Summary: After Stolas saves I.M.P. from the human government, Blitzø goes feral. Stolas brings him to the palace to take care of him, but ends up going feral too and they have intense, eldritch sex.
Chapter 2
Posted: 06/10/2024
Status: Ongoing
“Are you afraid to love people, Blitzy?”
Muddy hands and knees crawl on glowing, pristine stairs that are free of the grime that he lugs around. Golden manacles entrap his wrists and neck, chains leading up to a throne. Or rather, leading up to the Being sitting comfortably on said throne, holding the chains loosely in one slender hand. He shouldn’t look up at His face, shouldn’t be allowed to, and yet he does.
He is breathtaking. Those blue feathers, softer than any pillow he’s ever hugged, surround an equally soft white facial disk. Red glowing eyes, which sometimes look pink in the right light, see right through his soul. Four crescents are squinted in smug amusement. The beak that has spewed so many equally sweet and filthy words now stays mute, stretched into a knowing smile. Long legs ending in sharp talons are crossed over the armrest of the throne, as tight leggings hide one of his favorite parts of His anatomy. He knows its taste so intimately that it lingers on his tongue, in his throat.
He hurries up the stairs on all fours, settling at the foot of the throne. He wants to tear those clothes apart, to spread those legs and shove his face between them, to worship Him with his entire being.
He is unworthy.
The grip on his chains loosens, and he panics, grabs the golden links in shaky claws, and all but shoves them inside His hands. Those chains aren’t a prison so much as a beloved pet’s leash, and he wants more than anything to be kept. Even if his freedom is taken, his autonomy violated, his very sense of self denied.
Because those chains are a sign that he is wanted, loved as a prized possession, if nothing else.
He will never be anything else, but he’s long accepted that.
Dark hands grip his golden leash, and he can’t help but breathe a deep sigh of relief as he is pulled by the neck and onto His lap. He gladly curls himself against His chest, settles onto pillowed thighs, and curls his tail around a small waist. He rubs his face against chest feathers, purring up a storm.
This is the closest to Heaven he will ever be. The closest to having His heart he ever will. This is more than he will ever deserve.
One day, he will stain those stairs, that throne, those beautiful feathers.
But until then, he selfishly clings to this gorgeous creature for as long as He will allow it, for as long as He finds his tainted self entertaining.
***
Blitzø’s first thought upon waking up is: Fuck, my head hurts.
Blitzø’s second thought upon waking up is: Fuck, my whole body hurts.
Blitzø’s third thought upon waking up is a simple, but incredibly meaningful: Fuck.
Yesterday wasn’t the first time he went feral, and it likely won’t be the last. All demons, including sinners, have the ability to go feral, and imps and hellhounds are especially susceptible to falling into that state for a variety of reasons (some biological, some societal). It’s usually manageable and easier to control when indulged in regularly, but it’s much more dangerous and unpredictable for those who have severe trauma and insufficient coping mechanisms.
You know, like Blitzø.
Typically, for him, it would trigger in high-stress situations. Dangerous fights, mental breakdowns, flashbacks, you name it. Blitzø has a fuck ton of triggers, and it’s honestly a testament to his resilience that he’s not constantly in a perpetually feral state of being.
And yeah, he’d say having an emotionally stressful drug-induced hallucination, swiftly followed by an intense, violent fight kinda warrants regressing into that more animalistic part of himself. It’s happened multiple times, after and during particularly excruciating missions. He tries to only let himself fully crumble in the privacy of his home, where the most dangerous thing he can do is aggressively dote on his lovely daughter and transform their living room into a giant nest.
He’s certainly never had feral sex before, though. That’s new.
Oh, yeah. To his greatest dismay, he remembers every single part of last night. Down to the smallest detail. He remembers everything he did, everything that was done to him.
He remembers every thought he had, from the horniest to the most incredibly pathetic.
(Is he afraid to love people? Ha. What a loaded fucking question.)
Fuck, he can’t look at Stolas in the eyes again. Any four of them. Then again, the owl did go feral as well, in his own bird-god-monster way, maybe he’d be understanding if—
Yeah, no. Suppress. Let’s not think about that. That’s something he’ll have to unpack later with his therapist if he can get over the mortification of the whole situation first. And if he actually goes to the appointment. He’s a busy man, alright? He’s not avoiding talking about his feelings, and he’s not afraid of that steely gaze and unshakeable personality. Nope.
