Chapter 1: Craving You, Consuming You
Chapter Text
The moon shone through the tall windows of Stolas' lavish study, illuminating the smog-choked cityscape of Hell with a sickly silver glow. Under the strain of his fixation with a specific Imp, the Goetia prince's normally majestic posture collapsed as he sat bent over his desk. An ancient language filled the pages of a blazing Grimoire that he held in his extended fingers.
Before him, a scrying orb flickered, projecting a grainy image of a garish billboard in Imp City: “I.M.P. - Immediate Murder Professionals! Call Blitzø!”
The name Blitzø was scrawled in bold, jagged letters, the o of his name crossed out like in a hurry… and then there he was… his Blitzø… grinning smugly in the ad, one hand resting on his hip while the other held a ridiculously large firearm.
Stolas' crimson eyes widened, and his rarely seen pupils dilated into slits. The fast beating of his pulse swallowed out the sound of the ornate clock on the wall. "Blitzø…" he whispered, with a voice shaking of devotion and desire. As though he could touch the imp's image, his taloned fingers moved across the air above the ball. “My darling, my flame, my everything… you’re still so perfect.”
“Oh, Blitzø, you’ve ruined me,” Stolas hissed, his voice a fevered blade slicing through the silence. “That day at the circus, your reckless, devilish grin tore my soul apart and set it ablaze. I’ve been burning alive ever since, every spell, every star, every breath bent to finding you. You’re the fire in my blood, and I’ll torch all of Hell to ash before I let that flame flicker out. You don’t know it yet, but you’re mine, my love, and I’ll make you choke on the inferno that’s consumed me.”
It had been twenty-five years since that fateful day at the circus. Stolas, a gangly owlet of ten, had been dragged by his father to some low-rent imp-run spectacle. He’d been bored, picking at his feathers, until he appeared… Blitzø, a scrappy young imp with a devilish grin, tumbling through the ring with reckless abandon.
The way he moved, fearless and wild, had ignited something in Stolas’ young heart. That night, he’d lain awake, clutching his pillow, imagining Blitzø’s rough voice whispering his name. The obsession had only grown, festering like a wound. Every spell he mastered, every Grimoire he devoured, was in service of one day finding him again.
Now, fate had delivered. Stolas dug his talons into the desk, splintering its poor lovely wood. "You're so close now…" he whispered with a shaky voice as he said it. "I've been waiting for far too long, you know?"
He waved a hand, and the seeing orb shifted, revealing Blitzø in real-time. The imp was in his dingy office, barking orders at a lanky hellhound and a petite female imp with a scowl. Stolas leaned closer, his breath fogging the orb. Blitzø’s voice… gruff, sharp and alive cut through the silence, and Stolas whimpered, pressing a hand to his chest as if to keep his heart from bursting.
But then Stolas’ eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on the hellhound laughing at something Blitzø said. A deep growl issued from his throat, echoing with a primal and possessive quality. “Who does she think she is, standing so near to you?” he spat out, his voice a toxic whisper. “Does she think she can claim your laughter, your glances or even your time? No, Blitzø, no one knows you like I do. I’ve watched you through the years, memorized every scar, every smirk. You’re mine… mine in a way no one else could ever understand. I’ve built a shrine in my heart for you… of you! And I’ll destroy anyone who has the audacity to try to take you from me.”
His claws moved restlessly, and he longed to call forth a spell that would obliterate the hellhound.
“I’ll keep you safe, my love… just imagine! Locked away where only I can adore you…. No one else deserves to breathe the same air as you, don’t you think?”
“My Blitzø, my sole truth,” Stolas murmured, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Are you aware of the pain I’ve endured, pondering whether you’ve overlooked that brief instant our eyes met? I’ve replayed it a thousand times, your smirk searing my soul. In case I’m not on your mind, I’ll help you out with that.... I’ll engrave myself into every thought of yours, until you feel my love with every breath you take. You are the despot of my heart, and I will win over yours in exchange, regardless of the cost.”
His tail feathers trailed after him like a shroud of grief as he abruptly got up and started to pace the study. "No, no, no," he softly said.
His voice spiraling into a frantic rhythm. “You must feel it, don’t you? You have to know we’re meant to be!” He stopped, eyes darting to a hidden drawer in his desk. With trembling hands, he pulled it open, revealing a shrine of sorts: a tattered circus ticket from that long-ago day, a crude sketch of a young Blitzø he’d drawn in secret, and a lock of red fabric stolen from a costume he’d pilfered during a clandestine visit to the circus grounds years ago. He pressed the fabric to his beak, inhaling deeply, as if it still carried Blitzø’s scent.
Stolas' eyes glowed with a menacing edge as his hold on the cloth tightened. His voice was heavy with his own love for the Imp as he spoke, "This… this is all I've had of you for so long."
His voice was as gentle as a prayer as he muttered, "I've watched you, my love. Through every spell, every shadow. I saw you build your little business, saw you fight, laugh, live. And now I’m so close…” His eyes gleamed with manic determination as he returned to the scrying orb. Blitzø was now alone, slouched in his chair, scrolling on his phone. Although Stolas' eyes softened, it was still clear that they were hungry.
His fingers twitched as he thought, "I could just step through a portal right now. I could touch you, hear your voice say my name… oh, Blitzø, I’d give anything for that.”
Stolas’ breath hitched, his talons hovering over the rune. "It hurts every time I'm apart from you," he admitted in a beggingly honest tone. "All I want to live for is your voice in my ears, your scent in my dreams. I’d rip the stars from the sky to feel your touch, Blitzø. I’d drown Hell in blood to hear you say you’re mine. You’re my obsession, my eternity, and I’m starving for you. One taste, one word, and I’ll be whole… but I’ll never let you go, not when I’ve hungered for you all these years.”
But doubt gnawed at him. What if Blitzo didn’t remember the awkward owl boy from the circus? What if he recoiled from Stolas’ devotion?
The prince’s expression darkened, his magic crackling like static. “No one else can have you,” he hissed, his sinister edge surfacing. “Not that hellhound, not that imp girl, not anyone. You’re mine, Blitzø. You’ve always been mine.”
Stolas’ voice dropped to a chilling whisper, his eyes blazing with possessive fire. “I see them, Blitzø… those insects buzzing around you, thinking they can share your light. They’re nothing. Less than nothing. I could crush them with a thought, scatter their ashes to the winds, and you’d never know they were gone. You don’t need them, my love. You need me. I’ll build you a throne in my palace, where no one else can touch you, where your every breath is mine to savor. If you stray, if you dare to look at another, I’ll burn their world to cinders and lay it at your feet. You’re my eternity, Blitzø, and I’ll destroy anything that tries to fucking take you away from me.”
He sank to his knees, clutching the orb in his embrace, rubbing his feathered cheek against the window to Blitzø. His voice was a desperate, lovesick plea. “I’ll make you see, my darling. I’ll show you how deep my love runs. I’ll carve it into the stars if I must!” His eyes burned with tears, but his smile was unhinged, radiant with obsession. “Wait for me, Blitzy. Your prince is coming~”
Stolas’ eyes snapped open, his gaze darkening as he turned back to the scrying orb. Blitzø was now laughing, tossing a crumpled paper at the petite imp who’d returned to the office. Stolas' power crackled like thunder around him as he felt a wave of possessive wrath at the sight of their friendship.
His voice was low and malicious as he growled, "How dare they bask in your light? They’re unworthy, Blitzø… leeches feeding on your brilliance. I see the way they look at you! Fools who think they can claim a piece of what’s mine! I’ll rip their eyes from their skulls, tear their tongues from their mouths, and leave them as warnings to anyone who dares to approach you. The world will kneel before our love… or it will burn.”
He forced himself to breathe, his claws flexing as he regained control. He couldn’t act rashly… not yet. Stolas was afraid of frightening Blitzø away because he was unaware of the extent of his commitment. The words tasted like a lie, yet he muttered, "I must be patient. My sweetheart, I'll find a way into your life. I’ll make you see me, need me, love me!” His lips curled into a manic smile.
His crimson eyes burned with a manic intensity, fixed on the orb where Blitzø sat again alone in his office, rubbing his temples and exhaustion was clearly etched into his features. Stolas’ heart twisted with a desperate need to soothe the imp, pulling him into a warm embrace. The thought of calling out a doorway was alluring. Stolas was prepared to close the distance between them, but he paused, his strategy for a methodical approach still impeding him… until something that broke his inhibition was revealed by the flickering orb.
As the door to Blitzø's office opened, a fresh figure emerged. A sleek, confident succubus, with a flicking tail and a sly smile, lumbered over to Blitzø. Her voice was a playful purr as she leaned over his desk and her fingers touched his arm. His eyes glinted with a familiar roguish charm as Blitzø smiled and leaned into her contact. They exchanged words Stolas couldn’t hear, but the intimacy of the moment… the succubus’s laughter, Blitzø’s relaxed posture… sent a jagged bolt of rage through the prince’s core.
The effigy was nearly torn apart by Stolas' talons. He hissed, his voice a deep roar that shook the study's walls, "Who is she? How dare she touch you, Blitzø? How dare she steal what’s mine? I’ve waited, watched, suffered for you, and she thinks she can waltz in and claim your smile? Your warmth? No—no, no, NO! You’re my heart, my obsession, my everything, and I’ll rip her to pieces before I let her taint what belongs to me!”
His magic surged, the scrying orb cracking under the pressure of his fury, its image distorting but holding just enough for him to see the succubus lean closer, her lips brushing Blitzø’s cheek.
That was the moment Stolas snapped.
His eyes blazed like fire, his feathers flaring as if ready to ignite. The parchment in his hand crumpled, his careful plan for a contract was instantly forgotten. “No more waiting,” he hissed, his voice a chilling blend of desperation and resolve. “I’ve been patient, Blitzy, so fucking long… but I can’t… I won’t… let this go on. You’re mine, and I need you now.” His mind raced, the sinister obsession consuming every rational thought, replaced by a singular, burning need: to have Blitzø in his grasp, to lock him away where no one else could ever touch him again.
Stolas paced the study, his movements erratic, his talons leaving scorch marks on the floor. “I see it now, my love,” he muttered, his voice feverish. “You’re surrounded by vultures, leeches who think they can steal you from me. I can’t trust you to see the truth… not yet. You don’t know how much I love you, how I’d burn the stars for you. But I’ll show you, Blitzø. I’ll take you, hold you, keep you safe in a cage of my own making. No one else will ever lay eyes on you again… not that succubus, not your little team, not the world. Just you and me, forever, in a sanctuary built from my devotion.”
He stopped, his gaze darting to his spellbook. Kidnapping Blitzø… it was a reckless, dangerous plan, but the thought of that succubus’s hands on his imp made his blood boil. He couldn’t wait for contracts or charm. He needed Blitzø now, needed to feel his presence, to drown in his voice, to ensure no one else could ever come between them. His mind churned, forging a plan as swiftly as his magic could weave a spell.
Stolas knelt by his Grimoire floating before him, pages flipping of their own accord as he muttered incantations. “A cloaking spell first,” he said, his voice steadying with purpose. “I’ll slip into your world unseen, Blitzy. Nobody will be aware that I was there…” With a dark, inky glow, he etched a symbol in the air, its lines glimmering. The spell would render him invisible, a shadow moving through Imp City’s grime-soaked streets.
Next, he summoned a binding charm, a delicate silver chain materializing in his hand, its links pulsing with arcane energy. “This will keep you still, my darling,” he whispered, his tone almost tender. “Just for a little while, until you’re safe in my palace. You’ll fight at first… I know you will… but you’ll see. You’ll understand how much I love you.” The chain was enchanted to subdue without harm, a tool to ensure Blitzø couldn’t escape before Stolas could spirit him away.
Finally, he adjusted the portal rune, calibrating it to open directly into Blitzø’s office. He’d wait until all of his employees left… Stolas’ possessive rage burned hot, but he wouldn’t risk a confrontation that could alert others. “Later tonight,” he decided, his eyes narrowing as he watched Blitzø wave the succubus out, now alone again. “When you’re tired, vulnerable, I’ll come for you. I’ll carry you through the stars, Blitzø, to a place where no one can touch you but me.”
Stolas stood, the silver chain dangling from his hand, the magic ready to cast a portal. He couldn’t contain all of his bubbling excitement over what he was about to do… His voice broke with desperation as he muttered, "I'm sorry, darling… I can't simply wait anymore, even if I wanted to court you properly to win you over with promises and gifts... But no… not when they're trying to rip you away from me by circling you. Blitzø, I'll make you fall in love with me and take you away. I'll be so devoted to you that you won't be able to conceive living without me. And if you think I'm bad for it... As long as you are mine, I will endure that suffering. I'll carve eternity out of your heart for us.“
His cloak billowed as the rune sparked to life, and he moved for the doorway. One final flicker of the scrying orb saw Blitzø yawning, oblivious to the approaching predator. Stolas’ smile was unhinged, his eyes gleaming with tears and madness. “Tonight, Blitzy,” he vowed, his voice a haunting promise. “Tonight, you become mine forever.”
The portal hummed, ready to swallow him, and Stolas’ laughter… sharp, lovesick, and terrifying… echoed through the study as he prepared to cross the threshold into Blitzø’s world, a prince turned captor driven by an obsession that would never let go.
The portal flared, its violet and blue light slicing through the dimness of Stolas’ study. In the cluttered turmoil of Blitzø's I.M.P. office, the Goetian prince emerged silently as he passed through the shimmering fissure while wearing his invisibility spell.
His palace was filled with lavish incense, but the air smelled like gunpowder and stale coffee. With a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey at his side, Blitzø was slouched over his desk, dozing lightly, when Stolas' red eyes shone in the darkness.
The workplace was deserted. The succubus's lingering presence was nothing more than a terrible memory that strengthened Stolas' determination, as the hellhound and female imp had departed hours earlier.
Standing only a few steps away from his fixation, Stolas' breath caught and his heart raced. Under the veil of his enchantment, he said, "There you are, my darling," his voice a reverent trembling, unheard. "So perfect, so vulnerable." This is the moment I've dreamed of… being near enough to feel your warmth. Now, no one else is present to take you away from me. I will never let you go because you are mine.“ His talons twitched, aching to touch, but he forced himself to focus, the silver binding chain glinting in his hand.
Moving with predatory grace, Stolas approached Blitzø’s sleeping form. He produced a black silk blindfold from inside his cloak. He put the blindfold over Blitzø's eyes and tied it securely with shaky care. The imp mumbled something unintelligible and moved, but remained still. As Stolas wrapped the silver chain around Blitzø's wrists and ankles, his magic hummed and his heart raced. The links tightened with a gentle, unearthly clink. No matter how hard Blitzø battled, the charm held and prevented him from escaping.
As he lifted Blitzø's lifeless body into his arms, Stolas whispered, "You're lighter than I imagined," letting out a crazy grin. “But, my love, I would bear you through the very flames of Hell. You’re my prize, my burden, my everything. No one else will ever hold you like this, Blitzø. No one else deserves to.”
His feathers brushed Blitzø's skin as he went back through the portal, the office disappearing behind them, and his voice broke with fervent devotion.
They emerged through the portal into Stolas' lavish bedroom, a vast space covered in starlit tapestries and crimson velvet. The chamber was dominated by a huge four-poster bed, but Stolas disregarded it and carried Blitzø to a lavish chair with owl-patterned carvings and arms that were concealed handcuffs.
He made sure the imp couldn't move by fastening his ankles and wrists with chains to the chair. It was only then that he broke the magic of invisibility, his imposing figure emerging in the darkness of the candles. As the whiskey's haze dissipated, Blitzø awakened and sprung into action as soon as he discovered he was chained.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” The chair creaked beneath Blitzø's rage as he yelled and thrashed against the chains. “Who’s there?! Get this shit off me, you fucking psycho!” His voice shook with a mixture of fright and anger, and his tail whipped, toppling a candelabra. “I swear, when I get outta this, I’m gonna shove a shotgun so far up your—”
Stolas watched in silence, his eyes wide with a perverse mixture of desire and admiration. Blitzø’s curses were music to him, each word a reminder that his Blitzy was real, here and his. The imp’s struggles only tightened the chains, the enchanted links glowing faintly as they held firm. Even with the blindfold on, Blitzø froze as Stolas moved closer, his talons clicking on the marble floor.
“Who are you?” Blitzø snarled, his voice lower now, edged with unease. “I ain’t playin’ games, asshole. Let me go, or you’re fuckin’ dead.”
The sound of Blitzø's voice, even in rage, directed at Stolas made his heart race and his breath catch. He murmured, his voice a silky touch, brimming with passion for love. "Oh, Blitzø. Your voice, even when it curses me, is a symphony. I've been waiting a very long time to hear it and to get close enough to sense its vibration. My love, you're here, and I won't let you go.” Trembling with the desire to touch, he knelt in front of the chair, his talons inches from Blitzø's face.
