My daddy's all grown up and smart so it makes sense to try and apply it to my everyday 'Wing-guess-tics'."

"Uh, 'wing-guess-tics'?" He repeated with a smile.

The little owl nodded. "You know, the way you talk and how you sound to other people. Don't you ever take pride in how you sound towards others less proud of themselves?"

Blitzø sure as hell didn't. In fact, good mood or bad, he couldn't give two shits in a Gluttony Ring brand crapper what every other piece of shit thought about him or the way he talked. Which is exactly what he should tell to this innocent, sassy, too precious for words little oh satan's taint, he was too hungover for this.

Getting up at an old man's pace, he grunted, "I don't really have an answer to that, ow."

Okay, sitting up straight didn't quite stop the ache, but it wasn't harping so badly now.

The little owl made a sad sound. "That's too bad. Everything needs an answer."

"Does it?" He asked while once again pressing into his eyes to try and settle his headache. She gave an affirmative hum.

"They do. Sometimes."

Blitzø gave up trying to squeeze his eyeballs back into his brains and gave a slow roll of his neck, breathing with the small audible stream of cracks that followed. "Yeah, well, sometimes is better than no times I guess." Once his neck didn't feel so stiff, he looked down at the little owl who still was blinking up at him. "Hey kiddo?"

"Yes?"

"Can you, uh . . . Can you tell me where we are right now?" Geez, Blitzø, you need a little kid to tell your dumb, hungover ass where you crashed? Talk about hitting rock bottom.

She giggled like he had just told a funny joke. He admitted, even with a headache, the sound was nice to hear. "You're in our cafe, sir. Mine and Daddy's cafe. You've been here ever since last night."

He felt embarrassment collide with exasperation in a wave that only incensed the pounding in his skull. Grreeeaaat. Now he had to deal with a bitchy dad that could probably make a Karen more bearable. And considering his crappy luck, he could probably give Moxxie a run for his money when it came to whining and botching. Like he didn't have enough of a migraine already.

To distract himself from the imminent ass-chewing, Blitzø decided it was a good time as any to take a quick peek around. In case, things went tits up, he should know how much he could tag with horses and dongs later.

Look all over, he had to admit . . . He was pleasantly surprised.

The cafe was definitely a little ritzier than almost every other diner or bistro in Pride, at least the ones run by imps or sinners. It wasn't an 'in-your-face-so-suck-it-bitches' bourgeois nightmare that you found on the cover of rich people magazines, but it was still easy to smell the $oils that had been burned to buy the number of furniture and appliances that filled it. Pristine designer steel tables, floors tiles so clean you could eat off of them, cushy warm booths like the one he was sitting in that felt comfy enough to be small bed; yeah, this place made the local Hellbucks look like a gas station men's room (Which was also, coincidentally, one of the many places he would periodically wind up in after a bender).

He could probably make off with one of the tablecloths - Made with actual fucking linen, not rag or crappy burlap - And the money he would get for it would easily pay off his non-existent mortgage.

The walls, covered in perfectly intact, shiny wallpaper that was neither covered in mildew nor aged and peeling, colored the interior with a tasteful cream and vanilla striped pattern. Each dark strip of cream had subtle motifs of shooting stars, little crescent moons and cheery spiraling suns. The cushions seated on each chair and the fabrics of the booths were royal blue and spotted with muted violet stars, all differing sizes, each cleaner than the back seat of an Imp City taxi cab. Plus, no springs popping up to try and fuck him in his little red hole.

He then noticed the bar. A quaint but spacious counter as long as Blitzø's body and tail combined, a simple but pricey cash register at one end, with matching leather stools lined up perfectly beneath it. A large glass case half the size of his van sat at the other end, the inside holding shelves of numerous plates of decadent-looking desserts and pastries that drew an expectant grumble from his stomach.

It wasn't his fault, the last thing Blitzø remembered having that was even close to food was some outdated peanuts and the olives he wiped from some douche who had ordered nothing but martinis that were drier than Wraith in a heatwave.

And he normally hated olives, Christ, he must've been fucked up to devour those things, pit and all. Fuck, did I bang the guy who ordered then too?

Okay, not the priority right now, Blitzø. Especially with the cute little kid in front of you whose dad is definitely gonna throw you out on your ass the minute he sees you -

"Oh! Daddy's awake! Good morning, daddy!"

Fuck.

Blitzø jerked his head up at her cheerful greeting, opening his mouth if only to curse at how his head throbbed in response -

— Only for it to immediately die when he caught sight of "Daddy" coming into the cafe'.

Fuck him twice.

The demon that had stepped into his view was, hands down and pants down if his belt was loosened, one of the most gorgeous demons he had seen.

And the tallest, Jesus Christ.

The owl demon was as tall as a tree, with legs for days ending in jet black talons that clicked delicately against the immaculately clean tiles as he strode over. His body was much, much thinner than Blitzø had expected, delicate and lithe with sinfully svelte curves around his well-rounded hips that he felt an instant, barely concealed urge to wrap his legs around and squeeze. His upper body was just as long, lengthy frail arms that grew like willow branches from his shoulders with dainty but large hands and fingers that reminded him of spider legs as they moved and were just as dark as his feet. They were probably as soft as that little fluff of feathers that peeked out on his chest.

Looking at his face, he was slightly taken aback at the sight of not one but two pairs of eyes peering back, although the second pair were smaller and placed higher on his forehead, just as wide and bright as Via's, but instead of pink they shone with crimson and were as opaque as a ruby. It was obvious who this little girl got her looks from the most; the same dark spot at the tip of his beak, and the same shade of grey blue feathers, only his grew darker in hue as they climbed up his very lean throat, combed into a neat and very trim style that clearly was given a lot of attention. The only blemish to it would be the bold streak of grey that cut through the feathers which easily gave away his age, but somehow that had actually improved his looks as it contrasted the young (and pretty) features of his face.

His outfit wasn’t too extraordinary but still, Blitzø felt himself growing warm at the sight of the white button up dress shirt and the open cranberry pink waistcoat the owl was currently snapping shut dexterously and simple dark slacks that hugged his legs perfectly.

Fuck. I was once woken up with V wearing lingerie that was made pretty much just string but this guy is dressed like a fucking waiter and I wanna lay him flat on the counter.

Blitzø was suddenly that much more thankful for the blanket covering his lap, because he was sure feeling the telltale signs of a growing boner.

Oh well, he was sure it would go away once this guy started to whine about having to deal with a drunken piece of shit first thing in the morning -

The tall owl, even with the slightest of sleep still clinging to it, smiled warmly and brightly at his daughter. “Good morning, my Owlette.” Blitzø felt himself once again be knocked off guard by his chocolaty, silky tenor voice, the sound of it sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

Fuckhim three times, he sounded hot too. Satan, this sucked.

The owl’s pleasant chuckle only added to Blitzø;s horny chagrin. “I see you beat me down to the cafe’ today. I hope you slept well, my Starfire.”

The little “Starfire” nodded happily. “I slept good, Daddy! And so did our guest!” She gestured innocently at the imp, who then tensed at being put on the spot by a kid. “When I came down to check on him, he was snoozing like a kitten!”

Blitzø, of course, made a face. A kitten?

It went unnoticed by the little owl, but not by her father who gave her a stern, but still soft look. “Via,” He started. “You didn’t disturb our guest while he was sleeping, did you?”

“Via” quickly shook her head, he feathers swinging side to side in a flurry. “Mh-mm! No, Daddy, I promise I didn’t! I was real quiet until he woke up and said the bad thing wrong.”

He blinked at her. “The ‘bad’ word?”

“One of the words that Mummy used to -” He explanation was abruptly cut off by her father’s wincing and his hands waving the universal sign for stop. “O-oh, alright, alright, sweetie, I understand, no need to go further!”

Blitzø watched them quietly.

Huh. So pretty boy had post-marital troubles with the little former wifey, huh?

Yeah, that made sense. Aside from his friend’s, Blitzø had yet to see any marriage that wasn’t one step away to instating the “death do us part” vow.

This guy must have gotten out while the getting was still good. But not without a few licks dealt, judging by the signs of wariness on his face.

He mentally sighed. Alright the hottie daddy knows you’re here and first impression has clearly gone to shit so, get ready for take two, dumbass.

Blitzø, deciding that jokes was the way to go in a pinch, then said casually. “I guess ‘Mummy’ wasn’t a ‘fudge’ kinda girl.” He then put on his best smile as he looked straight on at the pretty owl. “Me, personally, always liked the mine with plenty of nuts.”

As smooth as it sounded, he still cringed on the inside. Oof, Blitzø, how lame do you sound right now?

However, to Blitzø’s surprise and relief, the innuendo did not go unnoticed by the only other adult in the cafe’. Both sets of eyes went wide and the haggardness on his face was instantly washed away with a swift, prominent pink flush that Blitzø definitely liked seeing. Next to Via, it was probably the cutest thing he saw this morning. It certainly took the edge off the ass-chewing he was sure to get.

Usually, anytime he cracked any sex jokes around others, he was almost immediately told off by whatever prude or asshole or Karen was in the vicinity (i.e. Moxxie) and who clearly had no sense of good humor. (Like they didn’t start humping on each other’s earlobes the second every one’s back was turned like the hypocrites they were.)

Anybody else who didn’t was either not giving two shits or just as eager to talk dirty after a line up of shots.

But this bird seem reasonably sober. But then again, judging by his frame, he was probably the type of demon to go for light drinks like martinis or cocktails rather than tequila or beezlejuice. Considering the little girl now running up to him and hugging his shins, it was more than likely. He had the bitter experience of always dealing with a parent more often found nursing a hangover rather than an infant and it was an all around shitty experience he had no wish to repeat.

However, right now, he wouldn’t mind getting another peek of that cute ass blush as the bird briefly ducked down to scoop up into his arms. “W-well,” He started, “It’s certainly good to see you awake, Mister . . . ?”

“Name’s Blitzø. The “O” is silent.” Blitzø stated without missing a beat.

The owl blinked. “What ‘o’?”

“Exactly.” Blitzø nodded without thinking and once again, groaned in pain as everything from the neck up throbbed.

“Oh dear, hangover not quite remedied yet?”

Blitzø hissed out a breath. “Yeah, that’s a big fat fff-fudgin’ no.” He smirked weakly at Via’s approving nod. “I feel like I decided to go dumpster-diving outside the nearest Sinnabon’s for a midnight snack-run.” His empty stomach than made itself known by giving an impatient grumble. “And it looks like I’m up for round two so I think it’s about time I get outta here.”

The owl blinked again. “I’m sorry?”

Blitzø carefully climbed out of his improvised bed and unsure of what to do, opted to take apart the bedding and fold it as neatly as he could. “Yeah, I know, I know, I should’ve been out of here hours ago, I get it. Satan knows no-one wants to deal with a hungover dumb-a first thing in the morning. I know I wouldn’t, plus you gotta kid here and I can’t imagine you want some strange weirdo around your baby-girl so I better clear out before -”

The quilt literally rising out of his hands cut him off like a record scratch. The fuck-?

He watched cow-eyed as some kind of blue sparkly whatsit energy surrounded the quilt and untangled the lump he had been making a mess out of. It than began folding itself in a much more professional fashion than his was and as soon as it finished, it levitated right over his head and towards the guys who, judging by the ethereal sheen wrapped around his talons, was making it.