Laid on his stomach on the wide bed, Blitzø pats around him and notices it’s empty. He’s not sure whether to feel relieved or anxious, his emotions an inferno of confusion after the wild, amazing (and also kinda traumatizing) sex he had the night before. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling.
He should probably get up. Find the bird. Fuck the bird a couple of times. Maybe take advantage of the bird’s fancy bubble baths while he’s at it, though he seems to have been cleaned up in his sleep already, judging by how not-gross he feels.
(And isn’t that a terrifying thought, that he didn’t even notice the cleanup happening? Didn’t even wake up while it was happening? What kind of assassin does that make him, to be letting his guard drop so low around someone who could destroy him with a single thought?)
But Blitzø stays in the bed, unmoving. His body is still sore and Stolas’ bed is so soft, and the ceiling is weirdly hypnotizing. He’s not sure why, but there’s one spot there that makes his mind go pleasantly blank like he’s dissociating, but good somehow—
Suddenly, a hand covers his eyes and a soft, familiar voice brings him out of his trance.
“Please don’t look. I, ah, missed that spot.”
“St— Wh—” His tongue feels heavy, like his mouth is filled with cotton.
Blitzø feels a change in pressure in the air typical of Stolas’ magic, and just like that, the hand is gone from his face and the ceiling looks…just like a normal ceiling. He blinks in confusion, directing his gaze to the sheepish Stolas in his favorite silken robe, sitting on the side of the bed near his head.
Fuck, that robe really leaves nothing to the imagination, barely hanging onto thin shoulders and completely revealing plump thighs. All free of the bite marks he’d left there the night before, of course. His marks never stay thanks to those freaky regenerative abilities, and yet Blitzø always stubbornly tries to claim him each time, despite knowing how futile it is. All he can do is make enough of an impression on Stolas to at least put his mark on his mind, if not his body.
And he will do it as many times as it takes.
…Jesus fucking Christ. No one else has ever managed to make him this horny by simply existing in his general vicinity. It’s a talent, really.
“I, um, lost control for a bit last night. My magic caused a bit of a mess and I intended to fix it all up before you woke, but I seem to have missed that little spot on the ceiling.”
“A…bit of a mess,” Blitzø repeats flatly. Fucking up the fabric of reality itself is ‘a bit of a mess’?! This bird is fucking insane.
That thought ends up sounding more fond than Blitzø is comfortable with.
(More fond than he can ever allow himself to be.)
“Haha, yes. Apologies for this.” Stolas giggles. He fucking giggles. What the fuck. A grown-ass man has no business being that cute. Then, Stolas’ eyes soften into concern as he brings a hand to gently caress the top of his head. “And for…everything else, really. I should have better controlled myself. How are you feeling, dearest?”
Dearest.
Stolas often calls him those affectionate little names. Dearest. Darling. Blitzy.
They usually don’t bother him. It’s embarrassing when he does it in front of others, sure, but in private, when it’s just the two of them? It’s fine. He can ignore them, tolerate them, even.
(He likes them.)
He doesn’t know why his heart pinches this time when it never has before.
(He knows why. He just doesn’t want to think about it.)
“‘m fine. Mostly. Sore as fuck.” He mumbles. Thank fuck for Stolas’ amazing hearing.
“As expected. We went a little…well, ‘wild’ would be a bit of an understatement.” A nervous chuckle.
“You could say we went…” Blitzø musters up his most annoying grin, “feral.”
Stolas is making a decent effort to not laugh at his cheap, lazy joke, Blitzø will give him that. Even so, small titters escape his beak anyway.
Honestly, this is just a half-assed attempt at deflecting from the elephant in the room. Specifically, his emotional state. He still feels too raw, too vulnerable to talk about it. Going feral wasn’t enough, no, he had to fucking drop as well. He’s lucky Stolas was much more aware in his partially eldritch form than he was, or this would have ended in disaster and a lot more trauma.
Blitzø feels something cold press against his cheek and isn’t surprised to find a water bottle there. He takes it without complaining, drinking from it like his life depends on it, and lets Stolas bring his face to his fluffy chest feathers (affectionately named his ‘foobs’, to Stolas’ utter dismay).