The words made Blitzø wince, his body stiffening, and his obscenities faltering for the first time. His eyes were hidden by the blindfold, but his mouth opened, revealing his abrupt quiet with a loud intake of breath. Stolas lowered his voice to a respectful murmur as he leaned in closer. Light as a feather but heavy with obsession, he purred, "I'm so happy, Blitzy," as his talons finally touched Blitzø's cheek. "To touch you at last… it's everything I've ever wanted. Your warmth and skin are mine now and always.”
Despite his body twitching against the chains and his visceral reaction, Blitzø remained silent. In sharp contrast to his previous outburst, the silence was deafening, as though Stolas' touch had evoked a deep-seated sense of fear or uncertainty. Stolas' eyes gleamed with tears of insane ecstasy as his smile grew wide, uncontrollably bright. Ignoring the imp's tight tension, he clasped Blitzø's face with both hands and placed his forehead against the blindfold while taking a long breath.
With a lullaby-like voice, Stolas said, "You're afraid, my love. I understand. This is sudden, overwhelming. But you’ll see, Blitzø. You'll know how much I've loved you for all the years since your smile captured my heart. You are now here in my world, where no one can take you away from me, once I have watched and loved you. I'll teach you to adore it as much as I do because this is our eternity, sweetheart.” As he stood, hovering over the imp that was chained, his talons caressed the jaw of Blitzø, compassionate and protective.
Blitzø remained silent, his breathing uneven, the fight drained from him for the moment. The chamber echoed with the sweet, uncontrolled laughter of Stolas, a sound that foretold peril as much as adoration.
With his obsession now a living, breathing reality shackled to that chair, Stolas' gaze never left Blitzø as the candles flickered, creating long shadows that he would never release go of.
Chapter 2: I’ve Always Wanted Him to Take Me
Notes:
As tagged, there will be a lot of... claiming smut... starting with now! 🤭
Chapter Text
Blitzø's small room inside of his apartment was only lit by the faint glimmer of a single flickering lightbulb, and the air was heavy with the smell of his own cologne, stale coffee and gunpowder. Blitzø's shrine, a huge collage of devotion to Stolas, the Goetia prince… who had plagued his heart since he was ten years old, was hidden in a corner behind some curtains that Loona would never think about to look.
Blitzø's amber eyes glistened with crazed devotion as he knelt before the altar. Newspaper cuttings with yellowed and curled edges, such as "Prince Stolas Attends Gala," "Stolas' Latest Astronomical Discovery," and "Royal Owl Spotted at Opera," were affixed to a corkboard. Carefully trimmed and kept, every headline was a gem.
Like a sacred artifact, a stolen feather that had been taken from the palace gardens during one of his rash nocturnal infiltrations was preserved in a glass cabinet. Beside it, there was a half-burned candle that had a subtle aroma of Stolas… old books and lavender… that had been taken from a palace study.
Still warm from his most recent vigil, he gripped a pair of binoculars with shaking hands. Like clockwork, he sat amid the shadows of Hell's hazy skyline every evening, hidden on the rooftop opposite Stolas' palace. He observed through the lenses as Stolas moved around his lavish quarters, unaware of the imp who stood by and worshipped him.
Tonight, Stolas had been reading, his elegant talons turning pages with a grace that made Blitzø’s heart ache. As he committed every head tilt of the prince to memory, he had muttered to himself, "You're so perfect, Stol."
He could still clearly recall their first encounter. With ten years old, he was a tenacious circus act, stumbling over fire hoops in front of a mocking audience. Then he noticed him. A young prince named Stolas sat in the VIP box, his bright, wide eyes glistening with awe. Blitzø had fumbled his act, nearly setting his tail ablaze, just to steal another glance. His soul had been etched with that moment, and ever since, his obsession had grown like a wildfire that he was unable to put out and honestly didn’t want to.
With an anxious twitch of his tail, Blitzø jolted out of his trance. Loona was out with her friends, giving him a rare window. He put on his frayed coat and put a tiny velvet purse in his pocket for the assignment tonight.
Although the palace was a stronghold, Blitzø was aware of its weaknesses, including the entries of servants, loose window latches, and the lapses in the guards' patrols. He’d been sneaking in for years, each time returning with a trinket: a discarded quill, a scrap of silk from Stolas’ cloak, once even a teacup the prince had sipped from.
Each theft fed his hunger, but it was never enough.
Blitzø ascended the exterior wall of the palace under the cover of darkness, his claws finding familiar grips. The exhilaration of being so near to him caused his heart to race, not dread. Smelling strongly of Stolas, he slipped through a broken window into a dimly lit hallway. His eyes darted to a nearby table, where a velvet glove lay discarded… Stolas must have worn it earlier. Blitzø’s breath hitched.
He grabbed it, put it to his face, and took a long breath. His voice was a mixture of lunacy and adoration as he whispered, "Oh, Stolas, you're going to fucking kill me, aren’t ya?"
Footsteps echoed in the distance. Blitzø froze, shoving the glove into his pouch. He couldn’t get caught… not now, not ever. Stolas could never know the depths of his devotion, the way Blitzø’s every thought revolved around him. He slipped back into the shadows, vanishing into the night, the glove a new treasure for his shrine.
Back in his apartment, Blitzø locked the door, his hands shaking as he added the glove to his collection. He lit the candle, its faint scent mingling with the glove’s fresh aroma. Sitting cross-legged before the shrine, he whispered, “One day, Stol. One day, you’ll see me. You’ll love me.” His grin was sharp, unhinged, as he clutched the glove to his chest, lost in dreams only an insane person could understand.
The next morning, Blitzø slouched in his creaky office chair at I.M.P., the cluttered desk before him littered with unpaid bills, client hit lists, and a half-eaten donut. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the room. His amber eyes, bloodshot from last night’s palace heist, stared blankly at a client file… a deadbeat human who needed “disappearing.” But his mind was elsewhere, tethered to the image of Stolas, elegant and untouchable, gliding through his palace chambers.
He tried to focus, scribbling a note about the victim, but his pen drifted, sketching Stolas’ sharp beak, his luminous eyes. “Fuck,” Blitzø muttered, crumpling the paper.
Every thought looped back to the prince. He kept rubbing his claws against the velvet glove he had stolen the previous evening, which was hidden in his coat pocket, inhaling its subtle lavender aroma. Too wired from the excitement of being so close to Stolas' world, he had hardly slept, and now his bones ached from tiredness.
The office door slammed open, and Loona strolled in, her nose buried in her phone. “You look like shit, Blitzø,” she said without looking up, flopping onto the couch.
“Yeah, well, running a business ain’t a beauty pageant, Loony,” Blitzø shot back, forcing a grin. He leaned back, tossing a paperweight between his hands. “Any calls? Clients? Anyone I can shoot to feel better?”
Loona rolled her eyes. “Some loser sinner wants his ex’s car torched. Said he’d pay double if we make it look like an accident.”
“Pfft, boring. Tell him we’ll do it for triple, and I’ll throw in a free decapitation,” Blitzø said, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. But his mind wandered again… Stolas’ laugh from a newspaper clip about a royal ball, how it must sound up close, soft and melodic. He shifted in his seat, the glove in his pocket practically burning a hole through his coat.
Millie burst in, her tail swishing with energy. “Morning, boss! Got a new target lined up… a cheating human in LA. Want me and Moxxie to handle it?”
Blitzø waved a hand, barely listening. “Yeah, yeah, knock yourselves out. Just don’t let Moxxie cry about ‘ethics’ again.” His eyes flicked to a smudged photo on his desk, one he’d snapped from afar of Stolas in his garden. His heart clenched. I’d kill for you, Stol. Anything.
Millie raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Blitzø? You’re, like, extra distracted today.”
“I’m fine!” he snapped, then softened, flashing a toothy smirk. “Just plotting world domination, Mills. Y’know, the usual.”
Loona snorted. “Sure, world domination via staring into space like a creep.”
“Fuck off, Loona, I’m strategizing!” Blitzø tossed the paperweight at her, missing by a mile. The banter kept him afloat, but the second Millie and Loona left to prep for the job, the office fell silent, and the weight of his obsession crashed back.
Alone, Blitzø slumped forward, elbows on the desk, head in his hands. His body ached, exhaustion sinking into his marrow. He had been too preoccupied with his midnight vigils and shrine-tending to eat healthily for days. His voice was raw as he murmured, "I can't keep doing this. I need you, Stol. I’ll fucking die without you.”
His stomach twisted annoyingly at the thought of his beloved prince… his voice, his scent… his fucking beauty. He took the glove out of his pocket and pressed it to his lips… before he took a deep breath. It was just not fucking enough! Nothing was ever enough!
The door swung open again, and Blitzø scrambled to shove the glove back in his pocket. Verosika Mayday sauntered in, her succubus charm radiating like a neon sign. “Well, well, Blitzø, still running this dump?” she purred, leaning against the desk.
He smirked, leaning back with forced nonchalance. “Verosika, to what do I owe the displeasure? Come to beg for a job?”
She laughed, sharp and sultry. “Hardly. I heard from a little birdie about your sister, Barbie. She’s out of rehab, stirring up trouble in Lust. I assumed you would want to know.“ She leaned in and gave him a quick, warm, playful kiss on the cheek. "Don't claim I never helped you out."
Blitzø's grin remained unwavering, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The kiss meant nothing… his only thought was Stolas. What would it feel like to kiss him? To feel those elegant talons brush his face, to taste the prince’s breath? His chest tightened, a desperate ache that drowned out Verosika’s words.
“Yeah, thanks, Ver,” he said absently, waving her off. “I’ll deal with Barbie. Now get outta here before I charge you for loitering.”
Verosika rolled her eyes and sashayed out, leaving Blitzø alone again. The silence was suffocating. He stared at the desk, the crumpled Stolas sketch peeking out from under a file. His limbs felt like lead, his vision blurring at the edges. He hadn’t realized how deep the exhaustion ran, how much his obsession was draining him. “Just… need to see you,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “Just once, Stol. Up close.”
His head dipped, the fight leaving him. He slumped forward, cheek pressed against the desk, the Stolas photo inches from his face. His claws twitched, reaching for it, but sleep claimed him first. As he drifted off, his dreams were filled with lavender and starlight, Stolas’ voice whispering his name, a fantasy he’d kill to make real.
…
Blitzø stirred, his head pounding as if it had been chewed by a Hellhound. His eyes were useless as darkness enveloped him behind a silken blindfold. His wrists burned, chained tightly to a wooden chair that groped beneath his weight. His body became immobile as panic overcame him and he thrashed, the chains clanking as they bit into his flesh roughly.
His voice reverberated off intangible walls as he yelled, "WHAT THE FUCK?! Who's that? Go away from me, you fucking psycho!”
His voice trembled with a mixture of fright and anger, and his tail whipped, toppling something. "I swear, I'm going to stick a shotgun so far up your ass that when I'm done with this you'll wish I had pegged you softer!"
A slight aroma broke the cloud as he yanked harder against the restrains. Lavender, fresh and fragrant, mixed with the warm dust of old books. His body froze in the middle of the struggle, and his breath caught.
Stolas.
Years of stealing things from him and spending obsessive nights inhaling the prince's essence had left him knowing exactly who was standing before him. Flashing to the shrine concealed in his apartment… the glove, the feather, the candle… his head reeled.
Was this thing for real? It couldn't be.
However, the aroma was present, enveloping him like a siren's cry.
His heart pounded, thoughts spiraling. Stolas. Stolas. Stolas. The prince he’d worshipped since he was ten with his fucking elegance that haunted his every waking moment. Blitzø’s chest tightened, a manic grin spreading beneath the blindfold.
This was no random kidnapping.
“Who’s there?” Blitzø snarled, his voice lower now, edged with unease. “I ain’t playin’ games, asshole. Let me go, or you’re fuckin’ dead.”
A voice sliced through the silence… velvet-smooth, aristocratic, dripping with that refined cadence Blitzø had memorized from stolen glimpses and news on TV. “Oh, Blitzø,” he purred, his voice a silken caress, making Blitzø’s heart skip a beat. “Your voice is a symphony, even when it curses me. I've been waiting a very long time to hear your sweet voice… and to get enough of your sound. My love, you're here, and I won't let you go.”
Blitzø's body went rigid as his breath caught. A frantic rhythm of amazement and incredulity pounded his heart into his ribs. It was Stolas, real, his voice close enough to send shivers racing down Blitzø’s spine. The blindfold hid the world, but Stolas’ presence consumed it, each word a spark that set Blitzø’s blood ablaze. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t risk shattering this moment. His mind screamed instead, a whirlwind of unhinged joy.
He kidnapped me. He fucking KIDNAPPED me!
The realization hit like a drug. Stolas, the untouchable prince, had gone to the trouble of binding him, blindfolding him, dragging him here. It meant something.
It had to.
Blitzø’s obsession wasn’t one-sided… Stolas must crave him too, must have noticed him in the shadows, felt the same pull that had driven Blitzø to steal, to watch, to worship. His grin widened, teeth bared in silent ecstasy. The chains weren’t a prison; they were a fucking love letter.
The lavender scent grew stronger, mingling with the warmth of Stolas’ presence. Blitzø inhaled deeply, his body trembling with the need to be closer, to drown in that scent forever. His mind painted fevered images: Stolas’ elegant talons brushing his cheek, those luminous eyes locking onto his, the prince whispering his name with the same desperation Blitzø felt.
He didn’t care why he was here, what Stolas wanted. All that mattered was that Stolas had chosen him.
A soft chuckle from Stolas, laced with an edge Blitzø was too enraptured to notice, filled the room. “I’m so happy, Blitzy,” he purred, his talons finally grazing Blitzø’s cheek, light as a feather but heavy with obsession. “To finally touch you… it’s everything I’ve dreamed of. Your skin, your warmth… it’s mine now, forever.” Stolas murmured, his voice closer now, a silken thread that wound around Blitzø’s heart.
Blitzø’s thoughts drowned out the words, his mind too consumed by the fantasy that Stolas needed him.
The chains, the blindfold… they were proof, weren’t they? Proof that the prince’s heart burned with the same fire that had consumed Blitzø for decades.
He sat motionless, chest heaving, lost in the delusion that their souls were entwined, that Stolas’ longing mirrored his own. The drip of something in the distance and the rustle of feathers faded to nothing. All that existed was Stolas, and the unshakable certainty that this was the beginning of everything Blitzø had ever wanted.
The bird cupped Blitzø’s face with both hands, ignoring the imp’s rigid tension, and pressed his forehead to the blindfold, inhaling deeply. “You’re scared, my love,” Stolas whispered, his voice a haunting lullaby.
Scared? Fuck no!
Blitzø was a live wire, every nerve screaming with raw, feral desire. Bound tight to that chair, the chains biting into his skin only cranked his hunger higher. He was starving to touch, to ravage, to possess. All he could think about was Stolas… his velvet voice breaking, screaming Blitzø’s name in ecstasy.
Blitzø shuddered as he heard a ruffle of feathers and felt Stolas' breath warm his cheek. His nerves were ignited by the slow, searing kiss that the prince's lips planted against his skin.
With his voice like a silken blade dripping with evil thirst, Stolas whispered, "Oh, Blitzø, how I've craved to touch you." His tongue followed, slick and teasing, tracing Blitzø’s jaw, then sliding to his neck. Blitzø’s head tipped back, a guttural “Fuck” tearing from his throat, his face flaming with a blush that could rival Hell’s fires.
Holy shit, I love this, he thought, his mind reeling. His mouth on me… it’s everything. Everything I’ve fucking dreamed of.
He couldn’t speak to Stolas… words were ash in his mouth… but his body begged, arching into every touch, desperate for more.
Stolas’ talons roamed, sharp yet reverent, gliding over Blitzø’s chest, drinking in the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. "Your body...” Stolas muttered, his voice shaking with possessive longing, "I've dreamed of this, of feeling you under my hands."
As he pushed for the touch, Blitzø's breath caught, his cock throbbed against his pants, and the chains rattled.
This can’t be happening, he thought, dizzy with want. But fuck, it’s perfect. He’s touching me. Stolas is fucking touching me.
His blush deepened, his mind drowning in the shrine he’d built… the glove, the feather, the clippings… all pale compared to this moment. “Shit, fuck,” he growled, voice raw, his body screaming for the prince who’d haunted his every fantasy.
Stolas’ lips returned to Blitzø’s neck, kisses turning to sharp bites, each one a claim that sent pleasure-pain jolting through him. “I’ve ached for you, Blitzy… for so long,” Stolas murmured, sucking at the bruised skin, marking him as his. Blitzø’s mind spiraled.
He wants me. He fucking needs me. This is real, right? It has to be.
His cock strained, the thought of Stolas’ obsession mirroring his own driving him to the edge of sanity. The prince’s talons drifted lower, unbuttoning Blitzø’s pants, the zipper’s rasp a gunshot in the silence. Blitzø’s cock sprang free, hard and pulsing, the air a cruel tease. Stolas hooted softly, delight and surprise mingling as his fingers brushed the spiked underside. “Such an exquisite creature you are,” he breathed, his touch worshipful.