“Mr. Blitzø,” He started calmly. “As the owner of a cafe’, I have often had ‘strange weirdos’ coming in and going out from here every day. Thankfully, most of them are courteous enough to show up around working hours, but I am no stranger to any who who wander in from the late-night crowd, which I’m assuming is where you come from.” His tone wasn’t accusing but Blitzø still frowned at the teasing lilt he definitely heard.

“As for my little Starfire,” The bird continued, nuzzling his daughter on the cheek which earned a giggle. “Via, I like to think at least, is an excellent judge of character, especially more so with strangers. So, if she thinks that you’re trustworthy then that’s more than enough reason to let you stay.” With a twirl of his talon, he sent the quilt through the door leading upstairs to, whatever the fuck it led to as he set Via down on one of the stools after a quick, dramatic spin that earned him another giggle. “At least, long enough for us to feed you a decent breakfast.”

That last bit was definitely NOT what Blitzø thought he’d hear. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Oh certainly, after you’ve been given food of actual substance to eat instead of the leftover, surely bacteria-ridden remains scrounged from a random dumpster.” The big bastard responded blithely as he made his way around the counter, to where Blitzø finally noticed the fancy-looking coffeemaker that made him feel more broke-ass than he already was. “But first, I believe refreshments are in order. Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

The asshole part of him wanted to deliver a pissy comeback at the offer. He was a grown-ass man, more than capable of getting his own food, fuck you very much and no trust-fund, (sexy) long-legged prick had the right to tell him what was okay for him to eat or not – Moxxie already got his ass enough about that, he didn’t need anyone else doing that shit.

Big bitch was probably trying to keep him here long enough to call the cops on him the minute his back was turned so he could stick him with some BS robbery charges just for shits and giggles. Which had happened to him before due to more than one nut-job Karen and/or Kevin.

And of course, since it was fucking Hell, there was only a certain amount of times that you could get arrested and get bailed out before the taxpayers think to simply say “Fuck it” and just take your money and never bother to find your cell keys.

That in mind, he was so not in the mood to bust out of prison again, that one stint in Greed was enough for the next five years.

Well, fuck this bird. The front door was right there and he was not gonna have to put up with whatever bullshit this guy was -

His stomach halted his would-be flipping-the-bird-at-the-bird-on-the-way-out escape with a rumble even louder and more impatient than before. The tell-tale smell of brewing coffee didn’t do anything to help quell it. And damn, did it smell good . . .

. . . . . . Oh, forget it, they dump that dumpster every other day and he was too hungover to spare the effort to drive. Or Look for his van. Or try to remember the name of the club he was at.

“. . . I usually have iced coffee. But right now, I’ll take a regular coffee, as black as blood.”

That request was responded to with a humored smile. “I myself usually take it black as sin, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Turning to the way too complicated than should be normal looking, coffee-making monstrosity, he also added, “Also, forgive me.”

“For what?” Blitzø asked as he came closer to the bar. This close, he could now spot a simplistic yet obviously custom-designed hotplate big enough to fit enough food for five people, flat black surface on one side and a classic stove-top on the other.

“For not introducing myself properly earlier.” A clean, see-through glass coffee pot that Blitzø didn’t even see him pull out appeared in his hand as he whipped out a coffee filter so finely made it looked more like a hankie, bypassing the coffee maker completely. “I’m Stolas, owner of this cafe’ as well as Chef and Barista. You’ve already had the pleasure of meeting my daughter, Octavia, my darling little helper.”

“Daddy says I’m his ‘Suzy Chef’!” Via, also now known as “Octavia”, chirped proudly. Before Blitzø took a seat on one of the stools, he moved as to help her up but she shook her head. Gripping the crank under the seat, she pulled it up and down like a desk chair’s until the seat was low enough for her to climb up. He watched in bemusement as she then adjusted the seat back up. Clearly, they were built with the varying heights of Hell’s diverse demographic in mind.

Not bad thinking, Blitzø had to admit.

“Indeed you are, my Owlette.” Stolas chuckled. Having placed the filter inside a clenex wrapped around a chic-looking coffee pot, he placed a silver carafe onto the stove-top side of the hotplate and flipping the switch. Taking out a bag of coffee grounds that smelled fucking fantastic. “She and I have been running this little cafe’ for about four months now. And if I may so, we’re doing rather well. Granted, we’re not millionaires but I’m certainly not complaining.”

In almost no time at all, the carafe’ started whistling sharply. Stolas took it off and replaced it with a small skillet that Blitzø didn’t see being pulled out either, only to stare unabashedly at the medley of cheeses, meats, veggies and eggs that literally flew in from the entry to what he guessed was the kitchen like it was something of out of a kid’s movie. He knew Via giggling at his face but he forgoed responding to that, as while Stolas attended to the coffee pot, a bottle of oil floated over to the skillet and poured a delicate amount inside with two slices of butter following suite. “. . . Uh, yeah, if you’re good at something, you should capitalize.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not really so much about the money as it is the business of cooking itself.” Stolas said earnestly as he dumped the grounds into the filter and sweeped up the carafe to pour in the hot water in one fluid motion. “I find that this line of work gives me much more gratification than that of my previous occupation.”

“Oh, what was that? Real estate spokesman? Attorney? Phone seee-” Blitzø was instantly reminded of Via’s presence as the little girl hummed happily while folding and unfolding a napkin she plucked from the napkin holder closest to them. “-eeecrecy operator?”

If Stolas noticed the near slip-up, he didn’t comment on it. “No, I’m afraid. Simply one of the cogs of the crumbling, over-heated machine that is known as Hell’s government.” While the skillet started to pop and sizzle, the owl than summoned a sizable knife to finely chop one onion to join the oil and butter. As the coffee grounds were left to bloom, Stolas made quite a show of crumbling up a thick sausage into bits with one hand while simultaneously conjuring an actual clutch of flames in the other hand, selecting a few strips of bacon to cook and crisp in a matter of seconds. Most likely to show off for Blitzø and his daughter who “oohed” at the sight.

Admittedly, Blitzø was a little impressed too, but he’d be fucked by a mime before he ever let on. “Geez, playin’ it up a bit, don’t ya think?”

“Perhaps a bit.” Stolas admitted, not so sorry in the slightest. “But compared to how stoic and quiet I had used to be, I relish any chance to ‘play it up’.” Having deemed the bacon thoroughly cooked, which it definitely was going by the smell, he extinguished the flames and set the crispy strips onto a cutting board for a magicked knife to chop up. Washing his hands in a small sink set by the hotplate, he gestured towards the enchanted parade of flying ingredients, allowing three eggs to gently land on the counter.

Blitzø, at this point, had taken his eyes away from the free magic show in front of him, cool as it was, to quietly observe Stolas’s shapely ass as he bent over to retrieve something from one of the lower cabinet.

Hmm. He could feel the tip of his tail flicking in appreciation. Guess the cake wasn’t only in good in the cases.

He tried to keep ogling as unnoticeable as possible as he asked. “Old job sucked that bad, huh?”

“Oh, abominably so.” Stolas groaned as he fished around in the cabinet obliviously. Eventually, he made a small sound of triumph as he located his prize; a small mixing bowl which he then set on the counter next to the eggs. A crooked finger brought a whisk right into his hand just as all three eggs were lifted and cracked into the bowl and the shells were tossed away. “And all I can say is that I’m bloody well glad that it’s behind me.”

“And now Daddy gets to be the bestest chef in all of Hell!” Via proclaimed, which was rewarded with a loving smile.

“Well, I certainly try my best.” He said cheerfully. He made sure to keep close attention to the carafe’ as it poured more water into the now ready coffee grounds as he beat the eggs thoroughly. As dark, fresh coffee began to drip into the pot, he set the bowl aside to neatly dish the sausage and bacon into the skillet. “I don’t know if anything I make will win any awards, but I wouldn’t mind if they didn’t. As long as I have my Via and this cafe’, I’ll be happy.”

Those words, despite himself, left a deep pit in Blitzø’s stomach.

He was all too familiar with the feeling to know that it wasn’t hunger.

And the cause of it was the warm translucent air wafting around in the little cafe’ that was more potent than the coffee.

And more pointedly, how out of place he felt to even be watching it.

He felt his claws clench the leather of his seat, the fabric creaking softly in response to his tightening grip. The pit felt like it was growing larger, making his shoulders tense. He found himself staring full-on at the clean surface of the bartop and tried to ignore the itch of his spines going erect. For the next few minutes, all that was heard was the sizzling and firecracker-like popping of the skillet as the eggs were poured in, the repetitive sound of coffee dripping and Via humming as she tried to fold her napkin into something other than a lopsided square.

Blitzø took a deep breath through his nose, his lips sputtering a bit like a horse’s (Didn’t he wish) as he exhaled.

“. . . Look, I’m . . . ” He paused a moment to think his words over carefully. The last thing he felt like doing right now was to sound an utter dickhead to the guy who was making him a hot meal for a total stranger.

No telling if he was the type to spit in on the plates of assholes who deserved it.

“. . . I’m sorry for, uhm, for having you make deal with me first thing in the morning.” He managed to get out rather lamely.

He wasn’t sure if the bird heard him. But that didn’t stop him from continuing. “I . . . I had a really, really real sh- crappy day yesterday, and – And I just needed to blow off a little steam.”

Images started to flash unbidden in his head. Of zeroes, of bottles, of bitter looks and smashed frames only made everything in Blitzø had been able to blissfully ignore up until that moment, then chose to rear its ugly head making him let out a barely concealed grunt. “. . . Point is, I-I’m sorry for screwing up your day and -”

He was interrupted by a good-sized mug being set calmly before him. He started as the smell of the dark roast curling in soft puffs and into his nostrils, the scent heavenly and already mending the throb of his head – only to be taken aback at the feel of a large, plush-soft hand petting the space between his horns in a comforting rub.

It took every single inch of Blitzø not to either smack the hand away or bite it off on sheer impulse.

He looked up and instead of what he thought for damn sure was going to be a patronizing sneer, – Because how else would any prick look after patting an imp’s head like a puppy’s? - Stolas’s face was as soft and reassuring as the smile on his beak.

A smile filled with nothing but understanding and warmth.

Sweet Lucifer, when was the last tim anyone had smiled at him like that?

“No apologies are need here, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas said simply. No hint of bullshit. “Nothing’s been broken, nothing’s been ruined. So please, don’t worry. I’m not a demon so easily rattled. Especially by lovely surprises such as yourself.”

. . . . Blitzø blamed the warmth he felt tingling on his cheeks on the steam coming from the mug.

Stolas didn’t comment on it, but he was sure that he heard some not very subtle amusement in his voice as he turned back to his cooking. “Would you like for me to add some peppers to dish? They were freshly picked this morning and I’m sure that they’ll taste wonderfully with the eggs.”

“UH-” Blitzø grabbed the mug and pretended to study it to keep himself from doing anything else dumb. “Y-yeah, sure, whatever, go nuts. I’m good with whatever.”

“Marvelous! I’ll add some as soon as the eggs have cooked for a bit.” Stolas said cheerfully. Blitzø muttered a “yeah, whatever” to his back as the owl reached from some green and red peppers big enough for Via to hold in both of her hands. He then made a small hoot that Blitzø, even with how off-kilter he felt at the moment, found cute. “Oh, and let me know how the coffee is, please. I’m trying a new blend I finally managed to put together a few days ago and I’d love to hear your opinion.”