Usually, Blitzø is the one providing the aftercare, because he’s a good dom and wasn’t raised in a fucking barn (no offense, Millie). Also, he is the happiest when he can dote on someone, though he’ll take this information to the fucking grave. But it’s not the first time Stolas has ended up providing it instead. Their scenes can get pretty intense, and in the beginning, when they were still discovering each other’s boundaries, he ended up having a dom drop or two during particularly violent scenes. Stolas is a sturdy bitch with off-the-charts masochism levels and absolutely zero sanity, it was bound to happen, really. Those are simply the risks of having violent, kinky sex on the regular. It’s the first time he’s had a sub drop with Stolas, though. And honestly, the first time he’s had any in a long time in general. At least Stolas learned from the best.
They spend some time in silence, cuddling while Blitzø finishes the bottle, then Stolas pipes up, his voice whisper-soft in the quiet room.
“Would you like a bath, darling? Or breakfast first?”
”…I want bubbles.”
“This can certainly be arranged~” Stolas chuckles, and Blitzø tries really hard not to pop a boner when those slender fingers gently trace his jaw.
**
As should have been expected, the bath that was supposed to be soothing and relaxing quickly became chaotic. A Goetia-sized bathtub, a large amount of bubbles, and a restless imp make for quite the dangerous combination, as it turns out. Stolas loses Blitzø in the bubbles three whole times before he decides to hold him in his lap so he can clean up without drowning. Blitzø complains, but never even tries to free himself from the loose grasp, settling in the bird’s lap comfortably.
…and then, Stolas rides him in the bath because they just can’t keep their hands off each other. It’s slow, simple, and tender. Just what they need after an intense night, and Stolas’ fancy bath salts do wonders to make his strained muscles relax.
When they’re done, Blitzø relaxes in Stolas’ hold in the warm water. Stolas is gracious enough not to comment on how clingy Blitzø is being. Likewise, Blitzø doesn’t mention how uncharacteristically sweet they’re both allowing themselves to be with each other. As if they could ever be more.
(They could never be more. Stolas made that quite clear when he proposed the full moon arrangement. Still, Blitzø lets himself indulge before it’s all inevitably ripped from his claws again.)
They don’t talk about why Blitzø went feral. Nor about Stolas’ own loss of control.
Like usual, they don’t talk about anything outside of sex.
***
“Wow, you smell fucking weird.”
“Nice to see you too, sweetie.”
“How ya doin’ today, B?”
He comes into work late that day, Loona having picked up and driven M&M to work in the morning like the diligent daughter she is. Of course, nobody even says ‘hi’, or ‘good morning, our favoritest boss ever’, or ‘looking sexy there sir, me and my wife totally want to have a threesome with you’. Bunch of ingrates.
Instead, the first thing he hears is that he smells weird, and the next is questions about his well-being which, ugh, no. He’s not doing feelings this soon after having been pampered to heaven and back by that rich bitch with the amazing bath salts and delicious professionally cooked breakfast and fluffy hugs and cute laugh—
Ahem.
So he focuses on the smell comment exclusively.
“Well, if you must know, I got to use Stolas’ fancy-as-fuck bath salts and it felt great. Got the full spa treatment for the low, low price of a good, hard fucking.”
“We know too much about your sex life, sir,” Moxxie complains, fingers pinched on the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
Millie just giggles at the exchange. But Loona remains unconvinced, getting closer to his personal space to sniff him.
“No, it’s not that. I mean, I also smell that fancy shit on you too, but there’s something else under it. Kinda metallic? But spicier? The fuck is that?”
Blitzø tilts his head in confusion. Fuck if he knows. As an imp, he has a fairly good sense of smell, but hellhounds go way beyond and can smell what he can’t. He just shrugs and they go back to work. He doesn’t miss the various concerned glances, but actively chooses to ignore them. Moxxie’s staring in particular is more intense than the rest, and Blitzø just knows he will try to pester him about all the shit that happened yesterday after work, hallucinations and all. And Blitzø will skillfully avoid the subject with his usual grace and poise.
“No.”
“Sir—”
“Nope.”
“I’m just—”
“Nu-uh.”
“Blitzø.”
“Nothing to say, nothing to report, all’s good in land Blitzø. Go home, your dom is waiting for you.”
“Blitzø, going feral to this extent is—”
“Moxx,” Blitzø interrupts him again, voice uncharacteristically serious, “I get it okay? I know. But I’m fine now, we— I got it handled. It won’t happen again. I’m fine.” He softens. “We’re fine. Go home.”