Blitzø’s hips bucked, a choked “Motherfucker” escaping as Stolas’ hand wrapped around him, stroking with a slow, torturous rhythm. “I’ve needed this, needed you,” Stolas whispered, his grip firm, talons grazing just enough to make Blitzø’s vision spark behind the blindfold.
I’m gonna lose it, Blitzø thought, his body a live wire. His hand… fuck, I love it. I love him. Always have.
Every stroke was a claim, Stolas’ bites and kisses on his neck branding him, and Blitzø was helpless, consumed by the certainty that their twisted desires were one. If this is a dream, don’t fucking wake me.
Stolas shifted, the chair groaning as he knelt. As Stolas' tongue flicked the tip, tasting the precum, Blitzø's heart froze and a ragged "Holy shit" slipped out. His breath was hot against Blitzø's cock.
With a voice raw with want, Stolas whispered, "I can't resist you any longer," before his lips closed on Blitzø and slid down with famished hunger. His suction was firm and relentless as his tongue moved over the spikes, investigating their texture. Blitzø's mind was racing as his hips shook and his chains clanked.
He’s sucking me off. Stolas is fucking sucking me off. I’m his. I’ve always been his.
His blush burned, every suck and lick pushing him closer to the edge, the wet heat of Stolas’ mouth a paradise he’d kill to stay in.
Stolas’ talons gripped Blitzø’s thighs, holding him still as he devoured him, his insane need pulsing in every movement. Blitzø felt a surge of ecstasy as his muffled hoots vibrated around his cock, the spikes grabbing on his tongue. Blitzø growled, before his voice started to crack, his body on the verge of collapsing from everything, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
This is unbelievable. I love it. I love him. I’d die for this.
The room was a haze of lavender, wet sounds, and Blitzø’s curses, the distant drip lost to the roar of his pulse.
Blitzø's hips jerked against the chains as Stolas' tongue twirled over the spiked underside of his dick, teasing the sensitive ridges. With every bob of his head, the prince's suction pulled Blitzø more into a haze of pleasure.
Blitzø groaned, his voice hoarse and rough, the words escaping him without permission. "Fuck, it's so good."
He's suckling me as if he's been starving. For me.
His blush burned hotter, his body trembling as Stolas’ talons gripped tighter his thighs, holding him captive to the onslaught. Blitzø was shocked by every lick and hum from the prince's throat, and his normal endurance broke down.
He moaned, "Shit, too good," as his climax came pouring up faster than before, a tidal wave he was powerless to stop.
With a choked “Fuck!” Blitzø came, his body seizing as he spilled into Stolas’ mouth, waves of pleasure crashing through him. Stolas didn’t pull away… his lips stayed locked around Blitzø, swallowing every drop with a greedy, possessive hunger. The sensation of Stolas taking it all, savoring him, sent a fresh surge of lust through Blitzø, his cock twitching even as he gasped for air.
He’s swallowing me. Fuck, he wants every piece of me, he thought, his mind spinning with adoration and need. This is better than any dream.
With a gentle, wet pop, Stolas withdrew, his laugh low and smooth, with a hint of evil. He murmured, his voice brimming with joy, "My, my, Blitzy, you're so cute when you come undone like that."
The prince's words fueled the fire inside Blitzø, causing his chest to heave and his breaths to become labored. Stolas' face was concealed by the blindfold, but Blitzø could sense the weight of his stare and picture those bright eyes consuming him. He felt a frantic desire tugging at his heart. He was no longer able to contain himself.
Blitzø's voice was thick with need as he rasped, "Fucking kiss me," the words bursting out before he could reconsider. A glimmer of dread that he had gone too far made his blush deepen, but before he could pull back, he sensed Stolas' presence change.
He tilted his head up as two sharp talons gripped his face, strong but kind. Blitzø’s breath caught, his body stilling as Stolas’ smooth beak pressed against his lips.
The kiss was sweet, a soft collision that tasted of Blitzø’s own release, ming exist with Stolas’ lavender essence.
Blitzø melted into it, his mind screaming, I love this. I love him. It’s fucking perfect.
The chains creaked as he leaned forward, chasing more, and Stolas obliged, deepening the kiss. The prince’s tongue slipped into Blitzø’s mouth, slick and exploratory, tangling with his in a dance that was both tender and possessive. Blitzø moaned into the kiss, the taste of himself on Stolas’ tongue only fueling his obsession.
He’s kissing me. Stolas is fucking kissing me, he thought, his heart swelling with a manic joy that drowned out everything else.
Stolas’ talons tightened slightly, cradling Blitzø’s face as if he were a treasure, his tongue delving deeper, claiming every inch of Blitzø’s mouth. The kiss was a vow, a shared madness between two souls, and Blitzø surrendered completely, his body and mind consumed by the prince who had finally made him his.
Stolas broke the kiss with a gasp, his breath ragged, the sound of his panting filling the charged silence. Blitzø’s lips tingled, his chest heaving as he fought to anchor himself. He couldn't handle the pain of losing contact. The Imp whimpered before begging with a hoarse voice, "Let me go." The shackles clanked as he pulled on them. "I have to fuckin’ touch you. Fuck, I need to feel you.”
His blush burned, his mind screaming, I can’t just sit here. I need my hands on him. This is everything I’ve wanted.
Stolas hesitated, his talons still lingering on Blitzø’s face, a faint rustle of feathers betraying his uncertainty. Blitzø could sense the prince’s fear, the possessiveness that mirrored his own, terrified of losing this moment. "You'll run," Stolas said, his voice low and shaky with vulnerability. "I can't let you leave right now."
"I refuse to fucking run," Blitzø groaned with anger but determination in his voice. “I swear it. Keep the blindfold on if you want, I don’t care. Just let me touch you. Please.” His words were a vow, his obsession laid bare.
I’d rather die than leave him, he thought, his heart pounding. He’s mine. I’m his. This is it.
The silence stretched, heavy with Stolas’ indecision, each second an eternity that made Blitzø’s skin crawl with need.
Then, a soft click.
His restrains clattered loudly to the ground as Blitzø's ankles and wrists were finally free of those chains. He felt a rush of adrenaline through his body and acted without hesitation. With a snarl, he hauled the prince onto his lap as his hands sprang forward and found Stolas' narrow waist. Stolas gasped, his feathered form light but solid, settling against Blitzø’s thighs.
Fuck, he’s here. He’s mine, Blitzø thought, his fingers digging into Stolas’ hips, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric. The blindfold kept him in darkness, but it only heightened his hunger, every touch a revelation.
Blitzø rushed forward and planted a kiss that was all heat and hunger on Stolas' beak. With a fierceness that matched the decades of need he had hidden, his tongue forced its way beyond the prince's lips and took control of his mouth. Stolas groaned once more, his talons clutching Blitzø's shoulders for support as the sound was muffled against his lips. Blitzø’s hands roamed, one sliding up Stolas’ back, tangling in soft feathers, the other gripping his waist tighter, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush.
I love this. I love him. I’ll never let go, Blitzø’s mind chanted, the kiss a lifeline in the storm of their shared obsession.
The taste of Stolas… sweet, musky, laced with Blitzø’s own essence… drove him wild, his tongue exploring every inch of the prince’s mouth, swallowing his gasps and moans.
Instinctively, Blitzø bit Stolas' tongue, making it sharp enough to sting but not hard enough to draw blood. Stolas let out a deep, shuddering moan, and Blitzø could feel the chill running down his spine as his body shook against his. A glimmer of pain-tinged pleasure tightened the prince's talons. Blitzø’s mind sparked with the discovery, filing it away like a treasure.
He likes pain. My bird fucking loves it.
The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through him, his cock twitching despite the intensity of their earlier encounter.
I’m gonna use that. Gonna make him scream for me.
They kissed harder, Blitzø’s teeth grazing Stolas’ tongue again, eliciting another soft chirp that vibrated against his lips. Stolas’ taste lacing with Blitzø’s own essence… was a drug, and Blitzø chased it, his tongue plunging deeper, claiming every inch of the prince’s mouth.
I love this. I love how he melts for me, he thought, his heart pounding with a manic joy that threatened to consume him. The room was a void of lavender and heat, the distant drip and rustle of feathers lost to the wet sounds of their kiss and Stolas’ needy gasps.
Stolas pulled back first, gasping for air, his breath hot against Blitzø’s lips. “Oh, darling…” he murmured, voice low and trembling with adoration, “I liked that. Your bite… it’s divine.” In a gentle touch that concealed the hunger in his words, his talons touched Blitzø's cheek.
Blitzø's lips tingled and his chest heaved, but his response was slow and undeveloped. He muttered in a hoarse, raspy voice, "F-Fuck… yeah…." Like a river pulling him under, a tremendous feeling of tiredness swept over him, heavy and relentless.
He wondered, "What the hell?" as his head lolled forward and his limbs became leaden, panicking.
No, not just now. I need him more.
His senses were swallowed by the blackness behind the blindfold, which made it weigh more. His body deceived him despite his best efforts to resist, to hold on to Stolas' warmth, to taste their kiss.
His hands slipped from Stolas' waist and fell limp against the chair as he muttered, "Shit." Blitzø's consciousness faded away, leaving him in a dreamless black where not even Stolas' lavender aroma could reach him. The last sound he heard was the prince's quiet chirp of happiness, a faint echo in the vacuum.
…
Blitzø's body lurched upright in a tangle of blankets saturated in sweat as he jerked up. His pulse pounded with a visceral, clawing anxiety, yet he was grounded by the familiar creak of the lumpy mattress in his flat. He was lying in bed when the little light from a streetlight filtered through the broken blinds and shone its light directly in Blitzø’s face. His mind tried to piece together what had happened, fear labored his breath and made his chest feel tight.
Was everything a dream? Panic bit into him like a sledgehammer when the thought struck. Stolas. The chains. His lips. He kissed him. It couldn’t be possible.
With his mind spinning, he curled himself together, while his hands held his head tightly. His voice was shaking as he said, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
How crazy is my mind? Imagining him like that… so real, so perfect.
The memory of Stolas’ lips, his tongue, the sharp sting of his bite, the way he’d moaned into the kiss… it was vivid, too vivid, like a cruel trick his obsession had played. He’d spent years building a shrine, stealing scraps of the prince’s life, but to dream something this intense, this tangible? “I’m losing it,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
I wanted it so bad I made it up. Pathetic.
His hands shook as he swung his legs over the bed, the cold floor biting his feet. He needed to check the shrine, to touch the glove, the feather, to anchor himself in the fragments of Stolas he knew were real. But as he stood, his tattered jacket… still on from whenever he’d collapsed… shifted, and something soft brushed his chest.
He froze, his breath catching. Slowly, his claws reached into the inner pocket, and his fingers closed around a small bundle of feathers. Not one, but three, their texture silky and unmistakable, carrying the faint scent of lavender and old books.
Blitzø’s eyes widened, his heart stuttering as he pulled them out. These were not the feathers he had meticulously taken from the palace grounds and placed in his shrine. They appeared to have been set there since they were immaculate and had unruffled edges. His mind flashed to Stolas’ warmth on his lap, the rustle of feathers as they’d kissed, the prince’s talons gripping him.
He put these here. He was real.
He sighed a breath of relief feeling his panic drowning. With a voice full of sweet wonder, he murmured, "It wasn't a dream."
He touched me. He wanted me.
He clutched the feathers to his chest, sinking back onto the bed, his blush returning as the memories flooded back… Stolas’ hungry kisses, the way he’d devoured him, the shared fire that had burned between them.
He’s as fucked up for me as I am for him, kidnapping me like that, Blitzø thought, a manic grin spreading across his face.
The feathers were proof, a tether to the truth that Stolas had claimed him, had chosen him. Even though he was tired and his bones ached dullly, it was nothing in comparison to the knowledge that their perverted desires were genuine.
Blitzø's eyes strayed to his apartment's obscure corner, where his shrine sat behind a frayed curtain. For now, he held them close and smelled their perfume; later, he would add these feathers to it as a new memento of their encounter.
With his obsession rekindled and more intense than before, he silently promised, "I'll find you again." The fear was gone, replaced by a burning need to feel Stolas’ touch again, to make their shared madness permanent.
Chapter 3: Permission Slipped, Chains Forged
Notes:
Oh no! Now that he has released his little darling Imp, what can our obsessed little birdy do? ~
Many many thanks to cutie RileyKate37 for beta reading my shitty grammar ♥
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Stolas reclined on the edge of the gorgeous velvet chaise in his observatory, his feathers softly gleaming in the sunshine that streamed through the glass roof. His talons gripped a green, heart-shaped crystal glass, its surface smooth and cool to the touch. The liquid inside was still unopened, but sloshed around at every slight movement.
Blitzø's raw, unpolished fire, the taste of his lips, and the terrible need in his groans all engulfed the owl’s head like a hurricane. The memory of their encounter, of his Blitzø being bound and trembling under his touch, was a flame that refused to dim.
Oh, my darling, you’ve ruined me, Stolas thought, his heart a frantic drumbeat. I crave you more than ever.
The kidnapping had been a reckless indulgence, a moment of weakness when his obsession had overtaken reason. He’d used magic to spirit his darling Imp away, to chain him, to taste him, and the memory of his surrender… his bites, his curses, his need… haunted Stolas’ every waking moment.
I can’t believe I let you leave like this… But the last bit of reason I have left told me to properly court my darling Blitzy…
As wonderful as the idea was, he couldn’t continue stealing Blitzø away like a thief in the night. It was too crude, too fleeting.
I won’t bind you to me… not yet, he mused, his talons tapping the glass bottle.
But I must see you again, outside my spells, in your glorious, untamed reality.
His luminous eyes narrowed, a plan forming like a constellation in his mind. He needed a reason to visit his dear Blitzø, to step into his world without raising suspicion. I.M.P. was a business, after all, and the Imp was its heart.
A contract… a hit, would be the perfect excuse. Stolas’ beak curled into a sly, obsessive smile. A human. Any human would work, really. He didn’t care who. Some wretched soul on Earth, a name plucked from the ether, would serve as his ticket to Blitzø’s door. Maybe Stolas could even indulge in watching his darling while killing for him.
The idea of witnessing the Imp in his natural habitat… bold, self-assured, and covered with the grimness of his job... made Stolas' feathers tingle and sent a sweet shiver running through his body.
My love, I need you… not just in my dreams, but in real life, now.
With a flick of his wrist, he called forth his Grimoire and stood up. The glowing pages offered glimpses of the human world, complete with names, faces, and lifestyles. Stolas’ eyes scanned them, indifferent, until he paused on a random entry: Marcus Reed, 47, accountant, Ohio. A nobody, perfect in his insignificance. “You’ll do,” Stolas murmured, his voice a low purr. He didn’t care about Marcus or his fate; the man was merely a means to an end, a flimsy pretext to stand before his Blitzø, to drink in his presence without the veil of magic.
His mind drifted to Blitzø’s office… the cluttered desk, the scent of gunpowder and cologne, the Imp’s sharp grin that could cut glass.
Will you blush when you see me? Will you remember my tongue on yours? Will you know it was me all along?
The owl’s obsession was a living thing, clawing at his composure. He wanted to hear Blitzø’s coarse banter, watch his hands move with that reckless confidence, catch that deadly glint in his amber eyes.
It will be oh so difficult to keep my hands off of you, darling… he promised himself as his talons twitched with the urge to pull Blitzø close again.
Tasting him once wasn’t enough… it would never be enough, because Stolas was a feral, hungry, and greedy beast.
He inscribed Marcus’ name on a piece of parchment and sealed it with a drop of wax, the act a ritual to draw him nearer to his fixation.
You’re mine, Blitzø, as I am yours.
His heart swelled with a love both tender and unhinged. With a steadying breath, he opened a portal to I.M.P., the parchment clutched tightly in his hand, ready to face the Imp who had claimed his soul under the guise of a trivial kill.
The portal’s shimmer faded as Stolas stepped into the grimy, fluorescent-lit hallway, right in front of I.M.P. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and gunpowder, which led to Stolas remembering Blitzø all the more. What else could he think about while smelling his dear Imp, if not his big claws all over his own body?
His casual attire, a fitted black tunic and trousers, felt foreign against his feathers, but it lent him an air of approachability, though his regal bearing was impossible to mask. The parchment with Marcus Reed’s name was tucked into his pocket, a flimsy excuse for the true purpose burning in his chest: Blitzø.
His obsession pulsed, a living thing, urging him to see his Imp in all of his raw, unfiltered glory.
My darling, how I’ve ached for this.
The owl’s heart was a sweet, frantic flutter beneath his composed exterior.