Blitzø blinked at that. “Wha-? You mean this isn’t instant?”

Stolas shook his head. “Oh no. I try my best to use fresh items whenever I cook. Not that I have anything against instant or frozen food, but, as a chef, I find it almost like cheating if I’m not as authentic for my customers. The last thing I want is to have our cafe’ be mistaken for another Twink Trip or Hexxan.”

Blitzø would have taken a shot at that remark. Namely how if you loaded up gas station coffee with a fuckton of sugar, cream, and booze, it didn’t matter about the quality ‘cause who would give that much of a damn about dirty bean water -

That is, had he not taken a sip out of his mug.

It took a moment of peering down at his “coffee” to think up a much more direct response. “. . . . This is the best damn cup of coffee I ever had.”

“Thank you!” Stolas accepted the compliment cheerily. I admit it took much longer to properly cultivate and grow the beans for it than I had originally anticipated. I mean, I already knew the process was intricate but it’s a whole other experience when you actually attempt it yourself.” Stolas gave a weak chuckle as he prodded at the eggs simmering in the skillet. “I’ve lost count of the amount of times I almost blew up my grinder or ruined my insides.”

Blitzø, taking a much larger sip of his coffee hummed appreciatively. “Yeah, bad coffee can f- trip you up.” He knew that to be true. He once had to get his stomach pumped from drinking brew made by some dumbshit in his RV. That experience wasn’t really as painful as the telling-off Moxxie gave him afterwards. Little bitch always had act like he was right.

He took another big gulp. “You did good, though. Five stars.”

It wasn’t blind praise. Blitzø never bullshitted how he felt about what he drank and ate, (Much to Moxxie’s, Fizz’s, his Sunday Barista or, really, anyone’s annoyance) and the coffee was no exception; heavy and crisp with a balanced pairing of earthy and floral notes, the acidity like berries that left plenty of room for flavor instead of just tang. And the aftertaste didn’t linger like secondhand smoke, it left gradually with a mellow sheen that he didn’t mind in the slightest. Even though he was more an iced coffee guy, this was a kind of coffee Blitzø could see himself drinking again. When he wasn’t hungover, that is.

“Well, I’m thrilled to hear that, Mister Blitzø. Thank you.” Stolas responded gratefully.

By now, he had placed a lid over the eggs to let them simmer which allowed him to focus on chopping up the peppers. The imp assumed that had all he had been cutting up before Stolas turned to delicately slide a plate baring an apple that had been sliced in a way that the core stood erect as a tower with the slices spread open like a flower bloom. Before he can ask how the hell he did that so fast, Via chirped happily before plucking one slice and biting into it with a thank you.

Blitzø found her delight over the piece of fruit adorable, which the baby owl took as an invitation to pluck another slice and offer it to him with a smile. Satan, could this kid get any cuter?

He took the offered slice with a cheeky grin. Only to quickly toss it in the air and catch it with his tongue like an iguana’s, adding a “Bleh!” just for laughs, for which he earned a round of giggles from Via. He had almost missed by being blindsided by the cinnamon and spice flavor that had been baked into it. It had to have been made that very morning if the warmth and freshness of the slice was anything to go by, allowing the fruit to melt orgasmically well into his taste-buds. Wow.

He and Via had had unanimously agreed to split the apple between them, with no objections from Stolas as he busied himself with divvying up the vegetables and summoning other ingredients from the kitchen to prepare accordingly. Via filled up most of the time with chattering on innocently about little things, how funny her dream was last night, how home-school was “five times better than private school as there were less big dummy poop-heads” - Blitzø almost choked on a slice while Stolas lightly admonished her about “language” - And how her daddy once made her the bestest cake ever in the in the whole wide world for her fifth birthday. Blitzø, for as sweet as he found her daughterly praise, had to swallow the gag when she started going on about the “tasty” mouse chunks Stolas had added.

Bird or no, eating mice for Blitzø was a flat out no.

A sudden, horrifying though than popped into his head. Was Stolas going to add mice to his food?

Like mouse sausage? Mice bacon? Rat peppers? Was that a thing?! Or was he just pulling a Moxxie and asking dumbass question?

. . . Probably just being a Moxxie.

His internal debate was cut short by something else being set before him. A damn good-looking something.

An omelet the size of Blitzø’s fist lay before him, hot and steaming and straight from the hot plate. Yellow as can be with spots of golden brown, there were no signs of tears of breakage, with a perfect fluffy layer peeking from the folds stuffed with meat, veggies and oozing cheeses. The artsy fucker had even gone the extra mile and draped the top of it with a thin sheet of mozzarella, some garnish and a couple slices of baby tomatoes. Talk about extra.

“There you are, this morning’s special - ‘Egg On Your Face’ Mega-Omelet, with all the fixings and extra cheese for those unwelcome aches and pains. If I’ve done my job right, it should fix you right up.”

“Like magic!” Via dded with a bright smile. Both men chuckled at her.

“Like magic, huh?” Blitzø smirked. Well, I’ll just have to see about that.

Sure, the eggs may have looked good, but Blitzø had learned all too well that food looking good and tasting good were two totally different things.

What looked like a pile of slop to the naked eye could taste just as good as a five morning star meal served Beelzebub herself. The same thing applied to a plate of fancy finger foods that cost the same as a house mortgage but tasted like cardboard in the end. And Blitzø certainly had more than enough exposure to lousy food like that, thank you and fuck you very much, with no wish to repeat it.

Which he hoped he wouldn’t with this monster-omelet before him.

Deciding not to put it off any longer, he picked up his fork and dug the prongs into the soft-cooked eggs, scooping up a decent-sized bite with plenty of pepper, meat and cheese. After a moment’s consideration, he also speared one of the baby tomato slices. He gave the loaded fork a few blows to cool it, because there was no way he was going to down a maybe-shitty breakfast with a burnt tongue.

He stuck the fork in his mouth -

And his mind was BLOWN.

If there was such a thing as a bit of paradise, than these eggs were the mother fucking proof in the pudding. Or omelet, in this case.

The eggs were cooked to perfection; nice and fluffy to where they melt on in his mouth like luscious chocolate from Lust’s first class bakeries. And the flavor was like a parade in his mouth, from the salty onions, the crisp tomato and the sweet peppers, the numerous flavors sucker-punched his sense of taste without overwhelming the presence of the eggs. The meat inside was spectacular too, the bacon was at the optimum point between chewy and crispy, and the sausage was deliciously flavorful and greasy. His kind of meat, with the right amount of salt and black pepper.

He could barely hold down the pleasurable moan, but did nothing to stop all the muscles in his body from going lax.

Man, fuck trying to go to heaven, the key to fucking Eden’s Gate was right in his head hole.

A bemused coo. “So I take it you like it?”

Blitzø taste-jizzed mind abruptly snapped back into focus. Stolas’s beak was curled into a big, smug-ass grin that made his own fault in to a frown. The owl simply looked at him expectant. Dammit, if the kid weren’t here, he would have gladly told the bird exactly where to shove that grin.

Instead, he gave a disgruntled growl. “Yea, it’s . . . okay.”

Most chefs would have promptly gotten offended by such a dry appraisal of their “masterpieces”, especially if it came from an “uncultured swine” such as him.

But once again, Stolas surprised him by delivering a pleased smile in lieu of a hissy fit. “Well, I’m glad you like it. Eat up now, or it’ll get cold.”

Blitzø chose not to shoot off a shitty comeback, despite being rankled by the “order”. He took out his bubbling frustrations out on his food, picking up the plate and bringing it close enough to begin shoveling the omelet into his mouth like a starving man.

The petty, spiteful gremlin that was roughly, meeeh, ninety percent of his overall personality hoped that such a messy personality hoped that such a messy display would earn at least, would earn a groan of disgust. Always did the trick when he wanted to annoy Moxxie.

However, much to Blitzø’s complete consternation, the owl just gave a small humored hoot and returned to the hotplate with a single crack or insult. Like he didn’t give two shits about his bad manners.

Blitzø internally growled. What an ASS.

. . . A pretty ass, but still.

“I’m glad you’re pleased by my cooking skills.” The big bastard (Yes, Blitzø was calling him that again, suck it.) said happily, busying by wiping down the skillet while beating a new batch of eggs and sliding two slices of bread into a small old-fashioned toaster. “I have to admit, my main specialty is baking and drinks, but I try my best to expand my range of cuisine when I can.”

Once the yolks and whites were thoroughly whipped, there were poured into the skillet and almost immediately they started to sizzle and bubble from the rewarmed metal. “Unfortunately, I can’t cook the kind of food necessary to run a full-fledged cafe’.”

Blitzø swallowed a sizable bite of egg and pepper before asking, “Can’t you just wiggle your fingers and hocus pocus a steak or something?”

Stolas shook his head. “Alas that’s more Lady Beelzebub’s forte than mine. Even my magic can only do so much. Now if this was a flower shop that would be another matter, but it is what it is.”

“I’m glad it isn’t.” Via piped up. “I love Daddy’s cafe’! And I love helping him cook!”

“And you do such a magnificent job, my Owlette.” Stolas’s praise was followed by a small plate of scrambled eggs encircled by toast cut into the shape of flowers and mice, covered in butter and jam. Via took it with a bright thanks, digging in right away with a sparkly pink fork also provided by Stolas. “But sadly, a cafe’ needs more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and milk to cater to wider clientele. Not that I’m downplaying your talent as a chef, darling.”

“I’s okay, Daddy.” Via said, crumbs dotted on her beak from biting into one of her toast flowers. “I know it’s only because I’m not big enough to use the stove yet.” Blitzø mirrored her smile as she beamed up at him. “Once I can do that, Daddy said I could make even better dishes just like him.”

“Indeed I will, Starfire.” Stolas affirmed. “But for now, I’ll have to settle for looking for another cook. Sadly though -” Stolas pulled a face. “- There hasn’t been one suitable enough to help me run things here.”

“Yeah, it’s hard running the show solo.” Blitzø agreed. “Sucks even more when you don’t have a good crew to back you up. Don’t know where I’d be with M&M.”

Stolas blinked. “Uhm, ‘M&M’?”

Via blinked too. “Like the candy?”

Blitzø snickered. “Nah, Moxxie and Millie, friends of mine and my emplo-” He cut himself off with a grimace. “Well. Who were supposed to be my employees.”

The sudden downtrodden shift that overcame the imp id not go unnoticed by Stolas. “‘Supposed to be?’ What does that -”

“Don’t ask.” Blitzø said curtly. After a second, he added a little less harshly. “I-I don’t really wanna get into it right now.”

Because if I do, I KNOW I’m just going to get pissed off and do something shitty all over again.

“. . . . Alright then.”

Blitzø could hear it clear as day that the bird bastard had more questions, and would more than likely prefer to bombard him with rapid-fire questions like Moxxie would when he wanted to be particularly annoying. But thank Satan, he looked put off enough to put him off.

Small blessings.

The next few minutes passed in silence. The lull of it broken only by the sounds of silverware hitting the plates as Blitzø and Via ate, the drip of coffee as more was brewed in the pot and the subdued sounds of crunching each time either a somewhat concerned Via offered Blitzø a bite of her toast or, returning the favor, when he offered her a bite of bacon or sausage – He learned quick that she didn’t like peppers so much so he did well to avoid giving her any filled-to-the-brim bites. He could only hoped that the reason she liked it wasn’t because the meat that was in it wasn’t made from rodent.