Moxxie hesitates, then sighs.
“Fine, just…just tell us if you’re feeling off, okay? Any of us. We can help. We… I want to help.”
(Are you worried I may have enough of it one day as well?)
(‘Cause you’re thoughtless and cruel, and you’ll end up alone.)
Blitzø smiles a defeated smile. There’s just no winning an argument with Moxxie. Persistent little cockroach.
“Alright, alright. Now go.” A pause. “Thanks, Moxx.”
“…anytime, Blitzø.” Moxxie answers, and finally joins Millie so they can leave together. They have a date planned, apparently, something about scoping out nice places to celebrate their upcoming anniversary. Though judging by his attitude, it looks like Moxxie already has big plans. Ah, young, monogamous love, so sickly sweet.
Once, he would have followed them around, maybe even crashed the date. And possibly the anniversary later, too.
For some reason, though, he doesn’t really feel up to it now. He’s still too sensitive, too raw from all the shit that happened yesterday, and there was this whole thing with Stolas and the drop and—
He’s just a little tired. And really wants to check on the bird, for some reason.
He resists the urge.
Later that day, once they’ve gotten home, Loona finally figures out the smell. It’s ozone.
“Oh, that’s space shit, right? Makes sense. I was with Stolas and space is kinda…his whole shtick.”
“You usually don’t smell like ozone.”
Blitzø shrugs.
“Shit happened. He got a little feral too, broke reality a bit then fixed it right up, no biggie—”
“He went feral too?! Shit, you’re lucky you’re still alive. That’s a whole fucking Goetia.”
“Oh yeah, there was a whole lot of fucking alright—”
“Alright, TMI, I’m done, shut up.”
Blitzø laughs as Loona flees to her room accompanied by two middle fingers aimed right at him. She’s always such a delight.
Later, when night falls and Blitzø lay awake on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, he continues to ignore the urge to check on Stolas, even as his thoughts are filled with soft feathers and all-seeing reds.
It will pass.
***
Stolas feels strange. Has felt off since he woke up that morning, entangled with Blitzø after an admittedly crazier-than-usual night of passion. He’s been simultaneously restless and yet exhausted, and keeps finding himself wandering the halls of the palace looking for something he can’t quite place. An object? A place?
(A person?)
He doesn’t know what is causing his change in behavior and energy levels, but the fact it is near-constant is certainly cause for concern, and he isn’t sure how to pinpoint the source.
It could be many things, really. His losing control, for one, is the strongest suspect. He really should have siphoned his magic properly before accepting to take care of Blitzø in his vulnerable (and extremely horny) state, it was highly irresponsible of him not to do so. He should have known better, should have known he would lose his bearings should he take care of a feral demon while in an unstable state himself.
Most of all, he really, really should not have slept with Blitzø. It was wonderful, of course, completely mind-blowing, but Blitzø wasn’t in his right mind, and by the end of the night, neither was Stolas.
And yet, it felt so right, somehow. Like a certain itch was finally scratched for them both. Like a hunger finally sated.
Like a wrong had finally been righted.
Stolas feels strange, but surely, it must simply be because of the events of that day. He will take some well-deserved rest, stabilize his magical reserves, and he’ll feel better.
It will pass.
***
It did not, in fact, pass, Blitzø internally laments. His mind has been plagued by Stolas’ stupid fluffy face ever since that day, and the urge to ask him about his health is so strong that he’s caved multiple times and texted him a bunch “just to chat”.
(So basically, he sent Stolas various memes he found funny and hoped really hard that Stolas would volunteer the information on his own. Instead, he got various photos of (admittedly dope) plants he didn’t know even existed in hell. No, it’s not ‘cute couple stuff’, shut the fuck up, Millie.)
Thankfully, the full moon is coming soon. He’ll get to plow some birdpuss and also will be able to satisfy that annoying urge to check on the bird, hopefully without awakening his suspicion. Can’t let the bitch think (know) he cares, that’s a one-way ticket to DisasterVille, the beginning and end destination of all of his relationships.
Nah, better to keep it simple and casual. A good time for the book, the book for a good time. A nice, simple transaction with no complicated feelings involved.
(Never mind the fact that Blitzø has been going nuts thinking about Stolas in increasingly domestic scenarios, including ones that have him round and waddling and—)
It’ll be totally fine!