As Stolas stepped into the reception area of I.M.P., the air fell completely silent, the three occupants freezing as their eyes locked onto the prince. The female Imp, her tail rigid, clutched a clipboard, her mouth agape. The other one, mid-sip of coffee, choked, spraying liquid across the desk. The hellhound, slouched at the reception counter, lowered her phone, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. A Goetia in their office was unheard of, and Stolas’ presence… tall, elegant, and radiating quiet power, filled the room like a storm cloud.
Stolas offered a gentle smile, his voice calm and melodic, belying the obsession raging within. “Good day. I was wondering if it might be possible to speak with your boss about a contract I’d like to make with I.M.P.?”
The male Imp sputtered, his coffee mug clattering to the desk. “A-A Goetia? Here? For a contract?” His eyes darted from Stolas to the office door as his voice broke. Without waiting for an answer, he raced to the back and yelled frantically, pushing the door open. “Sir! Get out here! You’re not gonna believe this!”
Inside the office, Blitzø’s annoyed growl cut through the chaos. “Moxxie, what the fuck is your problem? I’m trying to—!” His words died as he stormed out, phone in hand and tail lashing behind him. Then his eyes landed on Stolas.
Time seemed to stop. His amber eyes widened and his pupils dilated in a mixture of shock and something deeper as Blitzø froze. Perhaps dread, want… or recognition? His Imp’s phone fell from his grasp and landed on the floor, its screen breaking into a web of shattered glass.
Stolas was instantly overtaken by joy as he saw Blitzø so close again… and this time he was even able to indulge in those beautiful amber eyes that kept staring at him!
You look so cute when you are surprised, dearest… he thought while trying to swallow down a chuckle that begged to escape him.
The recollection of the chains, Blitzø's lips, his claws… it all came flooding back to the owl, overpowering and genuine. He stood motionless in the middle of the room, unable to take his eyes off the endearing Imp, while his heart hammered against his ribs and a flush rose up his neck.
Though Stolas’ smile softened, his eyes gleamed with intensity, drinking in Blitzø’s reaction.
Oh my, darling, you remember me… right?
The prince’s talons twitched with the urge to close the distance between them, but he remained still, his voice steady. “Blitzø, I presume? I’ve come to discuss a potential job. May we speak in private?”
Both Imps exchanged stunned glances while the hellhound’s ears flicked, her phone forgotten as she observed the growing tension. Blitzø’s mouth opened, then closed, his tail twitching erratically. His mind obviously raced, most likely scrambling for an answer of what to do when a Goetia suddenly visits. Finally, he managed a jerky nod, his voice hoarse. “Yeah. Uh, office. Now.”
Stolas inclined his head, his heart soaring as he followed Blitzø, the parchment in his pocket little more than a forgotten prop.
You’re mine, Blitzø, and I’ll see you in every light.
The craving was barely containable, the thrill of this moment only feeding the fire that bound them together.
Stolas closed the office door behind him with a soft click, the sound cutting through the buzz of fluorescent lights in I.M.P.’s cluttered headquarters. The room was a testament to Blitzø’s sweet chaos… papers scattered across a battered desk, a cracked mug reeking of stale coffee, some cute horse figurines perched on various surfaces all over the room.
Stolas’ casual black tunic and trousers, though simple, clung to his lithe frame with an understated elegance that felt out of place in the grime. His heart pounded, every feather attuned to Blitzø, the Imp who ruled his every waking—and sleeping—thought. Though he kept his talons clenched behind his back so to keep the façade intact, internally, his mind raced.
My darling, you're so close, so vivid… Oh, what I would do to touch you again, to give you pleasure… You loved it as much as I did, right?
His amber eyes flickered with a mixture of arrogance and something deeper, something unnameable, as Blitzø fell into his creaking desk chair. Stolas’ gaze devoured him… the sharp edge of his grin, the restless flick of his tail, the raw, magnetic energy that pulsed from deep within him.
Oh, Blitzø, you’re more addictive than any magic I’ve yet wielded, the prince thought, the recollection of their night, the Imp’s desperate moans, igniting a fire in his chest. He forced himself to play the stranger, though his soul ached to confess the truth.
Blitzø gestured to the rickety chair across from him, his voice dripping with mock swagger. “Go on, park that gorgeous tail, hot stuff,” he drawled, his smirk sharp and predatory. “Let’s hear what a drop-dead stunner like you wants with my little business.” His eyes roamed over Stolas, lingering on the way the tunic’s snug fit showed off his soft chest feathers, the Imp’s gaze a blatant appreciation that sent a shiver through the prince’s entire body. Stolas’ lips twitched, a spark of delight mingling with his obsession at Blitzø’s audacity.
You bold creature.
Settling into the chair with deliberate grace, his luminous eyes fixed on the Imp’s provocative grin. His voice was smooth, measured, a velvet mask attempting to cover his burning desire. “I’ve heard your company is… uniquely effective. I require a human disposed of. A simple matter, I’m sure, for someone of your… talents.”
With a low, seductive chuckle, Blitzø leaned forward over the table until his face was dangerously close to the owl’s. "Talents?” With eyes shining with evil promise and a voice dripping with depravity, he purred, "Oh, baby, I've got tricks that'd make your fancy feathers stand on end. I bet I could give you a night that would ruin you for everyone else." His tail flicked, brushing Stolas’ chair under the desk before coiling closer, grazing the prince’s ankle with a deliberate tease. Stolas’ feathers ruffled, a blaze of heat igniting in his core at the Imp’s relentless flirtation.
You’re unraveling me, my love… You are having fun teasing me, right?
Stolas passion roared, but a venomous question slithered in. Does he wield this charm with others? Jealousy surged, a sharp, bitter sting. Is this fire mine alone, or do others bask in its heat?
“I’m certain you’re… capable,” Stolas replied, his voice a soft purr laced with just enough suggestion to keep the game alive. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his talons grazing a stray paper, the act a deliberate addictive brush with Blitzø’s world. “The target is a human, Marcus Reed. An accountant. I trust you can handle him discreetly?”
Blitzø’s grin stretched wider and he twirled a pen between his claws, leaning so close Stolas could feel the warmth of his breath. “Discreet? Sure, but a classy piece like you’s gotta want something with a little more… bite,” he said with a wink, his voice a husky whisper. “C’mon, gorgeous, level with me. You didn’t drag that fine ass here just for some nobody human. You want a taste of the real deal, don’t ya?”
His tail grazed Stolas’ knee again, lingering longer this time, the touch a bold provocation that sent a delicious jolt through the prince’s frame. “Bet I could make you see stars, birdy,” Blitzø added, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes half-lidded with brazen intent.
Stolas’ heart raced, his obsession flaring, but the jealousy gnawed deeper. Who else has he tempted with that grin? Who else has felt that tail’s caress? He craved the attention, drank it like it was ambrosia, but the thought of his Blitzø’s charm lavished on others was a blade twisting in his chest. I must uncover his past, his present… reveal every lover who’s dared to touch what’s mine.
“Merely business,” Stolas said, his smile tight—though his eyes betrayed a flicker of hunger, drinking in the Imp’s brazen confidence. “But your… enthusiasm is quite compelling. I’ll be intrigued to see how you perform.”
Blitzø laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Stolas’ spine, and propped his chin on one hand, his gaze practically stripping Stolas bare.
And Lucifer… how much he wanted to be stripped down by those hands.
“Perform? Oh, I’ll give you a fucking masterclass, sexy. Stick around, and I’ll have you begging for a private session.” His voice was pure temptation, his eyes daring Stolas to shatter the pretense.
Stolas’ talons twitched, his mind spinning with plans. I’ll delve into your history, Blitzy… I’ll find every fling, every whisper of affection, and I will erase them. His jealousy burned hotter, fueled by the Imp’s relentless flirtation. You belong to me, and I will ensure that no one else dares claim you.
But the game wasn’t over for the owl yet—he had yet to make his darling Imp as crazy about him as he was for Blitzø. “I look forward to your… results,” Stolas said, his voice a velvet caress, leaning back slightly to regain control. “Shall we discuss our terms? A deposit, perhaps, to secure your services?”
With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, Blitzø leaned back and extended his arms behind his head, highlighting his slender figure.
He is doing this on purpose, surely… Ahh… How much I want to put my hands on you…
"Terms? Instead, how ’bout you reward me with a dinner date? I know a dive bar that’d look real good with you in it.” His wink was shameless, his tail flicking to brush Stolas’ wrist this time, the touch fleeting but deliberate. Stolas’ breath hitched, the contact sending a spark through him, though the jealousy flared anew.
Does he offer such invitations to others? The thought was a poison, but the attention was intoxicating, and Stolas resolved to investigate further. I’ll unearth every rival, past and present, and ensure they fade from your life.
“An… unconventional proposal,” Stolas murmured, his smile tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “But I prefer money for now. Name your price.” His eyes never left Blitzø’s, searching for a hint of exclusivity, his heart teetering between adoration and possessiveness. The air crackled, their mutual obsession a live wire beneath the charade, Stolas’ jealousy sharpening his determination to claim Blitzø wholly for himself.
The negotiation had so far danced along a knife’s edge, Blitzø’s flirtations a relentless assault. Each move sent a spark flying into Stolas’ tinderbox of desire, the unavoidable blaze of his obsession drawing closer by the second.
Now, as the terms were broached, Blitzø’s smirk widened and his voice dropped into a low, teasing growl. “Let’s say five hundred, gorgeous. Special rate for a pretty face like yours.” His wink was shameless, a glint of sin in his eyes, and his tail slithered across the desk, brushing Stolas’ wrist with a deliberate, lingering caress that sent a jolt through the prince’s frame. The price was absurdly low, barely enough to cover a week’s ammunition, Stolas guessed, the gesture so brazen it felt like a challenge.
Stolas’ chuckle was low, a dark, velvety sound that masked the storm within, though his envy roared like a caged beast. So generous, my love. Do you toss such favors to others? The thought was a venom seeping into his veins, each imagined rival a specter clawing at his heart. Have others tasted your charm, your touch?
He loved Blitzø's attention and soaked it in like a man who had been denied water for years, but he couldn't bear even the notion of that passion being shared with anybody else.
He stood, his voice a calm murmur, his tunic smoothed with an elegance that belied the turmoil inside. “Very well. I’ll expect results. For now, I’ll take my leave.” But as he turned, a wicked, almost cruel idea sparked in the depths of his obsession—a need to mark Blitzø, to leave him feeling haunted.
Stolas leaned over the desk before the Imp could jump out of his chair, moving slowly and deliberately like a predator enjoying its favorite meal. He arched his back while his tail feathers fanned out in a captivating display to catch Blitzø’s eye, his spine curving into a stunning arc of grace and provocation. The air surrounding him crackled with unspoken intent, his lithe shape a silhouette that commanded devotion, the movements a deliberate seduction.
Blitzø froze, his breath catching as his eyes, wide and unblinking, were pinned by the sight. Slowly and deliberately, Stolas' talons extended, following the sharp line of Blitzø's face with a gentle yet possessive touch. The contact was electric, like a brand etched into flesh. “You really are cute, aren't you, darling?" Each word was a thread that tightened Blitzø's web as Stolas moaned, his voice a seductive whisper dripping with sweet, deadly emptiness.
With the Imp stuck in place, trapped and woven seamlessly into Stolas’ grand display, the owl wasted no time. Power hummed beneath his fingertips as they glided, slow and deliberate, down the curve of Blitzø’s vulnerable neck. A surge of dark magic spiraled from his hand, crackling in the charged air before sinking deep into the Imp’s flesh. In a single breathless moment, Stolas had branded him… a hidden tracker embedded beneath the skin, stitched into his very being.
In the past, he had always used his scrying orb to spy from afar, but now, with Blitzø so close, so helpless before him... Stolas couldn’t resist—he had to tighten the leash, had to feel that control pulse directly under his touch.
Ah…. How beautiful you look with my mark on you, dearest…
A faint symbol flared to life on Blitzø’s neck, melding perfectly with the crimson of his skin before fading into a barely-there mark. Seeing it… seeing his claim, etched into Blitzø’s very body… sent a violent thrill tearing through Stolas’ chest. A low, dark chuckle rumbled from his throat, the sound thick with satisfaction and need.
“I’ll be thinking of you… only you.” The words were deliberate, a taunt to stoke Blitzø’s desire, to ensure the Imp’s thoughts would be consumed by him and him alone.
Stolas lingered a moment longer, his talons hovering inches from the heat of Blitzø’s skin, the red flesh a siren’s call he was barely able to resist. Then, with a slow, deliberate straightening, he pulled back, leaving the imp stunned, his smirk gone and instead replaced by a raw, unguarded hunger.
Let that burn in you, my love, Stolas thought, his heart alight with a dark triumph, though the jealousy still gnawed, a shadow whispering of rivals he’d yet to vanquish. I’ll ensure no one else captures your gaze, Blitzø. You’re mine, and I’ll fucking carve that truth into your soul if I have to.
The document bearing Marcus Reed's name was a forgotten burden in his pocket as he moved fluidly and provocatively toward the entrance, deliberately letting his hips and tail feathers sway as he walked.
Stolas placed a hand on the doorframe and looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with Blitzø as he purred, “Until next time, darling.” He exited the office after one final wink, leaving back a frozen Imp in his chair.
…
The portal’s shimmer faded as Stolas stepped into the grand observatory of his palace, the sunlight streaming through the domed glass ceiling bathing his feathers in a warm, ethereal glow. The elegance of his casual black tunic and trousers felt like a lie against the storm raging within, his heart a furnace of obsession and jealousy fueled by the encounter with Blitzø.
The Imp’s brazen flirtations… his sultry winks, the teasing graze of his tail, that absurdly low price… they had left Stolas both enraptured and enraged.
My darling, you’ve set my soul ablaze…
His talons flexed, drawing faint lines of blood as he fought the urge to return to I.M.P. and claim Blitzø then and there.
…but who else has tasted your fire?
The memory of Blitzø’s grin, his husky whispers, and that electrifying caress across his cheek haunted Stolas, each moment both a treasure and a torment.
Does he flirt so freely with others?
The question was a poison, seeping into every thought, igniting a jealousy so fierce it bordered on madness. He adored Blitzø’s attention, craved it like a dying star craves light, but the thought of that charm lavished on others… past lovers, fleeting flings… was a betrayal he couldn’t endure.
They don’t deserve you. No one does… no one but me.
Stolas’ luminous eyes narrowed, a dark resolve taking root. He would uncover every rival, every soul who had ever dared to touch what was his, and he would make them pay.
With an elegant grace, Stolas made his way through his observatory to his desk. His Grimoire appeared with a flick of his wrist, its pages burning with purple and blue light, its cover vibrating with his own magical force. Stolas voice was a deep, poisonous chant that reverberated throughout the large room as he opened it, the air crackling about him as he called forth his magic. His talons traced runes in the air as he demanded, "Show me." His words were filled with a vicious yet reverent hunger. “Reveal every heart that has claimed my Blitzy, every fool who thought they could hold him.”
The Grimoire responded, its pages flipping rapidly, images flickering like ghosts in the ether. Names, faces, moments from Blitzø’s past coalesced… lovers from his circus days, fleeting trysts in Hell’s underbelly, names Stolas didn’t recognize but already despised.
A succubus with a sly smile, a hellhound with a possessive glint, an Imp with a laugh too much like Blitzø’s own. Each figure was a wound, a challenge to Stolas’ claim that made his envy surge like a dark tide that threatened to drown his reason.
How dare they touch you? How dare they think they could keep you?
His talons dug into the desk, splintering the wood, his mind alight with visions of their suffering.
A wicked smile curled his lips, sharp and unhinged, as he imagined their fates. “Oh, how deliciously they’ll scream.”
Stolas’ voice was a soft purr in the silence, the idea sending a shiver of dark pleasure through him. He pictured each rival cornered, their eyes wide with terror as his magic unraveled them… slowly, deliberately, their cries a symphony to soothe his envious heart.
I’ll tear them from your past, Blitzø, until I’m the only one you remember.
The Grimoire pulsed, feeding his obsession, offering glimpses of where these rivals now lingered… bars in Greed, brothels in Lust, forgotten corners deep within Hell’s massive sprawl. Stolas memorized each detail, his plans taking shape with a precision that was both meticulous and unhinged.
He paused on one image.. a succubus, Verosika Mayday. Her name left a bitter sting; Blitzø’s history with her was notorious, a flame that had burned bright and left scars. Stolas’ talons twitched, a low growl escaping his throat.
You dared to love him, to hurt him.
The owl’s magic flared, the air growing heavy with his intent. Your screams will be the sweetest. He envisioned her bound by his spells, her defiance crumbling as he carved Blitzø’s name into her fate, ensuring she’d never touch him again.
Stolas leaned back with the glow of the Grimoire reflecting in his eyes, his heart a maelstrom of love and vengeance.
You’re mine, Blitzy, and I’ll purge every shadow that threatens us.