It probably was, though, because . . . Birds.

Eventually, Blitzø had cleaned his plate, a satisfying weight settling in his stomach, he let out a contented sigh, his headache feeling miles better than almost a half hour before. “Woo, that was good. A frickin’ plus.”

The owl’s smiled chased away some of the terseness from before. “Happy to hear it. It’s always good to get good reviews on new dishes.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Quick question, though.”

“Yes?”

Blitzø pointed at the now empty plate. “Level with me – Was there any mice in that? Because, I get it, you and Via are birds, but I kinda draw the line when it comes to eating plague-carrying little turds.”

Stolas tittered at that. “No, no, I assure you, no lovely vermin of any kind was served to you. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that mice are terrible cures for hangovers.”

“What’s a hangover?” Via asked in that no-filter, childishly clueless way that all little hellspawn did.

Stolas, in a perfectly natural response to such a question, was freeze awkwardly. “O-oh, well, erm-”

Blitzø supplied the answer. “It’s like a really bad stomach bug, but for grown-ups.” Giving the little owl a conspiratorial grin, he added in a fake whisper, “Basically, if you eat too much green stuff, your poop comes out greener than Mammon’s butt.”

Via burst into a peal of little girl laughter that definitely brought an easy diffusion to Stolas’s unease, even earning a couple of barely smothered hoots that were poorly hidden by his hand.

Huh. That was twist.

Usually the parents were scolding him at this point, the usual uptight bullshit spiel about “using such vulgar language in front of their innocent little babies, you demented little firetoad!”

Not that he gave a shit because he was a comic genius, fuckyou, Moxxie.

After a bit, both birds managed to quell their laughter enough for Stolas to gently urge Via to head upstairs and get ready for the day. She agreed without protest, stopping only to allow Blitzø to ruffle her headfeathers as he added, “Gotta look cute for the suckers!” That earned him an admonishing look from Stolas that was weakened by his approving smile.

A smile that only grew bigger when Via caught the imp completely off-guard with an unexpected hug, her tiny arms wrapping swiftly and tightly around his waist, almost sending him falling off his stool. Before he could recover, Via was already heading up the staircase, humming cheerfully all the way.

Stolas’s soft chuckle drew Blitzø out of his shock. “Via has certainly taken a liking to you quickly.”

“Uh, yeah, I-I guess.” Blitzø rubbed at the back of his neck. “Last time I got hugged like that, some piece of shit nicked my wallet to buy thirty Bruiser King gift cards.”

“Oh, that’s a pity.”

“Joke was on him, though, he got food poisoning with the first card he used.”

Stolas hummed approvingly as he poured them both a fresh cup of coffee. “Well, I suppose there is such a thing as karma.”

Blitzø barked out a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, and maybe there’s a God.” He accepted the refilled mug, along with the offered sugar and creamers, and dumped almost each one in like an alcoholic adding liqueur. “Uh, speakin’ of, what do I owe ya?”

Stolas, who had added his own preferred condiments to his coffee in much more moderate manner, paused in his blowing at the steam rising from his mug. “Pardon?”

“What do I owe ya? For the food and coffee.” After a moment, he also added with only a tiny wince of guilt. “And whatever else my drunk ass did to your place before I blacked out.”

By emotionally-traumatized principle, he wouldn’t have asked outright. Often times, being the victim of a classist system that shat on those on the bottom rung, he had been subjected to grossly padded bills and unexpected expenses issued by a good percentage of the “well-to-do” owners of “upstanding establishments” where he wound up spending half the night washing up dishes. Once he got fast enough, and only if neither the food nor the service was worth the lightening of his wallet. Blitzø didn’t hesitate to pull a dine and dash; making escapes either through the bathroom window, the vent, or once through riding one of those fancy dining carts into the kitchen and out the employee entrance that admittingly had been fun to ride . . .

. . . Right up until he learned too late that the entrance opened right up to a three-story staircase with no handrail.

Needless to say, that had been one shitty ride to the hospital, Moxxie lecturing him the whole damn eight miles.

After everything – And he meant everything – in his lower body healed, he opted to hold out on anymore dashing. At least until the little baby-dick whineypuss would get off his fucking back about paying.

That aside, he saw no reason to be the deadbeat bun right now. Not when Stolas had been nothing but polite towards him. Even though he certainly didn’t deserve such kindness . . .

He braced himself for the amount as he took a long sip of his sweetened coffee -

“Oh, you needn’t worry – You don’t owe me a sint.”

Blitzø sputtered into his mug, nearly choking on the brew as he processed the owl’s words. “*Cough* *Cough* *Hack* Blegh! Excuse me?”

“You don’t need to pay me.” Stolas restated. “Like I said, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been nothing but civil, you are obviously sorry for any offense you think you’ve given – Not that you have, don’t make that face – And more importantly, Via likes you. So I see no reason to change you.”

Blitzø frowned at him. “You’re screwing with me.” He stated flatly.

“I assure you, I am not. Honestly, your praise over your breakfast was payment enough. In all honesty, you were doing me a favor.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t get a chance to try out new recipes on new faces very often, so any new opinions are always appreciated.” Blitzø felt his face fault at the slow, awfully sensual smile the owl sent him. “Especially ones as sublime as yours.”

Blitzø forgoed looking him in the eye, each cerise eye of his hooded and looking at him like he was going to be the next dish for him to devour, choosing instead to chug down half the contents of his mug. Gulping audibly, he mumbled back, “Glad I was such a good guinea pig for you.”

“I prefer the term ‘freelanced taste-taster’, personally.” Stolas retorted politely.

“I don’t want your charity.” Blitzø bit at him.

“Nor am I giving it to you. Like I said, you did me a favor.”

“How do you know I’m not some thieving bastard taking adventure of goody-two-shoes shop owners like you?”

“I have measures set to prevent such an occurrence.”

“I’m an undercover health inspector and you just failed.”

“Now you’re just grasping, dear.”

Blitzø rubbed a hand over his face. “You can’t just -” He let out a frustrated breath. “Look, I get you’re an . . . Okay guy and you are obviously trying to set a good example for your kid. I get that, but I don’t want to be the lasting impression of what to expect when giving out freebies to poor drunken bitches like me. No one should have to deal with that without getting paid, -”

“Mister Blitzø.”

Stolas’s firm tone stopped him with the sharpness of a smacked ruler. His face was stern, but not completely harsh as he eyes were looking at him with a softness that pricked at his chest.

“You. Do. Not. Me. Anything. And when I say something like that, it’s because I mean it with all the sincerity that is implied. It is not just for the sake of looking good in front of Via and certainly not some sort of dastardly ruse to get you to lower your guard. You’ve apologized and you meant it, you’ve been kind towards my daughter and enjoyed my cooking without bias or sarcasm. That said, believe me when I tell that is something I care for much more than any check or bill.”

Stolas sipped at his coffee calmly, making no comment about the for certain mollified expression on his face. “So, please, no more apologies. They are appreciated, but to be honest, after twenty-two of them, it just feels repetitive.”

Blitzø gave him a look. “Sorry what now?”

“Mister Blitzø -”

“Nah, nah, what you just said, the fuck you mean I said sorry twenty-two times?”

Stolas’s beak dropped into a thin line, taking a moment to maybe think his words over before formulating a response, “When Via and I found you last night, you were in a . . . A great deal of distress.” He was clearly trying to more emphatic than judgmental. “You were greatly intoxicated and horridly incoherent. Once I was close enough, all I could hear was you saying sorry over and over.”

Blitzø could feel himself growing hot from the neck up in embarrassment. The apprehensive caution in Stolas’s voice was doing fuck all to help the crashing wave of shame following up like a speeding train.

He didn’t need Stolas to tell him what he was bawling like a baby over.

But, ever the bottom bitch for punishment, asked anyway. “. . . I say what for?”

Stolas then turned sheepish. “O-Oh well, uh-uhm, I don’t quite recall -”

“Bird, I don’t do any of that hee-haw Shit, it’s too early and I’m still hungover and all I’m gonna do is get pissed off now WHAT did I SAY?”

With two sets of eyes, it was easy to see that Blitzø was not going to give up on getting an answer. Stolas sighed softly.

“You made a great deal of apologies to a great deal of people. I didn’t catch every name but, erm, you had quite the list.” He sipped at his mug, stalling for only a minute before continuing.

“You apologized to a miss Mistly for dinging her car door while trying parallel park by a Wacdonald’s, a miss Queen for breaking smashing her one of a kind pirate ship in a bottle instead of the pinata by accident on her birthday, a miss Millie for chipping her favorite ax, a mister Moxxie for making him run all the way to Greed for a single battery for your TV remote, dropping his guitar fourteen times, borrowing his wallet, or more accurately, pinching his wallet to pay for Voxflix twice, a miss Barbie for stealing one of her skirts and ripping it whilst performing a split, I couldn’t really make out what exactly you were apologizing to a “Vee” and a “Fizz” for -”

“Okay!” Blitzø blurted out. “Okay! I get it! I get it! I was a hot mess, no more shit needed, I got it!” He cringed at the indignant crack in his voice. Christ, like he didn’t look enough like a pathetic shit already. He might as well plan to fake his own death again.

You know what they say, fifth time’s the charm.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Stolas’s weak attempt to reassure him only bounced off of the imp like a ping-pong ball. “It really wasn’t. Really, you should have seen me afterwards when I was binge-drinking.”

Blitzø scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you got real frisky from all those white wine spritzers.”

“Actually, I tended to lean more towards absinthe.” Stolas retorted, with no little bit of sass, taking a small bit of gratification from Blitzø’s surprised. “Of course, with how I was knocking back each bottle, you’d almost believe they were Purgerade drinks.”

Blitzø lifted his head from where he had been pressing it into the bartop. “Damn, how many we talkin’?”

“At least two to three on a good night, or whatever was close to that.”

The imp gave a low whistle. “”Fuck me, bird. I get shit-faced after half a bottle, how the fuck are you still standing?”

“At this point, stubbornness and sheer dumb luck, I believe.” Stolas quipped.

That startled enough mirth in Blitzø to actually make him laugh. “Join the club, pal.”

“I fear I cannot, as I have cut back my vigorous drinking to properly attend to Octavia. Leaving my former occupation did wonders for helping me cub the habit.”

“Bosses sucked that bad, huh?”

“Doubly so, considering it was a family business, sort to speak, although, I can assure they were family in name only.”

“Ugh. Preachin’ to the fuckin’ choir – there’s only so much shitty family a bitch could take in one day.”

“That, Mister Blitzø, I can wholeheartedly agree on.”

There were getting off-track. Blitzø bit his lip. “. . . I’m sorry for my shit.”

“For the final time, no more apologizes are necessary.”

He angled his head towards the staircase door. “I probably scared your kid.”

“Via has seen far worse, I assure you. Even when off your cups, you weren’t untoward her in any way, so you can save any of the claims of indecency that you’ve half-heartedly concocted in that crafty little mind of yours.”

“Just let me fuckin’ pay you.”

“I neither require nor want your money and I promise you, should you try to force any $ouls on me, I will promptly set it to aflame.”

“Lilith’s titties, you’re a stubborn bitch.”