***
It is not fine. Stolas has been ill for a while now, and his nausea is not going down, no matter what he does. And it will be the full moon soon too! He was so excited to see his darling again, and he won’t even be able to enjoy their time together without getting sick…
Stolas sighs. What could have caused this? Did Stella try to poison him again? No, he would have known. That witch has never been subtle, she would have used a poison he would recognize from the taste immediately, and he would have stared her right into the eyes as he drank it all without flinching.
(Then he would have vomited it all in the toilet not long after. His body would be unharmed thanks to his regenerative abilities and inherent resistance to poison, but his stomach would still be upset from the foul-tasting mixture.)
No, he tasted no poison in his breakfast this morning; plus, Stella already left with Via for the weekend, she would have had to get one of the servants to do it for her, and she never puts that much effort into tormenting him. Not only that, but he already felt nauseous before attempting (and failing) to eat breakfast. Some rare stomach bug, perhaps? Goetia are quite resilient, but some rare illnesses can affect them, sometimes, especially if they are in weakened states.
(And, Stolas is ashamed to admit, he hasn’t been taking care of himself very well since Stella has learned of his relations with Blitzy and their household was plunged into chaos. He’s often neglected to eat and sleep as he submerges himself in work.)
Oh, but if it is an illness, he simply cannot let Blitzy come to the palace. What if it’s contagious? As an imp, Blitzø is much more fragile than he is. A Goetia illness could very well kill him! No, no, that simply won’t do. He cannot let this happen. He will not cause him unnecessary harm, especially if it is easily avoided.
Stolas brings up the smartphone Via asked him to get a couple of years ago so that she could text him without having to call him for everything. He wasn’t convinced, at first, but he’s come to appreciate the convenient ability to easily take photos and send them to his loved ones (so…Via and Blitzø, pretty much). He opens Blitzø’s contact info and starts writing.
[You : I am so very sorry Blitzy, but I am afraid we will have to reschedule our monthly moonlit rendezvous, though I am severely disappointed to have to do so. I seem to have come down with a sickness and would be devastated if I were to pass it on to you. I do not feel well enough to perform my duties presently, so you may keep my grimoire. I will summon for you should I need it urgently.]
The answer is quick, as always. Blitzy never leaves him hanging, always answering almost as soon as the message has been sent. How sweet.
[Blitzy ♥ : r u dying]
Oh, and so concerned for his health too. What has he done to deserve such an attentive lover?
[You : Nothing life-threatening, I assure you. But we Goetia don’t easily catch illnesses. What is mildly inconvenient for us could very well be life-threatening to you! Until it is confirmed whether my affliction is contagious or not, I would rather keep my distance so as to avoid potentially saddling you with a grave illness. I have an appointment with my physician this afternoon to figure things out. I will keep you informed, of course. In the meantime, my thoughts will be of you, always. ♥]
[Blitzy ♥ : k]
Stolas smiles at the response and puts down his phone on the bedside table. It is a shame to have to reschedule, and he will be missing his darling so very dearly, but he is at ease knowing Blitzø will be safe. In the meantime, he confines himself to his quarters just in case. His owlet is away from the palace with her mother, but his staff is mainly composed of imps and hellhounds, so it is better to be prudent.
***
Blitzø is not panicking.
His instincts have been going haywire since that night, obsessed with Stolas’ safety and health for some fucking reason. And now the bird just told him he is not, in fact, healthy.
And his instincts do not like that.
But he’s not panicking, nope. He’s perfectly fine. Perfectly chill. Totally. Yup.
“You okay, B?” And suddenly Millie is right next to him on the couch, okay, what the fuck. He can’t have been that distracted, right?
“You’ve been staring at your phone like it committed some kind of war crime.” Loona’s monotone voice floats from her desk.
“Did you get bad news, sir? Should we be concerned?” Even Moxxie, the very picture of professionalism, can’t hide the concern in his tone, no matter how hard he tries.
He’s been keeping a close eye on his friend and boss since their time in that government facility. So far, Blitzø has been acting a little weirder than usual, been a little fussier, but he’s been overall stable and focused on his job, so Moxxie let him be. But just now, his whole demeanor changed the moment his phone pinged with the custom notification sound associated with the prince, the one Blitzø never ignores even during missions.