The bird’s obsession was a living thing, entwined with his jealousy. He closed the Grimoire, the act a vow, his mind already plotting his next move… perhaps a subtle spell to draw Blitzø closer, or a visit to one of these rivals to begin his dark work. The observatory was silent save for the faint hum of starlight… but within Stolas, a storm raged, his desire driving him to ensure Blitzø would belong to him and him alone, forever.
Notes:
Updates will be sporadically until the 7th of May. Then it goes back to a smooth schedule~
Chapter 4: He Thinks He’s Leading Me On—Good. Let Him Try
Notes:
How desperate can you be~ ?
Blitzø: Yes, and add the horny part.Smut ahead~ 🤭
Many many thanks to cutie RileyKate37 for beta reading my shitty grammar ♥
Chapter Text
Blitzø slumped in his creaky office chair at I.M.P. with the phone pressed to his ear, the client on the other end droning on in a nasally voice about some cheating spouse who needed “handling.” The office was its usual mess… papers strewn across the desk like a tornado had come through and ravaged nothing but the files, empty takeout boxes littering the ground around the trashcan, complete with dripping sauce stains, and a half-empty mug of coffee gone cold perched upon a stack of… whatever those were.
Outside, Loona’s phone blared some grating pop song, and Moxxie’s muttering about “ethical boundaries” could be heard clearly as it filtered through the thin walls.
The prince's silken voice, his scorching touch against the Imp’s skin, and the memory of their night together clung to Blitzø like a fever, taking over his every thought. As his they twisted and grew, he chided himself internally. Fuck, get it together already! But his body betrayed him, causing a flush to creep up his neck.
The dream from last night had made Blitzø’s sleep a tormenting, vivid, and relentless experience. He’d been back in those chains, blindfolded, Stolas’ lavender scent flooding his senses. The prince’s talons had traced his chest, slow and possessive, each graze igniting sparks under his skin. Stolas’ lips had followed, kissing, biting, his moans a low, melodic hum that vibrated through the Imp’s bones.
“You’re mine, darling,” dream-Stolas had purred, his tongue flicking against Blitzø’s neck, and Blitzø had arched into it, gasping, his cock throbbing as the prince’s hand slid lower. The dream had peaked with Stolas’ mouth on him, hot and unrelenting, those sharp spikes on Blitzø’s dick catching on the prince’s tongue, driving him to a shuddering, desperate release that left him soaked and panting when he woke.
Fuck, it all felt so real.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his pants tightening at the memory. “Uh, yeah, yeah, we’ll take the job,” Blitzø muttered into the phone, barely registering the client’s words. His free hand drummed on the desk, but his mind , too busy dreaming of Stolas’ luminous eyes that he so often watched from afar.
He played it cool, but he fucking wanted me, Blitzø thought, a smirk tugging at his lips. The feathers he’d found in his jacket… the proof that it wasn’t just a dream… were tucked in his drawer, their lavender scent a constant pull. He could still feel the ghost of Stolas’ talons on his body, that possessive caress…
He’s gotta be thinking about me too, right? Maybe I should just fucking kidnap him too, return the favor? Ugh… no… maybe another time. Right now I need something different…
The client yammered on, but Blitzø’s thoughts drifted to Stolas’ laugh, soft and sultry, the way it had echoed in his dream as he’d whispered, “You’re so adorable when you come undone.” Blitzø’s tail flicked, his blush deepening.
Fuck, I want to hear that again. Want him to moan my name.
That purr of lovely nothingness rang in his ears as he imagined Stolas bent over the desk, his beautiful tail feathers fanned out and his cloaca spread wide, ready to get fucked by Blitzø. His cock twitched in his pants and he sighed, adjusting himself with a muttered curse.
Not now, damn it.
“Yo, you still there?” the client snapped, yanking Blitzø back into reality. He growled, forcing himself to focus. “Yeah, yeah, send the details. We’ll handle it.” He leaned back into his chair with a groan, claws raking through his spines.
Get a grip, Blitzø. You’re not some lovesick teenager.
But the dreams wouldn’t quit, and the memories of Stolas’ every touch haunted him… those talons, that tongue, the way his voice broke when he moaned.
I’m fucked, he thought, smirking despite himself. And I love it.
He glanced at the drawer, tempted to pull out the feathers, to inhale that scent and lose himself again. The client was forgotten, the job merely a distant hum left to rot in the back corners of his mind. All he could see was Stolas… his elegant frame, his wicked smile, the promise of more.
I need to see him again, Blitzø thought, his obsession flaring, a hunger that no dream could sate. And next time, I’m not letting him walk away.
The client was mid-rant (again) when Moxxie’s voice shattered the Imp’s haze, a frantic yell coming from the reception area. “Sir! Get out here! You need to see this!”
Blitzø growled, his patience fraying. “Moxxie, I’m on the fucking phone! Unless the building is on fire, don't bother me!“ he snapped, though the urgency in Moxxie's voice was secretly bothering. "Hold on," he muttered to the client, then stomped to the door and yanked it open without waiting for an answer. “Moxxie, what the fuck is your problem? I’m trying to—!”
His next words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him. There, in the office’s grimy reception area, stood Stolas. The prince's casual black tunic and black pants, which hugged his slender figure so fucking perfectly, were a striking contrast to the usually messy air of the workplace.
His ruby-red eyes locked on Blitzø’s with a calmness that belied the heat the Imp knew blazed beneath, and his tail feathers swayed slightly as he waited for him to speak.
Blitzø seized up, his breath strangling in his throat, heart hammering so violently it was a wonder he didn’t crack open from the force.
Fuck. He’s here. His mind detonated, unleashing a savage flood of filthy, fevered fantasies… Stolas crushed against a wall, arms wrung around the Imp’s neck, trembling, sobbing out Blitzø’s name between ragged gasps; Stolas’ talons raking desperate, bloody lines down his back as Blitzø claimed him, fucking into him so hard that the owl could barely stand; Stolas’ face pressed almost painfully against whatever material happened to serve as their ground, his feathered ass waving in the air above him enticingly…
But it wasn’t enough… his hunger twisted, darkened. Blitzø saw Stolas bound, a leash wrapped around that slender throat, chains clinking softly as the owl knelt before him, broken and obedient. His mouth open, tongue lolling out, drooling for him, looking up at the Imp with those wide, desperate eyes that just screamed to be used. Marked. Owned.
The Imp's fists clenched at his sides, nails biting deep into his palms, drawing forth droplets of black blood as his skin ignited with heat. An angry red blush seared across his face, neck, and chest, an unbearable rush of lust and possession he couldn't even hope to hide.
Mine, the thought snarled through him, vicious and wild. He’s fucking mine. And nothing, not heaven, not hell, not even Lucifer himself, was ever going to take him away.
The phone slipped from his claws, hitting the floor with a crack, the screen shattering into a mosaic of glass. Moxxie and Millie gaped, Loona’s music paused mid-song… but Blitzø barely noticed, so focused was he on the owl in front of him.
He’s real. He’s here. Fuck, I want him, right fucking now.
Stolas’ presence was a gravitational pull, sending every dream, every touch flooding back into the Imp’s mind.
He’s gotta feel this too, why else would he be here now?!
Stolas’ voice cut through the haze, smooth and composed, though his eyes gleamed with something unspoken. “Blitzø, I presume? I’ve come to discuss a potential contract. May we speak in private?”
Blitzø’s tail flicked, his mind a chaotic swirl of lust and obsession.
A contract? Bullshit. You’re here for me, birdy, and I know it.
He forced a smirk, though his voice came out rough. “Yeah. Uh, office. Now.” He jerked his head toward the door, leading Stolas inside, his heart racing with the certainty that this was no coincidence.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Blitzø’s hunger flared, every nerve screaming for him to close the distance, to make Stolas his again.
You’re not slipping away this time.
The air between them crackled with unspoken desire as the office door clicked shut, sealing Blitzø and Stolas off from the fluorescent-lit chaos of I.M.P.’s main headquarters. The cluttered desk stood as a flimsy barrier between them, but Blitzø’s world had collapsed to the prince before him. Stolas, in his casual clothes, was an elegant anomaly, the fabric hugging his lithe frame, his tail feathers swaying with subtle grace. It looked so fucking good on him.
So fucking good that I want to tear it off of him right fucking now.
Blitzø’s heart thundered, a wild, ecstatic rhythm that screamed for him to claim his bird. His obsession surged, a tidal wave of glee and hunger crashing against the inside of his chest.
Fuck, he came to me. He can’t stay away.
A manic grin twitched at his lips. The contract was just a pretext, Blitzø was sure of it… he’d take any excuse to bask in Stolas’ presence, to flirt until the prince’s calm cracked.
Blitzø dropped into his creaky desk chair, sprawling with forced nonchalance, though his tail flicked with restless energy. His amber eyes devoured Stolas… the luminous glint in his ruby-red eyes, the memory of those talons on his cheek, the wet dream that had left him aching.
You’re fucking perfect.
The Imp’s blush creeped further up his neck as he recalled Stolas’ lips, his moans, the chains that had bound him in ecstasy. The feathers in his drawer were proof that it had been real, and now Stolas was back, willingly stepping into his domain.
I’m so goddamn happy I could explode.
“Go on, park that gorgeous tail, hot stuff,” Blitzø drawled, gesturing to the wobbly chair, his voice thick with swagger. “Let’s hear what a drop-dead stunner like yourself wants with my little business.” His smirk was sharp, his gaze raking over Stolas’ form, lingering on the tunic’s fit.
Bet you’d look so much better out of that… Fuck, if only you knew how desperate I am to rip you out of that…
He leaned forward, his tail flicking closer to Stolas’ side of the desk, the motion a deliberate tease.
Stolas settled into the chair with effortless grace, his voice a smooth, velvet caress. “I’ve heard your company is… uniquely effective. I require a human disposed of, immediately. A simple matter, I’m sure, for someone of your… talents. The target is a human, Marcus Reed. An accountant. I trust you can handle him discreetly?”
Blitzø snorted, his grin widening. An accountant? Lame. But for Stolas, he’d slaughter an entire fucking legion… even if they were all nerds. “Discreet? Sure, but a classy piece like you’s gotta want something with a little more… bite,” he said with a wink, his voice little more than a husky whisper. “C’mon, gorgeous, level with me. You didn’t drag that fine ass here just for some nobody human. You want a taste of the real deal, don’t ya?”
I’d kill the entire fucking world for you, he thought, his passion flaring as the memory of Stolas’ purr rang in his ear.
Stolas’ lips twitched, a flicker of amusement flashing in his eyes. “I trust your… enthusiasm will serve.”
Blitzø fired back, winking as he twirled a pen between his claws. "Birdie, enthusiasm is my middle name. Stick around, and I’ll show you how enthusiastic I can really get.” His tail grazed Stolas’ knee, a bold provocation, as his voice dropped to a low purr. “Gonna make this job so good you’ll be back for more.”
I want to see you begging for me on your knees… bound by ropes, preferably… his mind groaned, his cock twitching at the mere fantasy of Stolas pinned beneath him, the owl’s feathers ruffled, that sharp beak open wide and moaning his name.
Fuck, Blitzø seethed internally, his pulse hammering so loudly that it drowned out everything else. I need this gorgeous, fucked-up bird shackled to me… need every second, every fucking breath he takes to be mine. The thought buried itself deep into him, a snarling, rabid thing. Why not mark him? Track him? Own him in ways he doesn’t even realize?
A tracker.
A secret leash.
An invisible brand screaming mine.
He'd always know where Stolas was… would know every twitch of those plush feathers, every desperate little breath he took when Blitzø wasn't around. And if he wanders too far... Blitzø’s mind spiraled darker, hungrier. I’ll know just how to fucking punish him.
He’d make the owl regret every step he took without permission… Might even tie the bird down for hours, tease him until he sobbed and begged and shook from the strain. Maybe Blitzø would gag him, watch him drool and tremble as he learned that freedom wasn't a luxury he had anymore… not unless Blitzø fucking allowed it. Maybe the Imp would deny him the one thing he craved most, keeping Stolas aching, desperate, completely dependent on him.
A savage grin twisted Blitzø’s mouth as he shifted, barely able to contain the thrill lashing through his body. Don’t I have a tracker shoved somewhere in my desk?
Yeah. His fingers itched for it. Yeah, I fucking do.
And soon, Stolas wouldn’t be able to take a single breath without Blitzø knowing. Without Blitzø owning it.
Exactly how it should be.
Stolas’ feathers ruffled slightly, his voice steady and jolting the Imp back to reality. “Shall we discuss terms? A deposit, perhaps, to secure your services?”
Blitzø smirked, tossing out an absurdly low number… five hundred, barely enough for ammo. “Special rate for a face like yours,” he said with a wink, his tail brushing Stolas’ wrist.
Anything to keep you coming back.
Blitzø’s hand jerked under the desk, barely stopping himself from lunging at the owl outright. His body screamed for action, his heart a brutal war drum locked in his chest. With a sharp, shallow breath, he cracked the drawer open, the faint sound masked by the low hum of the room.
Just a second. Just a fucking second.
The instant Stolas looked away, the motion careless and trusting, Blitzø’s tail shot out like a striking viper, snatching the tiny tracker out of the drawer and hiding it in his lap. There it sat, small and deadly, a wicked promise thrumming in his palm.
Patience, he told himself, the word hissing in his mind like a threat.
Wait. Be smart.
But every second he spent staring at the prince’s perfect, oblivious face only fueled the savage feeling that clawed at the inside of his ribcage, desperate for release. His fingers itched to grab him… to shove him down across the desk, to press the Imp’s weight into him until he felt every inch of Blitzø’s possession splayed across his body. Blitzø’s mind demanded that he force the tracker against the owl’s feathers, that he hold him there and make damn sure that he knew, without a doubt, that he was marked… claimed… fucking owned by him.
No more hiding. No more distance. No more wandering around like he was still free.
Blitzø’s breathing sharpened, his nostrils flaring as he forced his hands to stay still, forced his body to stay seated despite every fucking instinct screaming for him to pounce.
Soon, he promised himself darkly. Soon.
Stolas chuckled, a low, amused sound, and stood, smoothing his tunic. “Very well; I’ll expect results. For now, I’ll take my leave.” But then he paused, a wicked glint in his eyes suddenly becoming visible.
Before Blitzø could move, Stolas leaned over the desk, arching his back in a breathtaking curve, his tail feathers fanning out in a stunning display. His talons caressed Blitzø’s cheek, the touch tender yet electric. “You really are cute, aren't you, darling?” His voice was oozing with sweet poison as he purred, “I’ll be thinking of you… only you.”
Blitzø’s breath snagged hard in his throat, chest heaving with the effort to keep from fucking drooling. If he wasn’t such a filthy, horny and desperate little creature, maybe… just maybe… he could’ve torn his eyes away from that shameless, perfect ass, arched up high like a fucking invitation.
He bit down on his own lip so hard he tasted blood, trying to anchor himself, trying to claw back even just a measly scrap of focus.
Stay sharp. Stay smart. Don’t fuck this up.
But fuck… this was perfect, wasn’t it?
His tail coiled tightly around the tiny tracker, its movements slick and predatory, slipping low beneath the desk like a snake zeroing in on its prey. His muscles tensed as he continued to flick it out, brushing up those endless, mouth-watering fucking drumsticks… slow enough to feel, quick enough to play innocent.
Only this time, he wasn’t teasing.
This time, he struck.
With a deft twist, Blitzø latched the tracker to Stolas’ ankle, nestling it against the curve of his leg where the prince wouldn’t think to look. Hidden. Permanent. His.
A shudder ran through Blitzø’s body, his tail twitching with the urge to grab, yank, devour.
Mine, he snarled inwardly, barely able to restrain himself from lunging right then and there. Fucking mine.
And the clueless, beautiful bastard had no idea he’d just been claimed.
Stolas’ talon dragged down Blitzø’s neck in a slow, merciless stroke, deliberate enough to leave no doubt in the Imp’s mind that the touch was a silent, possessive caress. The sharp tip ghosted along his skin, sending a violent shiver ripping down Blitzø’s spine as his muscles tensed under the weight of it.
The prince felt it… felt him shudder… and a low, dark chuckle rumbled from Stolas’ throat, thick with satisfaction and dripping with ownership.
Then, with a cruel kind of grace, Stolas straightened, rising to his full, imposing height and leaving Blitzø slack-jawed and trembling in his sudden, cold absence.
Stolas moved with fluid, predatory grace towards the entrance, every step taunting, each sway of his hips and rustle of his feathers seemingly deliberate, drawing Blitzø’s gaze like a magnet. It was a performance, a promise… one that left the Imp feeling exposed and aching with need.
Stolas paused upon reaching the door, placing a hand on the frame and looking back over his shoulder with a casual, almost teasing move. Their eyes locked, the connection between them deep, almost knowing, and the prince’s lips curled into a wicked smirk as he purred, “Until next time, darling.”
The words hung in the air like a trap, and, with one final, sultry wink, he stepped out of the office, leaving Blitzø little more than a trembling wreck, frozen in place. His body remained still, but his mind was on fire, every nerve ignited by the sting of that departure.