“And you are an equally stubborn spendthrift.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not without dinner, if you please.”

Blitzø groaned. “God, we’re gonna keep talking in circles if you don’t just charge me and get it over with. I’m not fucking broke, I have the $ouls, just let me pay you.”

Stolas’s counter remark definitely caught Blitzø unawares. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s done something genuinely kind for you, hasn’t it?”

Blitzø’s hackles rose instantly at the “innocent” statement. “You trying to say something?”

Stolas merely sipped at his coffee. “Just an assessment.”

“Or you being a dickhead.”

“I made you a free breakfast for which I expect nothing in return. I am being absolutely forthright whereas you are choosing not to believe that I have no ulterior motives. Who, might I ask, is being the dickhead here?”

Oh, this smug bitch.

He had wanted to let loose a snarl that would make the owl falter in his not requested charity streak. He felt the urge already rising in his throat, ready to finally tell off this prick who was seriously starting to piss him off . . .

. . . But could only let out a low whine at the exhaustion of prolonging the one-sided argument, the fatigue of a bad night, getting totally smashed and crashing just as hard setting in. Being still half hungover sure as shit was not helping to keep the spark of pride burning.

If anything, Blitzø felt even more tired.

He wanted nothing more than to lay everything out, pay whatever the fucking bird deserved and drag his broke-back ass back home and lick his wounds from last night. And the only thing that was stopping him was getting through to this royally stubborn and feathery (Not to mention pretty soft-looking) bastard of a demon.

“Alright, look – I want to pay you back, but for some weird ass reason, you won’t let me.”

“I think we have perfectly established that.”

“So we got a problem.”

“Which could be solved by you accepting my putting your breakfast on the house.”

“And it should be clear as fuck that ain’t happening.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

Blitzø blew a breath of air out of his nose. “I’m not just being an asshole here – I don’t like owing people anything. I’ve been dipping in and out of debts for years, financial and personal. And just that fucking recently I finally managed to pay off a good chunk of them only to literally be screwed over again almost the same fucking day. So now I’m once again edging too damn close to bankruptcy for my liking.”

He gave the owl a flat look. “Meaning I can’t take any chances, such as freebies or random handouts, cuz Charity was just as easily turn into high-interest loans with zero time frames for return payments, unless you want to set up an installment plan that involves cutting out pounds of flesh ever week. Obviously, a guy like me can’t afford to look any more fucked up than he is with a chunk of anything missing.

“All that said, do you see what I’m gettin’ at?”

“. . . . I’m starting to.” Stolas said with a considerate look.

“Satisfaction eased through Blitzø’s frame. “Great. Glad we finally got that -”

“All the same, you needn’t pay me.”

And just like that it was gone.

He growled so sharply it would have destroyed eardrums had he done it inside of headphone speakers. “You fuckin’-”

“But since you won’t accept the gesture,” Stolas interrupted calmly. “How about just doing me a special favor?”

“‘Special favor’?” Blitzø blinked. “What kinda -”

A sound not unlike a light bulb dinged in his thank full-no-longer-as-sore cranium.

Oh.

Oh okay.

He gave a resigned sigh. “Hooookay, look, tootsie hootsie, if you just wanted a quick shag in the back all you had to do was ask. But I gotta warn ya, the place I’ve fucked in was a public bathroom that probably wasn’t cleaned in the last year or two, so I’ll probably need to wipe down the goods with something. Baby wipes would be good if got’em -”

“NO!” A spluttered hoot brought his attention back to Stolas, whose heart-shaped features had turned an almost violent shade of crimson in the span of half a minute. “No! No, no! Not that kind of favor, no! I mean I need your mouth!”

Blitzø gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, I got that much, relax.”

“No! No! I mean -” Stolas let out a shaky warble before planting his face into his hands while muttering to himself in fit of bashfulness.

Blitzø just sipped at his coffee, waiting for him to spit whatever he wanted to say out. To his credit, he didn’t stare, knowing from his own share of verbal vomiting moments that doing that would just make his embarrassment worse.

Even though he no clue what the fuck he was suddenly so damn worked up about.

I mean, fuck, if I had a sint for each time I said the “wrong” things, I’d be raking in more money more green than Mammon.

A deep breath. “Forgive me, I’m doing this all wrong. I’m trying to offer you a deal. Something, I hope, will mutually beneficial to the both of us.”

The incredulous look on Blitzø’s face was quickly addressed. “Nothing vulgar or dramatic involved, you needn’t worry. Nothing of the sort.” He took another deep breath. “I would like for to come in again, and try my cooking.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Say what now?”

Stolas made a small noise of exasperation. “As I said, I’m still relatively new to running a business dealing with dining and catering and the like. I’m often pushed into having to spontaneously expand my range of techniques and specialties depending on my success. I know I’m capable, but I know that I can’t just rely on my own opinion and preferences alone. Even more so when I’m attempting new dishes. As such, I need an outside opinion.”

The imp blinked. “And yooouuu think that’s me?”

Stolas nodded. “Very much so.”

“Some fucking rando off the street who broke into your private property, was wasted out of his mind and could just as easily rob you blind despite these so-called ‘measures’ you said you have?”

“Not as ‘so-called’ as you say, but yes.”

“Rrrright.” Blitzø rolled his eyes. “Don’tcha have, I dunno other foodie friends, you can ask? Or maybe just wait for some famous food blogger critic douchebag to to come in and give you a rating?”

“None that would trust to be fair or take seriously, or assume my want for approval is really a want for cheap compliments – that I’m desperate enough to give someone license to either be obnoxiously petty or to deliver the best shallow review that procures them a not so low-key invitation to my bedroom.”

Blitzø grunted. “Asshats.”

“You should see how quickly they recoil as soon as they learn of Via.”

“Fuckin’ asshats.”

“Quite.” Stolas affirmed. “And to answer your other question, yes, I do have others whose say I do value, but I’ve heard relying on the biased does not help one’s credibility. I do appreciate the precious few whom I’m fortunate enough to have as friends, but I need a healthy dose of honesty from outside sources to provoke me to experiment and expand myself.”

“And you think that guy is me?” Blitzø repeated, gesturing to himself crudely.

“Of course.”

“Bullshit.”

“Good gracious, and you call me stubborn.”

“It’s not -” He let out a small snarl.

Seriously? He was still keeping this up? Enough was enough.

“Look, I get you’re trying to be nice, I get that. But, trust me, I’m the last fucking guy you want to be nice to let alone have around. Seriously, ask fucking anyone in hearing distance – I’m a right bastard on a good day and a pushy dickhead on a bad one, I’ve fucked up more people than I’ve actually helped and you would have more sense to shoot me rather than invite me over again. I mean, you gotta kid to think about, and -”

Blitzø shook his head. “And you don’t want me messin’ with your business. The one I tried starting flopped before I even got my feet off the ground. Pretty sure that speaks a fuckton for how helpful I can be towards you.”

He could barely ignore the burning sting of truth in that statement.

Saying all the shit that was a constant boiling inside him all out loud sucked.

It sucked balls.

He knew it was better than letting it all rot and fester like he let everything else – But it still sucked.

Fuck what his therapist said about it being being cathartic. He should quit that bitch.

It’s not like he would be able to pay them for much longer anyway.

Blitzø knew he was not the kind of person to be asked to come back. Even the scraps of friends he had managed to hang on to could barely wait for him to leave as soon as he said hello.

Moxxie was the leading example of proving him right. Even when Blitzø actually adhered to his demands of privacy and properly asking for invites to visit, (That Blitzø still found completely anal of him although he bit his lip) Moxxie was adamant to get him out the door before he could even get two fucks in.

Even Millie, Moxxie’s blast and a half of a wife, who was far more accommodating than her whore-back husband, drew the line when it came to his company being longer than necessary.

That was to say fucking nothing about his own flesh and blood.

Barbie Wire, his twin sister, his other half, would sooner see him six feet under before seeing him again.

Cash Buckzo, his father, never asked for him, never wanted him, and made it a point of telling him so straight to his face more than once.

His mother, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . She sure as fuck would have been better off without him.

And his exes? Those who he didn’t remember or couldn’t care to remember, those he never took a chance on because of him being too much of a pussy to try?”

Verosika? It was pretty fucking clear on how that went.

Fizz?

He was never wanted.

He was never missed.

He was never asked to come back.

Not for a visit.

Not for a drink.

Never just to hang and shoot the shit.

He was always tossed away as soon as necessary.

He was always left behind, pushed aside, shoved into the background.

Forgotten.

Dead for all those concerned.

Dead, except in the way he wanted when he was at the lowest he could be.

No one ever missed him.

No one ever wanted him back.

Nobody.

“. . . . I fuck things up more often than I get them right. There’s a pretty good chance if you get involved with me, shit’s gonna go sideways for you too.”

He wasn’t sure if he had muttered that part aloud or not. Not that he gave a shit.

He halfway expected to be asked to repeat himself.

Or maybe Stolas would curse him under his breath for being such a dramatic bitch.

Maybe he would finally cut the bullshit and be real about what the fuck that he really wanted from him.

However, all Blitzø got in response, was a soft touch at his wrist, soft as silk and just as gentle.

Along with two sets of big cerise rose eyes that crinkled gently at the corners as they held his gaze with calmness and sympathy.

And maybe something else, but that could’ve been that whiny, fractured part of himself making up what wasn’t actually there.

“I’ve taken far riskier gambles than trusting a stranger out of the blue, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas spoke in such a comforting voice. “And I have yet to lose from any of them. Perhaps it’s rather cocky to say so, but since my winning streak has yet to be broken, I think you’re a rather good bet to take a chance on.”

The tender smile, that was nothing short of dazzling, he gave Blitzø at the end such a declaration was a damn good seller.

Satan forbid this man ever works for Vox – cause with that smile, he could sell gas station keys like they were the keys to gates of Eden itself. I mean, if his touch alone could send sparks up my arm like he was doing right now. . .

Fuck him if he knew.

The hand causing such a feeling than gave two soft pats to his wrist before lifting away to grab the coffee pot once more, refilling Blitzø’s mug with still steaming java and the exact number of sugars and creams he had diluted it with before.

“So, how does coming in twice, three times a week sound? I usually close the cafe’ around seven since I try to get Octavia in bed by eight thirty on weeknights. If you like to come by over the weekend, I close around six thirty to seven o’clock depending on how busy I get. Except any catering orders or special events, I’m not fussy over whenever you come over. All I ask is that you let me know when you’re coming by in advance so I can have something ready for you. A day or two ahead would be just fine.”

Blitzø, this time, could not find in him to groan loudly in protest to the blatant hardheaded dismissal of the what seemed like hours long argument. The argument he bitterly realized that he couldn’t fight against.

That did nothing to stop him from throwing his head back and scowling at the annoying as shit clean ceiling tiles above them.

“. . . . . . . You really aren’t gonna give this up, are you?” He said after a while.

“I suppose I’m about as bull-headed as you are.”

Blitzø gave a chuffing laugh at that.

Well, fuck.

What was he supposed to do with that?

What could he do with that?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fuck it, if the worst happened, he could just disappear again, right?

Not likely Stolas would look for him just for a review, right?

. . . . Right.

“. . . . . . . . . . The peppers and onions were both sweet.”

Stolas blinked at him like the owl he was.

Heh. Cute.