Surely, their recklessness last time hadn’t been grave enough for him to take back the book permanently, right? They’d been scolded, sure, but the prince had said nothing about taking it back. This could spell complete disaster for their business if he did. All of their hard work, down the drain after one mistake. Would the prince be capricious enough to cut them off suddenly like this, without any safety net? Moxxie doesn’t know, he doesn’t know the guy that well, beyond his arrangement with Blitzø.
But he can’t imagine what else it could be. Not much can rattle Blitzø this hard apart from his daughter being harmed in any way, and Loona is right there, sitting at her desk, completely fine.
Blitzø doesn’t answer, a weird grimace on his face as he briefly glances at his employees before focusing back on his phone. His tail is twitching in agitation, and he seems to be trying very hard to stay calm, with mostly ineffective results.
Millie poses a hand on Blitzø’s shoulder, making sure to slowly telegraph her movement so as not to startle him.
“Blitzø, talk to us.” Her voice is soft.
The only answer is a low whine coming from the back of his throat.
Oh.
This is when everyone else in the room realizes it.
Blitzø is going feral again.
“Fuck,” Loona murmurs low enough to not be heard by her father.
Shit. So soon? And in the office to boot, where nothing particularly stressful is happening at the moment? She stands from her desk in a hurry. What was in that text that caused him to lose it like that?
She rounds the couch to sit on his other side, melding her side to his. She drapes her tail over his back. He curls up on himself, no doubt mortified to be relapsing so soon and in front of all his employees.
“‘m s’rry. Need a moment.” He mumbles.
Loona lets out a relieved breath. Okay, so he’s not completely gone. They can still salvage this. With no idea of what, exactly, his trigger was, letting him go feral in the office rather than at home would be far too unpredictable. He could go on a rampage, or he could go all gooey, and without more information, it’s hard to predict which way it could go.
Moxxie walks up to the couch, sitting next to his wife.
“We’re here to listen, sir— Blitzø. If you want to.”
All sorts of pitiful animalistic noises are coming out of Blitzø’s throat right now, and he knows he’ll never live it down. It’s one thing to break in front of Loona. It’s one thing to go a little crazy with Stolas. To be a little more violent during missions. But he doesn’t want to get emotional in front of M&M as well, on top of everything else. He’s supposed to be the (mostly) level-headed boss here. He’s supposed to be their rock, their anchor, not the other way around.
“‘s stupid.” He grumbles, tail slapping the bottom of the couch in agitation.
At the very least, the weight and warmth of Loona’s tail is helping ground him. It’s not quite his weighted blanket, but it works well enough.
(And he’s very touched that she’d think to do this in the first place. He’s made a lot of shitty decisions he deeply regrets in his life, but adopting her is not one of them. It’s the best fucking decision he’s ever made in his life.)
“Hey,” Loonie’s voice is stern, “if it’s making you go feral, it’s not stupid.”
***
Adopting Loona had been an impulsive decision. Originally, he had planned on taking in a younger kid, one he could raise from a young age, one he could dote on and nurture in ways he himself hadn’t been.
He’d always been a family man, children had always been on his radar. It was a big point of contention with Ver, one of many, and once they were done he had no more reason not to do it.
When he got to the pound (because that was what it was, not the orphanage it claimed to be), he saw himself in those children. Lonely, hurt, chained by expectations and trauma.
(Caged like beasts.)
If it was up to him, he would have taken them all and burned down the pound. Even if he had to whore himself out to fancy fucks to feed them all, he would have done it.
But he was just an imp, and he’s learned a long time ago that he can’t save everyone. He knew that he could only afford to take one of them, and he would have to let down everyone else in that shithole.
Honestly, he almost gave up and went home. After all, any kid he takes under his wing would end up ruined, wouldn’t they? Because that’s all he’s ever done in his life : hurt and ruin people beyond recognition. Would being treated like an animal really be worse than whatever pain he could inflict on them just by being in their orbit?
But then, he made eye contact with Loona. Traumatized, terrified, and in a perpetually half-feral state, just like he’d once been. If he hadn’t taken her in that day, they’d have killed her the moment she turned eighteen. Such is the way of hellhound pounds.
On the day of her adoption, he celebrated her like he’d never celebrated anyone or anything before, to her greatest annoyance. Then she turned eighteen, and he threw her a nice and simple birthday party, which she turned her nose at.