Fuck, he’s gonna kill me. The prince’s purr echoed bounced about his skull, blending with the dreams and memories of Stolas’ lips… his moans… those chains.
He wants me, he’s gotta! I’d slaughter anyone for him… Marcus Reed’s just the start.
The broken phone on the floor was forgotten, the client a ghost faded into the abyss. All that mattered now was Stolas… the feathers tucked away in his drawer and the promise of more to come.
I’m so fucked, and I love it.
His obsession was a wildfire, burning for the prince who’d claimed his soul.
…
The portal’s purple glow sputtered out as Blitzø stepped onto the cracked asphalt of a dimly lit alleyway in Nowhereville, Ohio, the air heavy with the stink of dumpster rot and distant car exhaust. The Asmodean crystal in his pocket pulsed faintly, its magic still tingling against his claws from the jump to the human world. His team, Moxxie, Millie, and Loona, followed close behind, their silhouettes sharp against the flickering streetlights.
Blitzø’s heart thrummed with a restless, feral energy, his mind consumed by Stolas like always… the prince’s purr, that electrifying caress, the contract that was just a flimsy excuse to pull them closer…
This Marcus Reed fucker’s gotta die quick so I can get back to my birdy.
A wicked grin split across his face, his obsession burning brighter than ever thanks to his growing bloodlust, every step driven by the need to impress Stolas, to prove he was worth the prince’s gaze.
Moxxie adjusted his rifle, his voice a nervous whine. “Sir, are we sure about this? The target’s just an accountant. No demonic ties, no threat level. This all seems… random.”
Blitzø rounded on him, tail lashing. “Random or not, Mox, we’re doing it. Client’s paying, so shut your yapper and aim straight.”
Stolas wants this guy gone, and goddamn if I wouldn’t gut half the planet just to see him smile.
The Imp’s blush creeped up the back of his neck as he pictured Stolas’ luminous eyes watching him work. The contract was bullshit, they both knew it, but Blitzø didn’t care. He’d kill anyone, fucking everyone, if it meant that Stolas would come back to him, would lean over his desk again and purr his name.
Fuck, I’m so gone for him.
Millie twirled her battle axe, her grin wide. “Don’t worry, Mox! It’s just another Tuesday. Where’s this guy at, boss?”
Blitzø pulled out the crumpled photo from Stolas’ contract. Marcus Reed’s bland face stared back at him… middle-aged, balding, overly-thick nerd glasses… the kind of guy who’d bore you to death before you could stab him. “His office is two blocks over. Works late, I’d be shocked if he had any family, and he probably jerks off to spreadsheets. Loona, you got the scent?”
Loona sniffed the air, then nodded. “Yeah, he’s close. Smells like cheap cologne and regret.” She huffed annoyedly and rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to her phone.
They moved fast, sticking to the shadows, Blitzø leading with a predator’s focus. His pistol was heavy in his hand, the crystal’s magic humming in his veins.
I will kill anyone you want, baby.
His mind flashed back to the prince’s tail feathers fanning out seductively, that velvet voice whispering, “I’ll be thinking of you.” His gut twitched and he growled, forcing himself to focus.
Kill the guy, get the job done, make birdy proud, maybe even get a kiss or another blowjob, what a fucking perfect plan.
The office building was a squat, gray slab, its windows dark except for one on the third floor. Blitzø gestured to the lit-up rectangle and the three Imps scaled the fire escape as a team, silent and lethal. Peering through the window, he spotted Marcus Reed hunched over a desk and typing furiously, oblivious to the death closing in.
Pathetic, Blitzø thought, his grin sharpening. You’re nothing… but you’re also my ticket to fuckin’ my birdy.
“Millie, door,” Blitzø whispered. She nodded, prying the window open with her axe, and the trio slipped inside, the office air stale with ink and despair. Moxxie raised his rifle but Blitzø waved him off, staring at the bald man with a strange glint in his eyes. “This one’s mine.”
For my Stolas.
Marcus looked up and stammered, "W-Who are you?" His glasses glinted with the reflection of Blitzø’s glowing eyes, and the Imp was on him before he could scream, his left hand clutching the man’s throat and his right holding the pistol shoved into his mouth. “Wrong place, wrong time, buddy, but tell you what, at least your death will have a meaning. Well, for me, at least… I’m gonna get fuckin’ laid!” Blitzø crowed, his voice surprisingly cheerful despite their current setting. .
This is for you, my sexy bird, he thought as he pulled the trigger, the silenced shot no more than a soft pop! Marcus slumped over and landed-cheek first, blood pooling on the desk, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Blitzø stepped back, his adrenaline surging and his tail flicking. Done. For you. He turned to his team, smirking. “Clean it up, make it look like a robbery. I’m calling the client.” His passion flared as he pictured the prince’s approval… maybe this would earn him another visit, another touch. The Asmodean crystal hummed, ready to take them back, but Blitzø’s mind was already racing ahead, dreaming of Stolas’ next move, his heart burning for him to keep the prince’s gaze fixed on him and him alone.
I should apologize to my team for not getting to do anything… But no one touches my birdy’s target except for me.
…
The Asmodean crystal’s steady hum faded as Blitzø and his team slipped back into Hell, the Ohio alleyway replaced by the familiar sulfurous haze of Imp City. The target was already a fading memory, his blood a stain on the desk, the job done clean and quick. Even still, Blitzø’s adrenaline still surged, his tail flicking about as he stood in the main office.
Moxxie was already whining about “paperwork,” Millie was off to the side, sharpening her battle axe, and Loona sat scrolling her phone… but Blitzø’s mind was a whirlwind, locked on Stolas like always. The prince’s velvet purr, that electrifying caress… they consumed him.
Fuck… I did it for you, birdy.
A manic grin spread over his scarred face. His insanity burned, urging him to act, to bask in Stolas’ approval.
Gotta tell him it’s done.
He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over Stolas’ number, but then paused.
A call’s too fucking impersonal, he thought, his blush creeping up again. I want to see him. Those eyes, that smile. Bet he’ll lose it when I tell him I nailed the hit. The idea of Stolas’ praise, maybe even another touch, sent a shiver coursing through him.
Instead of opening Stolas’ chat like some desperate fucking lovesick idiot, Blitzø’s fingers flew straight to the tracker app. His heart thudded with a sick, excited rhythm as the screen loaded… his own private window into Stolas’ every move.
The little device was better than he remembered… sleek, wicked, almost made for stalking. Not only could he see where Stolas was, but the damn thing even fed him the bird’s vitals: body temperature, heart rate, even sent out little warning notifications if anything got too suspicious.
Blitzø’s gut twisted in a savage thrill as he stared at the readout… steady. Calm. No spike of arousal, no panic. Good.
And there he was… a neat little blinking dot planted firmly inside the sprawling luxury of his palace.
Home. Safe. Exactly where he fucking belongs… at least, when he’s not together with me.
Blitzø grinned, sharp and wolfish, a deep satisfaction settling heavy in his chest.
Perfect.
Screw calling. I’m going to his palace.
He grabbed his belongings, the feathers tucked inside a secret pocket brushing his claws, their lavender scent fueling his resolve. “Loona, hold the fort. I’m out!” he barked in the direction of his daughter, ignoring Moxxie’s protests as he bolted for the door.
The streets of Hell all blurred into one as Blitzø sped toward Stolas’ palace, his van’s engine roaring in sync with his racing heart.
He’s gonna love this. Me, showing up like a fucking badass, job done.
The memory of Stolas’ words… “I’ll be thinking of you…” looped through Blitzø’s mind, his tail twitching at the thought of the prince’s reaction. He didn’t care if what he was doing was reckless; every second away from Stolas was torture, and he’d kill a thousand Marcus Reeds to keep the prince’s gaze on him.
Half a block away from the palace gates, Blitzø parked and hopped out, his usual instinct to scale the walls and sneak in like a thief overridden by a strange boldness.
Not today. This time, I’m walking in like I belong.
He strode to the grand entrance, the towering doors looming, and knocked hard, the sound echoing.
C’mon, let me in. I’m here for my bird. His tail flicked, nerves and excitement warring as he waited.
The door creaked open just enough to reveal an older butler Imp with a pinched face and narrowed eyes. He eyed the visitor up and down before speaking. “How can I… help you?” the butler hissed with evident disdain, his judgy gaze lingering on Blitzø’s scuffed jacket and cocky grin.
Blitzø smirked, undeterred. “Got business with Stolas. Tell him Blitzø’s here to talk.”
Yeah, that’s right, I’m on a first-name basis with your bird-boss. Jealous? he thought smugly, feeling his ego inflate.
The butler’s eyes narrowed further until they were barely visible slits, suspicion etched into every line of his old face. Eventually, though, he stepped aside — albeit reluctantly — with an annoyed huff. “Follow me. Don’t touch anything.” He led Blitzø through the opulent foyer, all marble and chandeliers, to a surprisingly cozy living room.
The contrast hit Blitzø hard… plush rugs, overstuffed couches, and a massive TV blaring some cheesy Hell soap opera. And there, sprawled across a couch in only a loosely hanging red robe that drowned his lithe frame… sat Stolas.
Blitzø’s breath caught, his heart slamming against his ribs. Fuckfuckfuck, he’s adorable. Stolas looked softer than he did in his usual royal regalia, his expression unguarded, his feathers slightly ruffled, A bowl of candied popcorn sat in his lap, and a slight sheen of caramel coated the owl’s talons. The prince’s luminous eyes flicked up as the Imps walked into the room, widening in surprise as they landed on Blitzø.
Gotcha, birdy, Blitzø thought, his grin widening, his mind already racing with fantasies… pulling Stolas close, kissing that surprised beak, making him moan like he did in his dreams.
I did your job, and now I’m here to collect.
The butler cleared his throat. “Your… guest, my prince.” He shot Blitzø a final glare before retreating, finally leaving the pair alone.
Stolas’ luminous eyes snapped back to Blitzø, widening in shock. A flash of confusion crossed his face, followed by a visible flush that darkened his feathers. In an instant, he was standing, the popcorn dish almost toppling over as he yanked wildly at his red robe, obviously embarrassed by his revealing choice of clothing.
His voice was a mixture of surprise and shame as he squawked, "B-Blitzø!" His talons smoothed the loose fabric in a fruitless attempt to regain his normal composure. “I… I wasn’t expecting you. This is… rather sudden.”
As he drank in Stolas' agitated state, Blitzø's tail flicked to both sides and his smile turned savage.
Holy shit, you're adorable when you're caught off guard.
Blitzø blushed slightly as he moved forward, despite the butler's persistent and annoying look from the hallway — for Satan’s sake, he was still there?!
You look so very gorgeous and shy, birdy… Makes me wanna eat you up.
“Sudden’s my style, hot stuff,” he drawled, voice thick with swagger. “Figured you’d want the good news in person: Marcus Reed’s a fuckin’ stain on a desk now. Job’s done, just for you.” His eyes raked over Stolas, lingering on the way the robe slipped to reveal a hint of collarbone. Fuck, I could climb you right here.
Stolas cleared his throat, regaining a sliver of composure, though his blush deepened under Blitzø’s brazen stare. “I… see. That was remarkably swift,” he said, his voice steadying, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something warmer, hungrier.
“My thanks to you, Blitzø. Your efficiency is… commendable.” With a graceful flick of his wrist, he summoned his magic, a soft glow coalescing into a leather pouch heavy with coins that materialized in the air before Blitzø. “Your payment, as agreed.”
Blitzø caught the pouch, the weight of the coins clinking in his claws, but his eyes never left Stolas.
Money’s nice, but you’re the real prize, he thought as his smirk deepened into something darker, more possessive.
The prince’s flustered blush and the shy way he tugged at his clothes made Blitzø’s obsession roar, drowning out whatever reason the Imp had left. With a muffled thud, the money hit the carpet as he let the pouch fall from his claws and strode forward, his actions slow and methodical like a predator closing in.
Stolas backed up automatically, his legs slamming into the couch as his eyes widened and his breath caught. He stumbled slightly, and before he knew it, he was pinned against the plush cushions, Blitzø’s presence a wall of heat and intent.
The Imp caged him there, one hand braced on the couch beside Stolas’ head, the other grazing the prince’s hip, his tail flicking with barely restrained energy. “You know, birdy… You look fucking delicious, all soft and cozy like this," Blitzø purred, his voice low and sultry, dripping with sin. “ Makes me wanna take that robe off myself to discover what's under it.” His eyes glinted with want and wickedness as his claws lightly grazed Stolas' side.
You’re blushing for me, Stol. Bet you’re thinking about it too… our night, my hands, your moans.
Stolas’ feathers ruffled, his blush scorching as he pressed back against the couch, trapped by Blitzø’s intensity. “B-Blitzø, this is…” he started, but his voice faltered, a mix of flustered nerves and something deeper, a spark that mirrored Blitzø’s own hunger.
Fuck, I know you want this, Blitzø thought, leaning closer, his breath hot against Stolas’ beak. "C'mon, baby," he purred in a sultry tone. "You trying to tell me you haven't been dirtying your sheets while dreaming about me since last time? Bet you’d look even prettier screaming my name.”
His tail coiled around Stolas’ ankle, a possessive claim, his heart alight with the thrill of having the prince right where he wanted him.
Stolas was frozen, his lithe frame pressed back against the cushions, his breath shallow and uneven. His usually regal, empty red eyes… always so composed, so distant… suddenly shifted, white pupils appearing and dilating into unmistakable heart-shapes, glowing with a raw, vulnerable intensity that hit Blitzø like a punch to the gut.
Holy fuck. He swallowed hard, his insides unraveling and guts twisting as his blush deepened.
Those eyes… You’re looking at me like I’m everything.
The sight was like a drug, a confirmation of Stolas’ desire, but it sparked a darker thought, a venomous coil of jealousy slithering through his guts.
How many others have seen you like this? Who else gets those fucking adorable heart-eyes?
The idea of anyone else witnessing Stolas’ vulnerability, his unguarded want, sent a blade of jealousy twisting through Blitzø’s core.
You’re mine, Stol. No one else gets this.
Driven by that possessive fire, Blitzø moved, climbing onto Stolas’ lap with the grace of a deadly predator, straddling the prince’s thighs. As he grasped Stolas' jaw with a forceful touch, those heart-shaped pupils met his gaze, the large robe bunching beneath his claws.
"Say, gorgeous," Blitzø muttered in a low, menacing growl tinged with hunger and jealousy. “You get this nervous with anyone else? Those pretty eyes go all heart-shaped for other fuckers, or am I the lucky winner?”
His thumb brushed Stolas’ beak in a teasing caress, his tail tightening around the prince’s ankle.
Tell me I’m the only one.
The Imp’s jealousy was a gnawing beast, his obsession screaming for him to claim every piece of Stolas for himself. I will kill anyone else who has seen you like this.
Stolas' flush intensified and his feathers trembled as he attempted to formulate a reply, his voice trailing off in a succession of quiet, unintelligible stammers. "I-I, it's n-not, B-Blitzø…" His talons clawed at the couch, those heart-shaped pupils fluttering, wide and exposed, displaying a mixture of uncontrollable need and agitated dread.
The intensity of Blitzø, his closeness, and the weight of those envious, intense inquiries destroyed the prince's customary eloquence.
Fuck, you can’t even talk. Blitzø’s smirk sharpened, though his envy still churned. You’re a mess for me, but who else has gotten to make you this way?
He leaned closer, his lips hovering near Stolas’ beak, his breath hot. “C’mon, birdy, spit it out. Am I the only one who gets you like this, or do I gotta start breaking faces?”
Stolas’ stammering grew quieter, his eyes locked on Blitzø’s, those heart-shaped pupils a beacon that both thrilled and tormented him. As his claws tightened their grip on Stolas’ jaw and his heart churned with a whirlpool of love and possessiveness, Blitzø’s only thought was, You're mine. And I'll find out if you've looked at anyone else like this and if so… I will make sure they disappear.
Driven by a savage, primal need to own, Blitzø surged forward, crushing his mouth to Stolas’ beak in a heated, claiming kiss… fierce, unrelenting, like he was branding the prince as his through nothing but tongue and teeth.
The taste of him… all rich wine and sticky-sweet popcorn… coated Blitzø’s senses like a fucking drug.He growled low in his throat, lips moving rougher, hungrier, fueled by the need to devour him, the need to tear out every trace of anyone who'd ever dared touch what was his.
His pants strained painfully as he deepened the kiss, grinding harder into Stolas’ lap, lost to the thick, heady swirl of possessiveness ripping through his veins.
Fuck, you taste like heaven.
But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. His mind burned with twisted need… he wanted to eat Stolas alive, wanted to rip him open and claw away every memory of anyone else.
Purify him. Mark him forever.
Stolas whimpered softly into the kiss, melting against Blitzø, his arms wrapping tightly around the Imp’s back and trembling with want. The submissive little sound cracked Blitzø wide open, lit him up from the inside out like gasoline poured over an open flame.