“The omelet was good, but it was kinda over-sweetened; I don’t know what kinda onions you added but personally I would use a more subtle kind of onion to help round out the sweetness of the peppers.”

He let this sink in for a moment before continuing, “I remember seeing you add a green pepper so next time I would recommend using a shallot, maybe about half a tablespoon’s worth should be right. A regular tablespoon’s good too if you don’t use too much of the peppers.”

He sipped at his refreshed coffee. “I personally, like some spice in my eggs to help me wake up, so don’t be afraid to throw some in the mix in the future. Like oregano or basil. You don’t have to go crazy with the amount, though, - just about when you’re making the bowl and a few dashes of it on top when ya put it on the plate. It’ll pair well with the tomatoes and not distract you too much from the rest of the food.”

He took a breath. “Coffee’s good, strong enough to double as a chemical peel, everything any caffeine addict is looking for. The aftertaste doesn’t turn me off from drinking the rest and from how it feels going down I am a hundred and fifteen percent sure you’re a nit-pick bitch cuz I taste how finely you ground the beans without turning them to powder. It’s good ya didn’t because that shit’s only good foe about half hour before fighting to keep your eyes open by either shooting up some dope or knocking back enough 66-Hour-Energy drinks to give the Big B a heart attack.”

Shouldn’t he stop? Maybe he was saying too much. Stolas had asked for honesty and Blitzø was doing his best to deliver it with as little jackassery as possible.

Problem was, for Blitzø, jackassery was his default language, according to practically everyone and their fat mom’s. And, most of the time, he didn’t even realize how much he let slip out before he got a sharp crack across the face. Or a knee to the balls.

He chanced a look at Stolas. If he looked upset, he could take it all back. It wasn’t too late, he could still backtrack -

Tiny stars sparked in Stolas’s wide eyes. Small and bright and beautiful, looking every bit like the twinkling little lights his mom would tell stories to him and Barbie back in their childhood. After the circus ring was cleared of trash and the last Hellhorse was tucked in their stall. Back when, even thought hings weren’t easy, everything was okay.

Before everything suddenly wasn’t.

Stolas, upon noticing Blitzø looking at him, instantly grew more flustered in some odd cacophony of joy and mortification, his plumage fluffing up from the top of his crown to the little floof of feathers on his chest. His hands belated came up to smooth them back into place, unfortunately they did little to quell them along with the rosy blush that tinted his face plate into an eye-catching pink.

Damn, this bird was so cute it was unfair.

The anxious itch in his chest was put to ease right there and then.

This couldn’t actually work, could it?

. . . Could it?

. . . . . . Maybe. Just maybe.

Emboldened, Blitzø sent the owl a lazy smile that easily darkened the pink on his face, matching the warmth the imp felt on his own face. “The apple was like a fucking angel feather, so soft and tasty. You have got to show me how the ever-loving fuck you made it turning to to applesauce ‘cause that shit was better than fuckin’ crack.”

Stolas looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be elated or overwhelmed.

After an awkwardly long amount of time, he clearly had settled on elation. His upper set of eyes turned upward in little crescents as his beak returned the smile with a brightness that Blitzø felt proud of bring out.

“I’d be happy to, darling.”

To be continued . . .

ME: Hey all you sinners & saints! Who’s excited for HAZBIN HOTEL coming out this friday?!?!?!? (Or Thursday if you actually watch it at it’s appointed time) I know I am!

I am SO EXCITED AND DESPERATELY TRYING TO IGNORE THE FACT THIS STORY IS LITTERALLY GOING TO LOST IN HAZBIN HIGH THAT I KNOW IS COMING FOR THE PAST WEEK. AND THE WEEK AFTER THAT. And the week after that . . .

ANYWAYSO, here is the recipe for the Mega-Omelet, which let me tell, just reading the ingredients alone mad me feel full! Also, what do you do for your respective hangovers? Let me know in the comments!

I’ll have the next (& FINAL chapter of this installment) written and posted as soon as I can, so until then, eat hearty, everyone!

Oh, and enjoy your stay at the Hazbin Hotel . . .

78 notes · View notes

anothergameofwickedgrace · 1 month

Text

Stolitz Smut as Promised.

Pairing: Stolas x Blitzø

~3,500 words

Relevant tags: Established Relationship, Roleplay, Rough Sex

Are Rules Not Meant to Be Broken?

A knock sounded at the door to Blitzø's office, drawing his attention from his work.

"Looney, you know we can't take in clients today with M&M out. If they're asking, just tell them we'll get to it tomorrow."

The door creaked open a crack, but the head that popped inside was far taller than what he expected.

"Wrong guess, darling." Stolas chirped from the doorway.

"Stolas? Why are you here?"

"Can I not drop by to visit my boyfriend? " He tilted his head to the side, smiling. "May I come in? I brought you some iced coffee." He stuck it through the door, giving it a little shake for emphasis.

Blitzø paused, considering it before replying. "How about you wait in the lobby?"

"Why not let me into your office?"

Blitzø leveled his gaze at the royal demon.

"Because I know you. And I have a shit ton of important paperwork to do, and you are only going to be a distraction."

"A distraction? I would never dream of interrupting you from your work." Stolas replied with a smirk, ducking into the room and closing the door behind him.

"Why even ask if you're not going to listen?"

Stolas ignored him, walking over to the imp and handing him his coffee, which Blitzø happily took and drank.

"How is it?"

Blitzø gave a thumbs up as he sipped. It was exactly how he liked it, but he wasn't going to admit that.

"Thanks for the drink. Now go sit in the lobby." Blitzø pointed at the door, looking up at him.

"Do you honestly think I came in here with nefarious purposes?" Stolas asked with feigned naivety, the look on his face betraying any possible claims of innocence.

The imp looked at him with a deadpan stare.

Stolas just smiled and walked around to the back of his chair, leaning down to nuzzle into the crook of his neck and placing his hands on his shoulders.

"Come on, Blitzy. You seem stressed. Why don't you take a break?" He dropped his voice down an octave before continuing, "I bet I could help you relax." He let out a deep little chuckle, running a hand down Blitzø's chest.

"Not here for nefarious purposes, my ass." He muttered.

"You know the rules, Stolas. No sex at the office."

"Have you not said before that rules are meant to be broken?" Stolas asked, a smartass expression plastered on his face.

"You're impossible." Blitzø said flatly.

Stolas just grinned and turned his chair around, kneeling down in front of it and propping his elbows up on the imp's thighs to prop his head up on his hands.

"How about this: You're the hard-working, overly stressed boss. Which you are. And I'm the secretary who would do anything for a raise." He proposed, walking his fingers up the other's chest.

Blitzø didn't protest but simply looked down at him. Stolas took that as sign enough to continue.

"You've had a particularly frustrating day and could really use an outlet. And there you see your sexy secretary bent over, filing away papers, hips just swaying in the air... almost knowingly taunting you."

Stolas reached up, gripping at the lapels of Blitzø's coat and straightening up slightly from his kneeling position.

"You can imagine that ass bent over your desk, legs wide apart, ready and wanting." He gently tugged him down so his mouth was at his neck. "Imagine yourself slamming into him, over and over as all he can do is hold on and take it as you fuck your stress away."

Stolas heard the other audibly swallow and he grinned wider. "Or maybe on his knees, hot mouth sucking you off eagerly. Taking you down all the way. Simply desperate for evey inch of your big, juicy cock."

Blitzø bit back a noise as the pictures Stolas was painting were shooting straight to his groin.

Dammit.

He hoped that the owl wouldn't notice, but that hope was quickly quashed as Stolas pulled himself up to straddle his lap. The wicked smile on his face was enough to tell Blitzø he definitely knew.

The prince leaned in with a self-satisfied hum, nipping gently at his neck and dropping a hand down to his lap, rubbing softly against his growing bulge.

"You're awful." Blitzø hissed.

Stolas pulled back enough to look Blitzø in the face, his glowing eyes hooded. "So...is the secretary going to be able to earn his well deserved raise?" He inquired in a teasing tone as he traced circles on his chest with his free hand, tail swishing gently.

"I ought to fire him." The imp muttered.

Raising his gaze to meet the prince's, he reluctantly gave in to thinking with the head Stolas was currently paying apt attention to, since that one was making it much harder to use the other.

"Fine. You win." The demon huffed. "Fucking slutty bird."

"Slutty secretary ." He corrected with a simper before hopping up and turning Blitzø's chair back to face his desk.

The shorter demon rolled his eyes and shook his head, but the edges of his mouth tugged upward.

Stolas walked over to the door and turned the lock with a click. He leaned back against the door, folding his arms behind his back. When he spoke, it was in a deep, sultry tone.

"You wanted to see me in your office? Sir."

Okay, that had no right to sound as hot as it did, but it definitely was something Blitzø could work with.

He noted in the back of his mind that he was glad that Moxxie had stopped calling him that because it certainly wouldn't being doing him any favors in one way or another.

Blitzø put on a smirk and leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the desk and tucking his hands behind his head.

"To my desk."

Stolas walked over to stand in front of him, hands still clasped behind his back.

"I wanted to talk to you about this raise you wanted. I don't really see what reason I would have to give you that. All you seem do is walk around the office in tight little outfits, distracting my workers. If anything, you're hurting the amount of work that gets done around here."

"Sir, I promise I am a very hard worker. I am extremely dedicated to this company. I would do anything you needed me to do to help it thrive."

"Hmmm." Blitzø hummed and switched his position so his feet were back on the floor, leaning an elbow on the desk. "Really now?"

He looked the taller demon up and down, a slow smile growing on his lips.

"I think I could work something out with you. You say you're such a hard worker, maybe you can show me that work ethic of yours."

"Of course. What would you have me do?"

Blitzø motioned Stolas to come closer to him, scooting his chair back enough that owl could stand between him and the desk.

"Kneel."

Stolas obliged, dropping down to his knees between Blitzø's parted legs.

The imp reached down, combing his fingers through the feathers on his head.

Stolas was looking up at him with big round eyes that held an eagerness he never could seem to hide. And fuck if he didn't look nice like that. The only thing that would make him look prettier would be-

Blitzø was getting ahead of himself.

"Meetings and paperwork and all that shit are stressful. It'd be extremely helpful if someone could ease some of that tension as I worked."

He reached down with his free hand and unfastened the button and zipper to his pants.

"Is that something you can do?"

The corners of the taller demon's mouth curled upward as he leaned down closer, hands sliding up Blitzø's thighs.

"Oh, I think you will find I am quite qualified."

Stolas slipped his fingers under the waistband of the imp's boxers, tugging them and his pants down as Blitzø lifted his hips to allow him to do so. He watched as his erection popped free, the prince's tail giving an excited little thump against the floor.

The demon wasted absolutely no time taking it into his mouth, tongue twisting around the length of it.

Blitzø swallowed down a noise at the sudden wet heat, eyelids drooping as he watched him work. He met Stolas's gaze as the owl peered up at him, mouth full.

Pretty.

With that thought and a grin, he gripped the back of his head with the hand he had threaded in his feathers and roughly yanked him down till the tip of his beak touched his abdomen.

Stolas choked as Blitzø forced himself down his throat, swallowing around him once he adjusted to the intrusion. He gripped onto the imp's inner thighs, eyes starting to water the longer he held him there. The grasp on his head was firm, keeping him from budging.