(But the next morning, he found the cake he baked had been completely devoured, not even one crumb left.)
With her history, it was inevitable that she’d go feral often. Each time, she hid herself in shame, having been taught early on that this kind of bestial behavior would deter anyone from ever adopting her, from keeping her. And indeed, it was the main reason she kept being sent back to the pound. Too aggressive, too disobedient, too feral.
But Blitzø kept her. He never sent her back. Never had her put down. He stayed with her and comforted her, offered her a space to let loose, to indulge in her instincts safely, even if that meant getting hurt himself in the process.
“Listen,” he’d told her one particularly bad evening, “if it’s making you feral, then it’s not stupid. It just means you’re upset and need an out. I’d rather you tear up the couch than bottle it up until you explode.”
He taught her she shouldn’t be ashamed of her feelings, of her instincts.
***
And now she’s using his own words against him. What a low blow.
He’s so proud of her.
His purr is low, almost inaudible, but there’s no way her sensitive ears aren’t picking it up. Thankfully, she doesn’t mention it.
“It’s…” He receives a pointed look. “Okay, it’s not stupid, fine. I’m just…”
He sighs, gesturing vaguely at his phone with Stolas’ messages still open.
“Ever since that time we got caught by those dorky-ass motherfuckers with the hard drugs, I’ve been feeling…on edge, I guess?” He shrugs. “And now his royal birdiness tells me he’s sick and it doesn’t sound too bad. I don’t know why that was the fucking breaking point. It’s not even that big of a deal.”
Indeed, if the messages from the prince are to be believed, then Stolas’ unspecified affliction isn’t life-threatening. At the very least, not to Stolas himself. That or he has shockingly low self-preservation instincts.
Honestly, it could be either, with him. The thought makes his anxiety rise.
“So you were worried about the prince?” Millie teases, and he lightly smacks the back of her head with his tail.
“Shut the fuck up, Mills.” He grumbles.
She giggles, unrepentant.
“Why not call him if you’re so worried?” Moxxie suggests. “If you can’t see him, you could at least give him a call.”
“Fuck off, I’m not worried.” Blitzø hisses and continues more quietly. “Also, he said he’ll tell me what’s up so…whatever. He’ll call. It’s fine.”
A pause.
Suddenly, he straightens out and stands up from the couch. And just like that, the serious mood is gone, and the uncomfortable conversation is interrupted.
“Alright, that’s enough emotions for the day. Let’s go kill some motherfuckers!”
The others take a moment to look at each other. Blitzø is well enough to be coherent, at the very least, but his emotional state is clearly still unstable. He’s still stressed and has been ever since they were rescued by the prince. That text was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back, a sign that something bigger is going on. Something he’s not telling them. Something he might not even realize is going on.
Millie and Moxxie give each other a meaningful glance, the way Blitzø acts about the prince is familiar to them in a way only a mated pair can recognize. Considering those two’s…unclear relationship, they should probably address it before it blows up. But, he did allow himself to be vulnerable with them, at least for a little while, so they’ll cut him some slack.
For now.
And if they notice his kills during the day’s missions are much more brutal than usual…they carefully don’t mention it.
***
By the time the workday is over, Loona can’t help but notice Blitzø still smells like ozone, even weeks later. It’s less strong than the first day, but still there. She doesn’t know what it means, but that combined with his behavior those past few weeks doesn’t put her at ease.
When he doesn’t even try to follow M&M to their anniversary date (how the fuck did Fattie even manage to get reservations to fucking Ozzie’s?!), she knows that whatever was wrong with him earlier is still happening. She almost decides against going to that party in Gluttony, but he convinces her to go and have fun. So she does.
Still, it’s something she won’t express out loud even when held at gunpoint, but she worries.
Author's note: If you're curious, the reason I decided to go with Truth Seekers instead of Ozzie's or another more recent episode like you'd typically expect of a surprise eggnancy fic, is because it has stolitz in an interesting in-between state. Blitzø is painfully aware of his feelings about Stolas, and also hasn't had his hopes completely dashed yet. Meanwhile, Stolas is still blissfully unaware of how messed up their arrangement is, and still has that strong fairy tale romance mindset.
This gives me a lot of leeway on where I can take their relationship, for better...or worse.
(Also it gave me an excuse to make them have feral sex, ok. i like what I like.)