Yeah, that’s it, Blitzø thought darkly. Give yourself to me.
With a rough growl, Blitzø shoved his tongue past Stolas’ beak, exploring, tasting, claiming him with every bold, ruthless stroke. The Imp took the lead, dominating him, each caress of their tangle tongues a silent oath of mine, mine, mine.
Stolas arched closer, his heart-shaped pupils blown wide with raw, helpless need, clinging to Blitzø like he’d drown without him. His talons dug deep into Blitzø’s jacket, a mute, desperate plea for more.
Every breathless, broken sound that spilled from Stolas’ mouth vibrated against Blitzø’s lips, stoking the jealousy inside him into a frenzied roar.
Say my name, Stol.
His claws slid up to the prince’s throat, tilting his head back and forcing Stolas to bare himself to the Imp. Blitzø continued grinding into him, repeating the steady rhythm until Stolas was a shivering, moaning wreck.
“C’mon, birdy,” Blitzø rasped against him, voice filthy and raw. “Moan for me. Let me hear how fucking good you have it.”
His tail slithered between Stolas’ thighs like a serpent with a purpose, the velvet touch brushing higher, closer, until it hovered maddeningly near the radiating heat where the owl ached for contact.
Stolas shuddered, a breathless gasp caught in his throat, his entire body tightening under the Imp’s teasing advance. Blitzø grinned into the kiss… a dark, wicked curve of his lips… savoring the prince’s unraveling with every trembling reaction.
Mine. Only mine.
Driven by vicious hunger, Blitzø bit down on Stolas’ tongue, a sharp, deliberate action that sent the prince shuddering. They broke the kiss with twin gasps, a wet snap of saliva stringing between them and catching in the TV’s glow like a silken thread.
Stolas gasped, his pupils burning bright with lust, his trembling chest heaving under the thin robe that had slipped further down his shoulders, exposing more of that vulnerable, touch-starved body. His lips were parted like he was trying to speak… but only broken, desperate sounds came out.
Blitzø stared at the bird beneath him, his gaze wild and wrecked and ravenous, his chest heaving to match Stolas’.
Fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous. Who else has heard you moan like that? I’ll fucking end them… I’ll make sure you’ll never even think about looking at anyone else ever again.
Stolas' feathers shook with every broken, shuddered breath he drew in, and his robe hung off him like a gift half-unwrapped, a vision of submission Blitzø knew he could never survive… and would never, ever share.
Blitzø’s tail slipped lower, unerringly drawn to Stolas’ most vulnerable point, the spade-shaped tip teasing over his entrance with a slow, deliberate flick.
The contact was maddening… a sinful whisper of pressure… and Stolas moaned, sharp and breathless, his entire body arching beneath the Imp.
A tremor rippled up Blitzø’s spine at the sound, wicked satisfaction lighting up his gaze as he pressed in closer, intoxicated by the bird’s unraveling.
You're mine, Stol.
He drew in closer, their breaths tangling in the heated air between them, and Blitzø let out a low, prideful groan that rumbled straight from his chest… filthy and wicked, laced with pure, unfiltered ownership.
“Look at you,” he growled, voice dripping with satisfaction as his amber gaze devoured the lanky prince. “All fucked up for me.”
The spade of Blitzø’s tail shoved deeper into the searing heat of Stolas’ cloaca, the muscle already slick and dripping with desperate want. The prince’s body bowed against him, spine arching like he was offering himself up as a sacrifice, crimson eyes rolling back into his skull, lost in a haze of need.
Fuck, look at him… so fucking starved for me. He’s mine, all mine, and I’m gonna carve that into every inch of his soul.
The air between them crackled, thick with a primal, unspoken hunger that clawed at their restraint. Every heartbeat was a challenge, a dare to see who’d break first under the weight of their obsession.
The Imp’s claws raked down Stolas’ chest, slow and possessive, each drag a vow to claim, to mark, to own… even if the skin didn’t tear and the feathers didn’t fall, the memory would burn forever.
Blitzø’s eyes locked onto the parted beak that allowed ragged, shuddering breaths to spill from his bird, timing each thrust of his tail with cruel precision to wrench louder, needier gasps from that perfect throat.
His hand gripped the back of Stolas’ crest, yanking those soft feathers hard, forcing that elegant neck to bare itself to him like a fucking offering.
Oh, you beautiful bastard, you’re mine to ruin. No one else gets this. No one else gets you.
He licked his lips, the motion borderline feral, before dragging his tongue over the column of Stolas’ exposed throat, savoring the trembling pulse beneath. Stolas moaned his name and it was a goddamn symphony, the high only amplified by the way his taloned hands clutched at Blitzø’s back, surrendering everything.
That’s it, Stol. Give it all to me. I’m all you fucking need now.
“You’re fucking mine, Stol,” Blitzø purred, his voice low and venomous with adoration, grazing his sharp teeth over the damp feathers he’d just tasted.
His tail pressed deeper, writhing inside Stolas’ soaked core, slow and relentless, staking its claim with every deliberate twist. The owl quaked beneath him, legs trembling so violently that they dared to inch closed.
The Imp snarled, shoving a knee between Stolas’ thighs and forcing them wide open again. “Don’t you dare hide from me. Keep those legs spread, or I’ll fucking wreck you.” His voice was a growl, but his eyes blazed with something darker… something that screamed possessively into the depths of Stolas’ ruby-red eyes.
I need you too much to let you go.
Stolas’ breath hitched, a wicked chuckle slipping out. “What if I want you to wreck me, my darling?”
“Filthy fucking whore,” Blitzø spat, but his grin was all teeth, wild with delight. His bird was just as twisted, just as broken, just as perfect as he was.
You’re my match, Stol. My fucked-up, gorgeous match, and I’m never letting you go. I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone else touch you.
Blitzø’s tail drove deeper into Stolas’ slick, quivering cloaca, each thrust a possessive claim, the spade twisting and curling with merciless precision to unravel the prince beneath him. The owl’s moans spilled out, raw and desperate, his body arching into Blitzø’s touch like he was chasing salvation.
Fuck, Stol, you’re a goddamn masterpiece. So needy, so mine. No one else gets to touch you like this. No one.
The Imp’s eyes devoured every inch of Stolas… the sweat-slicked shimmer of his feathers, the frantic rise and fall of his chest, the way his talons clenched at the Imp’s jacket in ecstasy.
Blitzø’s claws gripped Stolas’ crest tighter, yanking just enough to keep that elegant throat exposed… vulnerable… his.
He sank his teeth into the soft feathers at Stolas’ neck, biting down with a growl, his grasp on the prince’s throat not hard enough to draw blood but enough to stake his claim. The owl gasped, a shudder racing through him as Blitzø nibbled along the sensitive curve, savoring the taste of salt and feathers.
You’re mine, Stol. Every fucking inch of you belongs to me.
“Blitzø—!” Stolas’ voice cracked, his plea a broken hymn, his legs trembling as they fought to stay spread under the Imp’s earlier command. The heat of his cunt clenched tightly around Blitzø’s tail, pulsing with every relentless thrust. The Imp’s growl deepened, vibrating against Stolas’ throat as he nipped harder, lost in the taste of him.
I could stay here forever, marking you, making sure everyone knows you’re taken.
“That’s it, baby,” he snarled against Stolas’ neck, voice thick with possessive hunger. “Fall apart for me. Show me you’re mine.” His tail quickened, plunging deeper, the spade flicking against that sweet spot inside that made Stolas sob with pleasure.
Blitzø’s teeth grazed higher, nibbling along the edge of the bird’s jaw, each bite a vow, every scrape a chain that bound them closer together.
No one else gets this. No one else gets you, and I will fucking murder anyone that even dares look at you.
Stolas’ breaths turned frantic, his body tensing as the edge of release loomed. Blitzø felt the shift… the tightening grip of Stolas’ cloaca, the way his moans pitched into something desperate.
Only then did Blitzø pull back from his bird’s neck to savor the view, his lips tingling with the taste of feathers and preening oil. His tail kept up its punishing rhythm as he locked his gaze on Stolas’ face… crimson eyes fluttering shut, beak parted in a silent scream, once-white feathers ruffled and flushed with ecstasy.
The owl’s body seized, cloaca spasming wildly around Blitzø’s tail as he came, slick heat flooding down the appendage as Stolas’ gasps shattered the air.
Holy fuck, you’re perfect. Look at you, coming undone just for me.
Blitzø slowed his tail but kept it buried inside, relishing the aftershocks that trembled through Stolas’ core. His eyes stayed fixed on the prince, drinking in every detail of his wrecked beauty… disheveled feathers, heaving chest, the dazed glow that shone from those half-open eyes.
Blitzø leaned down, his lips brushing Stolas’ ear, his voice a low, feral purr. “You’re fucking mine now, Stol. Look at you, falling apart on my tail like that. No one else gets this. No one else gets you.” His claws traced Stolas’ trembling thigh, sealing the claim with a possessive caress.
I’d burn Hell itself to keep you.
Stolas’ eyes flickered open, hazy and adoring, a soft, broken smile curving his beak.
The Imp leaned in until his forehead just barely brushed Stolas’. He purred against the prince’s beak, his dark, playful snarl mingling with the owl’s trembling breaths as he growled, “So, what’s it gonna be next, huh, gorgeous? What pathetic little excuse are you gonna cook up only for you to crawl back to me again?”
Blitzø slowly withdrew his tail from the dripping, intoxicating heat of Stolas’ cunt, the slick that coated it making it glisten in the dim light. He brought the spade to his lips, tongue darting out to lap up the sweet, musky essence, eyes locked on Stolas’ flushed, trembling form. The taste was fucking divine, a drug he’d kill to keep to himself.
This is mine, baby. Every drop of you belongs to me.
Blitzø’s smirk curled cruelly as he added, voice dipping lower, “Another random fucking nobody I have to kill for you? Or are you finally gonna admit you’re just starving for me?”
The words were sweet, almost teasing… but underneath, a sharp, envious bite poisoned every syllable. His eyes roamed Stolas’ face hungrily, searching, hunting for the slightest hint that some other fucker might have tasted what should belong to him alone.
You better not be pulling this shit with anyone else, he thought darkly, his obsession burning hotter, gnawing at him with the desperate need to own, to erase, to consume until no piece of Stolas existed without him carved into it.
Blitzø’s proximity, his dark, predatory teasing, the way his gaze tracked the owl like a predator ready to pounce… it was enough to make Stolas stumble, to cause the prince’s breath to catch visibly, to send his chest into a series of violent shudders as he fought to steady himself. His pupils, once heart-shaped with overwhelming lust, snapped back to near pinpricks… revealing the real, fragile nervousness that flickered through him.
A flush tore across Stolas’ cheeks, and a laugh… light, musical, but unmistakably shaky… escaped him. It was the sweetest fucking sound Blitzø had ever heard: part delight, part fear, part helpless surrender.
And it fueled Blitzø’s hunger like blood on fresh snow.
He’s slipping. He’s fucking slipping into my hands.
Stolas’ talons tightening helplessly on Blitzø’s jacket, desperate for the grounding touch even as he melted into him. “Oh, Blitzø," Stolas breathed, his voice velvet-slick but trembling, the sound of someone already halfway ruined. "You’re… incorrigible."
The words made Blitzø’s blood purr with dark satisfaction. Good. He wanted Stolas dizzy and pliant… needed the prince to crave him like oxygen.
The owl shifted closer, pupils blown wide, the edges of his flimsy robe slipping lower with each subtle movement to expose flushed skin and trembling, downy feathers. “Interestingly enough…" Stolas whispered, almost shyly, "I’m hosting a masquerade party this weekend... If you have the time, I would… love for you to join me.”
Blitzø’s grin sharpened into something feral, his teeth glinting as vicious triumph flared in his gut.
A fucking masquerade? Oh, birdy… you sweet, naive fool. You’re practically begging to be claimed.
Visions raced through Blitzø’s mind: Stolas in a sleek, delicate mask, pressed against him in some dark alcove… Stolas in an elaborate outfit, clothes askew and feathers mussed… Stolas in the middle of a ballroom, flushed and crying out Blitzø’s name… and the whole of Hell’s elite standing there, watching helplessly as Blitzø claimed the prince as his own.
Mine. I’ll make you fucking mine, and I’ll do it in front of all of them so that there’s no fucking doubt about it.
But underneath the victorious haze, a dark, rabid jealousy clawed at him, whispering ugly truths.
Who else is gonna touch you? Who else will fucking dare to stare at you like you’re theirs?
Blitzø’s claws slid higher over his soft body, feeling the frantic flutter of the owl’s heartbeat, grazing Stolas’ throat. The touch pulled a shivery gasp from the prince’s parted beak, to which Blitzø smirked slightly.
“A party, huh?" Blitzø growled lowly, his voice rough and dripping with hunger. "Bet you’ll look like a goddamn wet dream, Stol. But let me make one thing clear—" His breath ghosted past the prince’s feathers, hot and heavy against Stolas' ear. “I’m not fucking sharing you, not even for a second.”
His tail lashed, anchoring the prince even closer. The tiny whimper Stolas let out was addictive, and Blitzø needed moremoremore. His birdy’s talons trembled against his chest, clutching tighter, almost as if he were trying to carve himself into the Imp’s very being.
“I… I’ll ensure you have my attention," Stolas whispered, his voice cracking around the edges, vulnerable and overwhelmed.
Good. You won’t even fucking remember anyone else.
Blitzø crushed their mouths together in a savage kiss, his tongue forcing its way deep, laying claim. His hips ground into Stolas’ lap, drinking down every whimper, every desperate little sound. And as he kissed him, Blitzø’s mind twisted further into the deep depths of obsession.
He wasn’t just going to crash that masquerade.
No, he was going to brand Stolas.
Not with fire. No… it needs to be something deeper. Something permanent.
The memory of Verosika’s wicked potion flashed behind Blitzø’s eyes… truth serum, aphrodisiac, and addiction all in one. He’d get it. Slip it into Stolas’ drink. Make the prince shatter publicly, sob his love for Blitzø, expose every filthy secret he'd hidden away.
Everyone will fucking see that you’re fucking mine.
But that wasn’t enough. Blitzø’s possessive madness spiraled further… he wanted more. He wanted to mark Stolas’ skin. He wanted Stolas trembling, panting, body decorated in Blitzø’s bites and bruises, claw marks dragging over that soft chest, raw proof under the flimsy layers that no one else would ever, could ever erase.
He’d fuck him at that party if he had to. Drag him into some shadowed corner, force the sounds of Stolas’ broken moans to echo down the gilded halls until the entire fucking party knew. Maybe he’d even make Stolas wear Blitzø’s jacket for the rest of the night, drenched in scent and sweat and ownership.
The thought made Blitzø’s cock throb painfully. His claws scraped lightly down Stolas’ throat, leaving faint, invisible trails as he deepened the kiss mercilessly.
But Stolas… that clever, wicked bird… sensed the shift in Blitzø’s mind.
With a trembling hand, Stolas slid down Blitzø’s back, grabbed the sensitive spade of his tail, and squeezed, rubbing it slowly and mercilessly between his talons.
A brutal, electrifying shudder wracked Blitzø’s body. Their kiss faltered, a strangled growl escaping him as his knees buckled slightly.
Fuck, Stol, you dirty fucking bastard.
Stolas pulled back from what remained of their shared kiss, their faces barely an inch apart. His eyes had narrowed to sharp, predatory slits, and his voice was a low, dangerous purr. “When you kiss me, Blitzø,” Stolas said, still stroking the Imp’s tail between his fingertips, “You’re not allowed to think about anyone else. Only me.”
It wasn’t a request — it was a command. And Blitzø, panting and half-mad with want, could only let out a rough, broken chuckle. “Promise, birdy,” he rasped against Stolas’ beak. “It’s all you. Only ever fucking you.” His thoughts echoed his words, raging dark and wild deep inside his mind.
You’ll see soon enough, my prince. After that party, there won’t be a fucking soul in Hell who doesn’t know you’re mine, and there won’t be a part of you left untouched, unmarked, and fucking unclaimed. Not your heart, not your soul… not even that sweet, precious body.
Stolas would leave that masquerade dripping Blitzø’s name from his lips and Blitzø’s scent from his skin, and everyone in Hell would know that the prince… was ruined, radiant, and absolutely, irrevocably owned.
Forever.
Chapter 5: He Looked at Me Like I Was the Prize — So I Let Him Take Me
Notes:
One masquerade and two horny, obssessed demons, what could go wrong?
Many many thanks to cutiepatootie RileyKate37 for beta reading my shitty grammar ♥
Chapter Text
The pale morning brightness seeped through the towering, arched windows of Stolas’ lavish palace, illuminating the chambers in a bruised gold light. The metallic tang of blood and the lovely scent of crushed lavender filled the air as the prince sat on his bed, the velvet canopies pouring down from above like rivers of iron-rich blood.