Just as his lungs started to burn, Blitzø pulled him back and released his grip. The prince coughed, gasping in lungfulls of air.

Blitzø waited as the other caught his breath before pulling his head forward with one hand and wiping away the drool that had dripped out his mouth with the other. He guided him towards his cock, gently tapping it against his cheek.

Stolas obediently opened his mouth, allowing Blitzø to slip back inside it. He let his eyes fall shut, focusing his attention to the head of him, lapping up any liquid that escaped the tip.

The imp let his head fall back against the back of his chair, letting out a quiet sigh of pleasure as Stolas kept at it, his hand back in the feathers at his crown. As he felt the other move his way up and down, tongue skillfully winding its way around him, a telltale tension in his abdomen keyed him into needing to make him stop.

"Ah- Alright. Good job performance." Blitzø managed.

Stolas took the hint and pulled back, a proud and slightly smug look on his face. He stood up, straightening his posture to try and give off a professional demeanor.

Blitzø gave himself a squeeze at his base, staving off his building orgasm, and stood up from his chair, kicking his pants fully off and his boots along with them.

"Sit." He ordered, motioning toward the desk before shedding his coat and hanging it over the back of his chair.

The prince turned to do so but was met with the papers Blitzø had been working on spread across the top of it. He leaned down, gathering them up into a neat pile.

"Fuck that." Blitzø said, sweeping the rest of the paperwork onto the floor.

Stolas just stood there stunned, papers still in hand.

"Don't you-... don't you need those? Did you not say that they were important?" He asked, slightly puzzled.

"Problem for future me." The imp responded before repeating, "Sit."

The taller demon gently placed the stack he was holding, along with Blitzø's coffee, on the chair and sat back on top his desk.

"You know. I think you're far too over-dressed for the workplace. You need to fix that."

Stolas did as he was asked and started stripping off layers of his clothes, starting with his cape. He folded each article as he went and stacked them on the floor next to the haphazard pile Blitzø had thrown his in.

"Is this better, Sir?" Stolas asked coyly once he was fully undressed, moving into a position that would show off more of himself.

Blitzø pulled his shirt up and over his head and tossed it with the rest. He looked over at the demon in front of him, eyes roaming over every inch of his exposed body.

"Much." He commended, hopping up onto the desk and straddling the other's lap. He pulled him down slightly to meet him in a kiss and allowed Stolas to run his hands all across his body. He relished in the touch, his tail curling around one of the owl's wrist and using it to guide Stolas's arm to around his waist.

Stolas followed suit and wrapped the other around him as well, pulling him flush against him as he deepened the kiss.

They continued a bit longer before Blitzø broke away, moving his mouth to the other's neck. He bit down, sinking his sharp teeth into the place where his neck met his shoulder.

The prince let out a startled cry that was immediately interrupted by Blitzø shoving his fingers into his mouth.

"Quiet." The imp warned, as he pulled back from his neck. "Can't disturb the others in the office."

Stolas gave him a look. Blitzø was the one who bit him without warning. It wasn't his fault. Nevertheless, he took Blitzø's cue to suck on his fingers, coating them in as much saliva as he could.

Blitzø offered him a little satisfied smile as he pulled them out, reaching down and pressing his fingers against Stolas's entrance. He stroked against him gently before dipping inside, mixing Stolas's spit with the pre he was leaking. He purposely kept his movements slow and shallow, knowing it would only frustrate him.

Stolas let out a quiet whine as the other deliberately teased him, not missing the smug look on Blitzø's face.

It wasn't until the imp got enough of his restless squirming that he delved deeper, rubbing against his inner walls.

Stolas braced himself with his arms behind him and closed his eyes. But soon after, Blitzø pulled his fingers back out and hopped down off the table, eliciting a sound of protest from the other.

He gripped Stolas from under his knees and tugged him forward till he was sitting at the very edge of his desk. Not wasting a moment, he kneeled down, fixing his mouth over his opening. His long tongue snaked its way inside of him, and he relished the sharp breath the prince sucked in.

Stolas watched him as he worked between his legs, feeling his face flush at the sight of it. It felt absolutely amazing, but only drove to make him desperate for something more. Something bigger.

"Blitzø." He breathed.

The smaller demon pulled back, looking Stolas in his face.

"I'm sorry, what was that? Is that any way to address your boss?" He asked, a half-amused look on his face.

"My apologies. Sir." Stolas corrected.

"Better remember to show me respect or you're not getting a single cent more from me."

Blitzø stood up and walked around to the front side of his desk.

"Come here."

Stolas did as he was told, following in suit.

"Y'know," Blitzø started, tapping a finger against his cheek and putting on a thoughtful look. "I think my office could use a little something more. Maybe something pretty and all splayed out for me to look at." He flashed the other a wicked grin.

"Think you could help me with that?"

"Yes, Sir." The owl nodded.

"Over the desk." He ordered.

Stolas obeyed, getting on his knees so he could properly bend himself over Blitzø's desk.

Blitzø gave a gentle kick to each of his legs, signaling him to spread them further apart before stepping back away from him.

Stolas followed his instructions, his legs splaying out as far as he could make them. He lifted his tail to give Blitzø a better veiw, and fanned out the feathers to make them look fuller. He turned his head to face the imp, watching for his reaction.

Blitzø just stared at the lewd display in front of him, hand flying down to his dick which was now painfully hard. Stolas's face was flushed a deep pink and the feathers near the base of his tail were soaked.

"How's this, Sir?" Stolas asked in a breathy and seductive tone.

An absolutely depraved smile appeared on the imp's face in response.

"Fucking perfect."

Blitzø walked up to him and leaned over slightly so his face was closer to Stolas's, playfully giving a sharp flick of his tail to the other's backside as he did so. He tipped his chin up slightly with a finger, locking eyes with the prince.

"Working here isn't always gonna be easy, y'know. There'll be days that are gonna be real rough. You may feel like you've taken a good pounding with how hard I've worked you. You may need to fight the urge to scream from it all. And maybe some days you'll just feel fucked over and raw."

He smirked and pulled back.

"Let's see just how resilient you are."

He gave Stolas's ass a hard smack as he moved to stand behind him. He wrapped his tail snugly around the owl's, moving it out of his way as he grabbed Stolas's hip with one hand and gave himself a few strokes with the other. He rubbed the slick dripping from his tip along his length before positioning himself at Stolas's entrance, teasingly brushing the head over it before suddenly and roughly penetrating him.

Stolas bit down on his fist to dampen the noise that was forced from him as he was slammed against the edge of the desk. He felt Blitzø grip both of his hips tightly, claws digging into his skin. Pleasure shot through him as he was stretched full, the other pressing in deep and hard with each of his thrusts.

Blitzø had his eyes trained on where the two of them met, watching himself slide in and out of the prince. He kept up a quick pace, driving forcefully into him each time. The imp could hear the small sounds that Stolas was trying to keep in. He usually was quite vocal, so Blitzø knew keeping quiet was difficult for him.

And he didn't plan on making it any easier.

Reaching up with one hand, he grabbed a fist-full of feathers at the back of his head and yanked. Hard.

Stolas let out a small squawk as his head was forcibly and abruptly pulled backwards. The hold on his feathers was tight, and he knew Blitzø was not going to ease up. Stolas panted slightly as the other kept up a fast and rough pace, Blitzø's grip on the prince causing him to arch his back from how far back he was holding his head.

"Arms behind your back."

The taller demon complied, now no longer able to support himself, only being held up by Blitzø's hold on him and his own abdominal muscles.

Blitzø quickened his speed, keeping a firm grasp on Stolas. Each snap of his hips drove as deep into the royal demon as possible. He could feel Stolas straining against the grip the imp had on him, trying to keep himself up.

It was only when Blitzø noticed Stolas's body start to sink down, tiring from trying to hold himself up, that he released his hold on the owl's head, not wanting to yank out more feathers than he knew he already had. He moved his other hand from Stolas's hip to wrap an arm under and around the prince, keeping him from slamming down on the desk when he let go.

Stolas huffed as he fell forward, caught by Blitzø, and moved his arms from behind his back to brace his forearms on the desk. He let his head drop and hang down, eyes squeezing shut from barrage against him and talons scraping against the wood.

Sweat was beading at Blitzø's brow, his breaths coming out in short hot bursts. His hands moved to settle on Stolas's waist, and he used that grip to pull the other against himself to meet each drive into him. His movements grew more erratic as he felt himself grow closer.

A groan caught in Blitzø's throat as his hips stuttered. With one last powerful thrust, he spilled out inside of Stolas, holding the demon flush against him as his orgasm coursed through him.

Stolas gasped as the hot liquid filled him to the brim. The feeling of it practically overflowing from him was almost enough to send his already teetering self over the edge.

Blitzø pressed his forehead against his back, giving a few more deep rolls of his hips into the other. As he did so, he dragged his sharp claws down the taller demon's sides as hard as he could without breaking skin and tugged roughly on Stolas's tail with his own.

The keen pain and pleasure that that caused was just enough to tip Stolas over into a climax of his own. He once again bit down to try to keep as quiet as it overtook him, clenching around the other, his own release gushing forth and mixing with Blitzø's.

Blitzø bit down on his lower lip as Stolas tightened and spasmed, the force of it along with the added fluid caused their mess to trickle out and drip onto the floor.

Fuck. Blitzø was going to have to clean that up.

He turned his head to the side, his face rested against the demon's soft feathers as he waited for his breathing to even out.

Once it did, Blitzø pulled out slowly, only causing more semen to leak onto the ground beneath them.

Dammit, Stolas. This was part of why he had the rule.

Stolas turned his head around to look at him, a tired but happy smile on his face.

"So, Boss. How did I do?"

Blitzø laughed a soft, breathy laugh and reached over to gently run his fingers down the side of his face.

"I think I can find it in the budget to give you that raise."

Stolas gave a small laugh in return.

"Thank you, Sir." He smiled and slowly pulled himself up from his knees, moving to sit on top the imp's desk.

Blitzø climbed up onto the desk and into the prince's lap. He buried his face into the fluffy feathers of his chest, feeling spent but satisfied.

"You're helping me fix the mess you caused." He muttered, muffled.

"Of course, my Blitzy." Stolas assured with a smile, resting his head gently on top of Blitzø's.

"You're also getting me more coffee because I'm gonna need more than what you brought if I'm getting through the rest of the fuckin' work day."

The prince just chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to one of the imp's horns.

"Whatever you'd like." He stroked a hand gently down the smaller demon's back.

Blitzø wrapped his arms loosely around the owl's middle in response, completely relaxed against Stolas and happy to stay put for at least for a little while longer.

Maybe breaking his rule wasn't such a bad idea. Maybe they could do it again sometime.

Maybe.

He did still have a job to do.

#stolitz #helluva boss #nsft #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva boss fanfic #stolas goetia #blitzø #blitzo #blitz #stolas #mine #wicked writes #stolitzo #stolitzø #wicked hb

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miss-owl-eyes · 2 years

Text

⚡️Impish Reasearch⚡️

Striker x Male Angel!reader fluff!

Requested by a Wattpad supporter!

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The amazingly blue and white skies slowly turns to a dark, crimson red. Protected by a heavenly seal, no daggers could harm you, but the filthy insults and glares from the souls trapped in hell were exempt from your protection. In front of the palace doors, an imp stands by to pulverize anyone who may try to hurt you. He looks at you and winks. You turn sway from him, no time to get distracted. The doors slam behind you as you make your way up the long stairs. Photos of your boss' business "partner" and his family stare at you eerily, judging you.

Standing in a doorway, an empty table and open patio doors greet you. "Oh Lucifer," you introduce, walking towards the patio. You stand a safe yet close distance to him, the king of Hell, Lucifer. "Isn't it wonderful," he begins. It wasn't uncommon for him to monologue about how glorious his kingdom is. "All of this, the freedom to do whatever you want. You can do the most heinous things to another and still be seen as a true equal."

You nod, barely listening. Instead, you look down at the "glorious" kingdom he speaks of. Imps sleeping in boxes, prostitutes fighting for drugs, bombs being launched, and faint screaming that never seems to end. This was not the paradise Lucifer made it out to be, but as an angel, you couldn't help but feel discomfort with the state of despair.

"So, what does your precious God want to do with my kingdom this time? Perhaps try to salvage the poor sinners who were sent here "wrongfully"?" "No," you sigh, "God is asking about your daughter's attempt to-" "oh please," he snaps, "I do not want anything to do with a "rehabilitation" for the souls trapped here. We agreed anybody who is sent here shall stay, no backsies. If my daughter wants to break a millennium-old pact, she will deal with that when she is queen. That is the end of the discussion."

Lucifer was always adamantly against his daughter's idea of rehabilitating a demon and allowing them a chance at redemption, it was unclear to you why. God, however, seems to be almost content with the idea presented. Known as the most merciful, it is only to fair to give those worthy a second chance. Lucifer does not agree, and you fear that if you push him any further, your wings will no longer fly.

Exiting the palace, more protestors stand and belittle you while the bodyguard still stands like a knight in shining armor. "I'll escort you to a safer area, sir." Following the imp, you feel as though you failed your mission, the whole reason you were sent down here. "What's got you so glum?" The imp asks with a southern twang. "I was unable to reason with Lucifer about a proposal from God." He scoffs and chuckles, "don't you worry about Luci, he's stubborn as a bull. God should've realized that sendin' a lil' angel down here wouldn't do the trick." Was he belittling you or trying to comfort you? "Don't you worry 'bout a thing. Name's Striker, private assassin and guard" he holds out his hand. Fingerless gloves that show off his claws. Hesitantly shaking his hand, "I'm Y/N, God's angel ambassador." "Wow, an ambassador? You must suck a lotta peen to get that high a role!" He laughs. It was loud, boisterous, confident, like he didn't even care he was talking to God's right hand man. "N-no, I just dedicated my time and effort and eventually was rewarded." His smile fades. "So you just wait? No go-get-em in you?" "Not exactly, I am ambitious, I just prefer to bide my time." "So Simple up there. Down here you gotta kill, gotta take the bull by the horns and lead it to the competition. S'hard work, but when you're hired by the man in charge, boy, do you feel like you've won the lotto." The two of you reached your destination, and he looks at you and pauses. "Do what you want, Y/N, I'll be eagerly awaitin' your next visit."

You tell God the update on the rehabilitation project, and of course, they are unhappy. "What a shame, I would disassemble that damned pact if I could, but it requires the consent of the two rulers." They shake their head, resting it on their hand. "Thank you for the update, Y/N, you are relieved of your duties for the day."

Walking away from the palace down the golden streets, cherubs flying and giggling as other angels talk and walk together. Such a simplistic lifestyle. You think on the scenery of hell, the dark overtones and absolute freedom of oneself, good or bad. The souls who have accepted their life as a filthy sinner and acted as such, the imps who are the lowest of the low act the same as those who were sent down. What purpose did they serve? What purpose was an assassin if they were already deceased? These questions antagonized you, but they all surrounded a certain Imp, the one who talked to you like you were a true equal-Striker. He was such an interesting one, looks and conversation, he was different. You wanted to learn more about this imp.

With God's permission, angels were able to go to hell for their own benefit and for the extermination process. Some angels were even given the ability to shape-shift or look as if they belonged there. You were one of those angels. This ability was not able to be used all the time, only for small amounts of time. That did not stop you.

As you entered hell once again, you sought out the countryside imp to discuss your curiosities. Looking around for him was difficult, but the helpful sinners and imps who actually did recognize your description of him were able to help you find him, which eventually you did. He was eating a sandwich in a run-down diner. Taking a seat next to him, you order a cup of what looks like coffee. He scoffs. "How basic, why not try a sandwich? At least you'll get some sustenance." Taken aback by his new attitude, you wondered if this was how he treated everyone, maybe it was just politeness when you were an Angel. You lean in closer to him despite his tensing body and whispered "I'm the angel. I wanna talk." Striker's eyes widened as did his smile. "Well, let's get out of 'ere, I can tell ya alllll about what ya wanna know". He stands and you follow him to a secluded area behind some buildings. No one was around, it was almost abandoned. "So you're the angel I escorted earlier, huh? Mighty risky of ya to come down here on yer own." He lights a cigarette. "Well yes, but I had some questions about this world I'd like to be answered." He smiles with the cigarette through his sharp fangs, "I'd be happy to answer yer questions, handsome." You blush slightly. "W-well, you are an assassin, yes?" "Yessir" he says confidently with a bit of pride. "What purpose do you serve when everyone here is already dead?" His smile seems to fade a bit as he looks towards the ground. "I don't know and frankly, I don't care," his smile comes back, more sinister than before. "I get paid big bucks to kill these low-lives here, my biggest client is from the Goetia family, believe it or not." Did he say the Goetia? One of the highest royalties in Hell? What would a Goetia need an assassin for? Striker continues, "I even got one of heaven's fine-ass weapons to get the job done. Now I'm sure you don't need a lesson on the definition of assassin, but I get lotsa money to kill someone here, dead or not."

"How intriguing." Not even he knows where his victims go? How could he be so nonchalant about this? You look at him, puffing out smoke and crushing the cigarette under his boots. He doesn't care about anything but money it seems he's just like the others here. "Alright... how are morals down here?" Striker laughs, "what morals? We all don't care 'bout each other! It's kill or be killed here!" His toothy smile flashes with a golden fang, a cruel display. "But," he continues, "there are some here that decide to settle down, find someone, start a family of their own if they want. Others start their own business, and some try to do good deeds." You look at him, watch him as he describes the bit of light in such a dark universe. "I used to want to do that, have a family, but that ain't the life for me. I kill now, and I'm damn good at it, and that's enough for me. You don't know how hard it is to find someone here, let alone someone who wants an imp." He spat the word "imp" with such distaste, such hatred and scorn for his own kind. No wonder, being the lowest of the lowest class here, it must be agonizing to even exist.

"What if someone wanted to be with you too? Even if they aren't what you expected... aren't someone from Hell?" Striker looks at you, confused yet intrigued. "What? Like you? An Angel? HA! Don't Pull my tail, ion need that kinda joke right now." "No," you say sternly, "I have thought about you since I met you today, and I'd like to experience things with you! I would like to start a research project with you." "A what?" "A research project. I do them for God on many occasions, mostly about Hell's state and the wellness of the angels in heaven. I'd like to discuss with him a possibility of researching an imp and how one lives and I believe you are the best candidate."

Striker was taken aback. He was the best candidate for a research project? No way was he qualified, he was an imp, a low-life, nothing more! But, he was honored that someone of such a high class, someone like you, chose him; but he'd never let you know that. "Sure Angel, I'll be your little Guinea pig, but in return, I get to ask you whatever I want and you gotta answer regardless. And you gotta stay here for a bit. Deal?" He holds out his hand. It's a dangerous deal, being an Angel down in hell, but the chance to research an imp was perfect. You shake his hand, agreeing before returning to heaven to consult God.

"Y/N, what would researching an imp's life do for their benefit?" "Well, we can use this research to determine if more sinners or imps will be annihilated during the exterminations." "Fine, I will grant you three months to gather information. I will give you an impish disguise so you can experience their hardships as well. I wish you luck, Y/N."

And with that, you were sent to hell to research the life of an imp with Striker.

It was a tough life for sure, but within these 3 months you grew accustomed to the lifestyle. It wasn't difficult to fend for yourself after a bit, especially at an assassin's side. Speaking of Striker, you grew close with him, learning about his life and hardships. As you grew, your feelings for the imp did as well. It wasn't ideal, but it happened. Hiding it became more and more difficult, resulting in avoiding Striker as much as possible while still being near him.

Striker, however, knew of these feelings since the start, having reciprocated these same feelings, but not telling you until he was sure. He teased you and played with your tail, the horns and made snarky comments to you that made you blush and set your insides on fire. The rare times you flirted back only made his remarks more frequent.

Sometimes he would hold you, or cuddle you under the ruse of being asleep and just getting comfortable in an unconscious state. You didn't mind at all, in fact, it become a daily instance to sleep while cuddling; for comfort and warmth, of course. It was a lovely thing to hold each other, tails sometimes intertwining and tangling with each other, causing a cute yet awkward scene of giggling and Striker pulling them apart, saying something along the lines of "they got a mind of their own, huh?"

One month until you were to be sent back to Heaven, one more month with Striker. Today was the day you wanted to tell him you loved him. It was nerve-wracking, but you wanted to tell him all of your icky feelings, all of the sappy thoughts while cuddling, the happiness when he'd untangle the two of you, and how his comments and teasing made your heart swoon. He was laying in bed in the dingy motel room he resided in. Laying next to him, you stroked a finger on his horn, thinking he was asleep. "I can feel yer claw there, darlin"." You were wrong. "Sorry, they're so cool looking!" He rolled over, shirtless and his hair ruffled. He smiled and chuckled sleepily, "y'know, it's a treat lookin' atcha get all excited about my horns when you gotta pair of yer own." It was comments like that. That damn smile. "Well what can I say, I enjoy your looks." Here we go, on the track of confession. He looked at you in the eyes, acting smugly, but there was a sense of fear in him. "Oh? You sayin' I'm attractive, angel boy?" "Of course, why else would I obsess over your horns and spiny tail all the time? No other imp catches my eye like you do." Striker smiled slightly and looked at the ground, a very, very slight blush dusting his cheeks. "Well, I suppose you wouldn't have chosen me for this if you weren't a lil' bit attracted to me, right?"

Striker had a slight self-esteem issue. You know, of course. It tied back to him being an imp. You were aware of this and we're always sensitive when discussing the topic. "Well, you wouldn't have accepted if you weren't attracted to me as well, right?" You moved your hand to ever so lightly brush your fingers over his. He notices and slides a finger under yours, reciprocating the action of affection. "Yer right haha. Maybe I am a bit attracted to an Angel in an Imp's disguise." You smile as the two of you look into each other's eyes lovingly. "And this Angel has indeed fallen for an imp such as yourself."

The feelings were out, and it seemed they were reciprocated. Your hands tangled and held one another's, foreheads pressed against each other's as light and loving laughter filled the room. Tails intertwining once again, but not accidentally, not to be untied by the handsome assassin the Angel had fallen for. This was a display of pure love, nothing a research book could ever describe, not for these two.

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Fandom: Helluva Boss

Word Count: 2.5K

🔥Masterlist!🔥

#helluva boss #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva boss fanfic #striker #striker Helluva boss #helluva boss striker #striker x reader #striker x male reader #striker x angel reader #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss oneshot #vivziepop #vivzieverse

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