Stolas appeared almost calm as he carefully cleaned and polished the bloodstained blades that were strewn across his silk sheets. He was wearing a sleek black robe, unblemished save for a smear of crimson at the hem, the mark almost like a lover's reckless kiss. Each blade sang a quiet, metallic note as he traced it with his talons, humming in the charged silence as he erased the last traces of those who had dared to touch his Blitzø.
Those pathetic, disgusting demons who had ever dared kiss him, had ever believed that they could claim a piece of what belonged solely to Stolas.
He hummed a soft, lilting Goetian lullaby from his childhood, a sweet contrast to the carnage he had so delicately wrought. His luminous eyes, alight with savage glee, caught the morning light and gleamed like twin stars.
Oh, my darling Blitzy... you're mine now, completely. Free from every shadow that ever dared to cling to you.
The kills had been poetry… swift, exact, a dark benediction.
The succubus in Lust, her smirk ripped away by a blade that sliced through her throat like silk. The hellhound in Greed, his jealous growl silenced forever by a whispered curse that forced his heart to collapse inside his chest. The Imp from the dusty circus days, sobbing and begging in the filth before Stolas had torn his wretched body apart, piece by pitiful piece.
Each death had been an offering. A gift. A necessary act of love.
They had touched Blitzø’s fire once… but none of them had deserved to carry his scent, to burn beneath his touch.
Only I deserve that. Only I deserve you.
Stolas' talons lingered on the warm hilt of an ornate dagger, the edge of which was still tacky with blood, and a shudder of pleasure rippled down his spine.
He thought back to that kiss, days ago, and how it had split his soul open. Blitzø, wild and hungry, had straddled him on the couch, lips crashing into the owl’s with a desperate, feral passion that had stolen Stolas' breath. The taste of Blitzø… sweetness, smoke, bloodlust… had seared itself into him. Their tongues tangled as the Imp’s clawed fingers gripped his feathers, grounding him as Stolas fell apart under him.
That bite on his tongue, sharp and possessive, had torn a broken moan from deep within him… proof that Blitzø wasn’t just playing. Proof that he wanted him.
You claimed me that night, my love, Stolas thought, his talons trembling slightly with the force of the memory. And I surrendered so eagerly.
It had been then, during that fevered, messy kiss, that his heart-shaped pupils had bloomed fully… bare and unhidden, shameless in their love.
A gift for Blitzø and Blitzø alone. A sign of his devotion… and his madness.
I cleared your past, my darling Blitzy, he thought as he set another polished blade aside. I scrubbed it clean with blood and song. Now nothing remains but us.
His humming grew louder, fiercer, vibrating with a manic joy. He picked up the last bloodied knife and cleaned it with the same reverence one might give a holy relic, the rag blackening in his hands.
The masquerade. The stage for his triumph. Stolas' heart beat faster, the thought of Blitzø masked and grinning and his setting his feathers on end.
I invited you, my love. You will dance with me. And all of Hell will know you're mine by night's end.
The Grimoire throbbed as it sat on the bedside table, its glowing pulse soft and steady like a heartbeat, ready to expose any and all new competitors or lingering idiots who would dare try and take what was rightfully his.
Let them try, Stolas thought, a jagged smile slicing across his face. Their screams will be nothing but another verse in our love song.
A deep, hallowed silence permeated the room as he put the last knife aside.
With a predatory grace, Stolas rose from the bed and let the black, bloodsoaked robe fall from his slim body. It pooled elegantly on the floor, collecting at his feet like a discarded skin left to decay. He let his talons float over silks and velvets as he traversed the room towards his elaborate wardrobe, an ebony monolith carved with constellations that screamed secrets only he knew.
His hand found his favorite red robe: a rich, flowing, and decadent piece. A gown that revealed his shoulders, collarbone, and breast plumage in a way that promised equal parts devotion and depravity.
Like a lover's phantom touch, the silk dragged seductively over his flesh as he slipped inside the garment.
He adjusted the robe in front of a gilded mirror, admiring how it held him in place and gave him the appearance of being both touchable and untouchable. The memory of Blitzø's amber eyes scouting him, possessive and predatory, made the owl’s heart race. The Imp had made no attempt to hide the lustful passion behind his gaze, and Stolas was all the more grateful for that.
You will see me soon, my darling, he thought feverishly. And you won't look away.
He leaned closer to the mirror, a slow, wicked smile curling his beak.
The kills had cleared the past. The masquerade would bind the future.
And when Blitzø kissed him next, when he took him again with that snarling, desperate hunger… Stolas would make sure there was nothing left of him untouched.
Body, mind, soul… Every last trembling piece.
All of Blitzø… His fire, his fury, his love… would belong to Stolas. Forever.
Stolas turned, his tail feathers waving with a satisfied royal grace. "Pringles!" he yelled in a loud, authoritative voice. The name reverberated throughout the large room and it was only a few moments before the wiry butler Imp emerged, his eyes showing a glint of caution at Stolas' dazzling intensity but the rest of his pinched face fixed in its typical frown.
“Yes, my prince?” Pringles asked, bowing stiffly.
Stolas’ smile was both charming and menacing, his voice a velvet purr laced with purpose. “We must finalize the plans for the masquerade this weekend. I want it to be… unforgettable.” The owl paced slowly, his talons tapping against the marble floor thoughtfully. “The guest list… Ensure that it doesn’t include any of those annoying Goetias. I don’t want to invite anyone who might… distract from my focus.”
No rivals, no threats to my Blitzø.
His mind flashed to the Grimoire, ready to vet any attendee who might challenge his claim. “The ballroom must be draped in crimson and gold, with starlight enchantments overhead. And masks… they must be exquisite, unique.”
Pringles scribbled on his notepad, his expression sour but obedient. “And the entertainment, my prince?”
Stolas’ eyes gleamed, his smile sharpening. “A live orchestra, something… intoxicating. Dances that demand closeness.” He paused, his thoughts drifting to Blitzø in his arms, their bodies pressed together and his darling Imp’s smirk faltering under his touch.
“And security… keep it discreet but ironclad. No uninvited guests.” No one who might have known you before me. His kills had cleared Blitzø’s past, but Stolas would take no chances.
“As you wish,” Pringles said, bowing again, though his eyes lingered on the knives scattered across the bed, a silent question he didn’t dare voice.
Stolas dismissed him with a wave, turning back to the mirror, his reflection a vision of elegance and menace. This masquerade will be our stage, Blitzø.
His heart swelled with fervor, the memory of their kiss on his very couch… Blitzø’s tongue, his possessive purr… stroking his hunger. He adjusted his robe, baring a bit more shoulder in a calculated lure, while his thighs rubbed together in an unconscious attempt to find some kind of release.
You’ll be mine, publicly, irrevocably.
Stolas glided through the endless, gilded corridors of his palace like a phantom crowned in starlight. Shadows clung to the sweeping train of his crimson-feathered cloak, whispering in his wake. The prince’s heart, blackened and ablaze, beat with a relentless, gnawing hunger that no amount of bloodshed could truly soothe. The recent cleansings… the swift murders of Blitzø’s past entanglements… had only carved deeper the raw, festering well of jealousy that resided inside him.
But what if others still attempt to catch your eye, my precious one?
The thought alone made his luminous eyes narrow, his feathers ruffling in silent, simmering rage. The memory of Blitzø’s kiss… searing, brutal, so perfect… lingered, the sweet poison coursing through his veins soothing him. It was both a balm and a blade, a reminder of what he had won... and a warning of what he might still lose if he wasn’t careful.
I must ensure you see only me. There can be no risk. No chance.
With a graceful sweep of his arm, Stolas pushed open the heavy doors of his private study. The room swallowed him like a cathedral of forbidden magic… its towering shelves crammed with ancient tomes, relics of forgotten bloodlines, and vials of trembling, volatile magic.
The air itself was thick, suffocating, alive with the heady scent of brewing tonics, burnt parchment, and the metallic tang of raw, sweet enchantments.
At the center of the room, illuminated by a sacred pool of cold, flickering light, stood his massive desk, cluttered with the tools of his craft. On it, lying open like a willing sacrifice, was his Grimoire… its pages thrumming with silent, eager malice, muttering ancient promises only Stolas could hear.
He drifted to the workbench, his talons dragging sensually across the mortar, pestle, crucibles, and other forbidden ingredients spread out before him. His precious hoard glittered in the harsh light: moonlit petals glistening with dew, viscous demon’s tears quivering in their vials, hot pink succubus venom swirling like liquid desire.
A sharp, unhinged smile split his beak, his chest trembling with anticipation.
A love potion, he thought, the idea so sweet, so utterly perfect that it made his entire body tense with need. A binding spell. One to snare Blitzø’s heart, chain his soul to mine... forever.
Stolas let out a low, melodious hum… the same childhood Goetian lullaby he'd sung while cleaning the blood from his knives. His voice, soaked with dark tenderness, filled the room as he began crafting the potion.
He added a single droplet of succubus venom first… fuschia and rich, splattering across the base of the crucible like blood spilled onto holy ground.
"For your passion," Stolas purred, picturing Blitzø’s smirk, the flash of his fangs, the way his tail curled possessively when he was pleased.
Moonlit petals were next, crushed into a fine, shimmering dust between his talons, their powder glinting as it fell into the mixture like stardust.
"For your desire," he whispered, voice thick with lust and worship.
He uncorked the vial of demon’s tears with a delicate twist and poured them in slowly, watching the shimmering fluid bleed into the brew.
"For your devotion," he crooned, shivering as he imagined Blitzø’s amber eyes glowing… not with the fleeting lust he shared so easily, but with real, irrevocable love. For him. Only him.
A final handful of ground starstone, pulsing faintly with celestial power, crowned the mixture.
"To make it eternal."
Stolas' talons trembled, caught in the storm of his own obsession as he stirred the ingredients with slow, reverent movements. He chanted now, old, forbidden words that crackled through the room like living things, wrapping themselves around the spell, twisting it into something sharp and irreversible.
The potion shimmered, pulsed, breathed… its surface swirling into a deep, seductive tone, the color that of freshly spilled blood and pulsating muscles exposed to the outside world. His heart soared at the sight.
No one else will ever hold your gaze again, my love.
He saw it then, as clearly as if it were written in prophecy: Blitzø at the masquerade, drink in hand, lips stained red, his eyes glassy and heavy-lidded with love, his world shrunk to a single point… Stolas.
Those filthy circus Imps, those fleeting flings... gone. Forgotten. Erased.
Only Stolas would remain. Only Stolas would matter.
The Grimoire pulsed approvingly, its pages fluttering in the still air as if sensing his triumph.
With a lover’s care, Stolas decanted the shimmering potion into a delicate glass vial, the surface etched with intricate binding runes to preserve its terrible potency. He turned it over in his palm, admiring how the potion caught the light like liquid fire, like a promise made in blood.
He slipped it into a hidden pocket of his crimson robe, close to his heart.
At the masquerade, darling, you’ll drink. You’ll smile at me... and you’ll belong to me. Entirely.
He turned back to the Grimoire, his talons skimming over its fevered pages, double-checking the guest list, his mind a flurry of calculations and contingencies. There would be no mistakes. No slip-ups. No rivals.
The masquerade would not just be a party… it would be their coronation. Their binding. The night that all of Hell would witness the truth:
Blitzø was his. Forevermore.
And should anyone dare try and intervene… Their screams would be a symphony. Their blood would become his wine. Their bodies would be his next altar.
…
The vast ballroom in Stolas' palace was a picture of luxury, transformed for the masquerade into a world of scarlet and gold. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft and dreamy glow over velvet tapestries and gilded columns. The orchestra played a soft and slow tune amid the madness of Hell's elite.
Demons of various royal backgrounds were wearing ostentatious masks of feather, gem, and bone, their laughter piercing and rich. Stolas stood at the center of it all, his well-tailored, deep blue waistcoat embracing his slender body and the open collar of his white button up showing off the exquisite curve of his shoulders and chest feathers. The room was full of pretentious, fancy demons, but the prince was a stunning figure of captivating grace.
His already-small waist was cinched further by a scarlet belt, and his mask, a complex silver filigree encrusted with blue gems, framed his bright eyes, enhancing their sly gleam. The vial containing the love potion pulsed softly inside a hidden pocket, a secret pledge that would bind Blitzø to him tonight… forever.
Tonight, you’ll drink, Blitzø… and you’ll be mine forever.
The owl’s fingers grazed the vial as he searched the entryway for his darling Imp, his heart pounding with expectation.
He raised his glass as a Demoness approached, her serpentine mask curling down past her neck.
“Prince Stolas,” she drawled, offering a gloved hand, “This is an exquisite affair. The gilded cages over the chandeliers… such delightful symbolism.”
Stolas chuckled softly, tilting his head. “Cages do tend to inspire longing, don’t they?” he replied, voice velvet-smooth. “Especially when what’s inside is so... irresistible.”
The Demoness blinked, a flicker of discomfort dancing across her eyes even as they remained hidden beneath her mask. She offered a polite smile before gliding away, muttering something about the punch.
Next came Lord Veshar, adorned in a jagged iron mask and reeking of wine and desperation.
“My prince,” he slurred slightly, raising a goblet, “Hell’s tongues are wagging… you’ll be the most sought-after bachelor before this night’s end.”
“I would rather be sought after by only one,” Stolas said coolly, gaze flicking back towards the entrance. “The right one.”
Veshar laughed, thinking it a jest, and stumbled off toward the dessert table.
Stolas barely heard him. His eyes darted towards the arched doors yet again, the crowd shifting too thickly for him to see clearly.
Countess Belazare sidled up to him next, her mask an intricate spiderweb of onyx and pearl. “I adore your taste in music tonight, my prince,” she purred. “So beautifully tragic. It’s almost as if you're waiting for someone.”
That’s because I am.
Stolas inclined his head with a pleasant smile, but the grip he held on his glass grew tighter with each passing second. “Isn’t every prince waiting for his story to begin?” he replied with forced politeness.
Or… for it to finally belong to him alone.
She drifted away with a half-hearted smile, and another noble took her place, striking up a one-sided discussion about some new infernal treaty. But Stolas’ responses were half-hearted at best, his words merely hollow placeholders while his mind roiled in anticipation. Each passing second scraped against his nerves. His feathers itched in frustration.
Where are you, Blitzø?
He gave a final polite nod to the gathered lords and ladies and slipped away from the center of the ballroom, his footsteps soundless as he glided across the marble floor. Moving with practiced grace, he ducked behind a velvet curtain and made his way through a smaller hall, one lit only by enchanted lanterns.
In the quiet, with only the faint, muffled notes of the waltz preventing total silence, Stolas summoned his Grimoire from thin air. The spellbook landed in his hands with a thud of finality. His eyes glowed softly as he flipped to the marked page, a crimson sigil illuminating his feathered palm.
“Find him,” he murmured, his breath catching as he waited.
Show me my Blitzy.
The sigil pulsed… bright red, violent, hungry. It spun and twisted into a serpentine line, pointing forward.
His eyes widened.
He’s already here.
Stolas’ heart slammed against his ribs. How long have you been inside, Blitzy? Watching? Waiting? For me?
He rushed back toward the ballroom, mask firm on his face, Grimoire dissolving into smoke behind him. Re-entering the crowd, he scanned… horns, tails, masks, eyes.
His head jerked sideways, and his mask-covered eyes narrowed as they focused on a partially shadowed person resting against a golden wall. His amber eyes were flaming, and his mask was a sleek, angular design of obsidian and amber. The Imp was remarkably gorgeous, wearing a tailored black suit with gold accents.
As he eyed Stolas with a ferocity that chilled the prince to his bones, he brought a flute of champagne to his lips, the glass glinting in the light. Blitzø, Stolas thought, his heart lurching, certainty flooding him despite the disguise.
It’s you. But how? Did you sneak in, my love?
The owl's feathers shivered as he drank in the sight… the sly tilt of Blitzø’s head, the coiled danger in the lazy way he raised that flute of champagne to his mouth. Those sharp, sinful lips curled into a malicious grin around the glass, catching the light like a blade.
Stolas’ mouth went dry, his talons clenching around his drink. I love this game you're playing, my darling. I’ll love ruining you even more.
The Imp shifted, moving with the slow, predatory grace of a panther, stalking through the swirling masquerade crowd. Every step was deliberate, each glance another scorching challenge thrown at the prince.
Stolas’ breath hitched, his talons tightening around his glass, the hidden vial a burning weight in his pocket.
You’re here. And this time, Blitzø… you’ll be mine.
The moment Blitzø appeared at the edge of the ballroom, his sleek frame draped in black and gold, his obsidian mask shadowing a devil’s grin, Stolas felt the rest of Hell blur into irrelevance. The prince’s lungs forgot how to breathe. Time warped. Only Blitzø existed. Sharp horns, cocky swagger, hunger bleeding from every step. It was him. His darling Imp.
Mine. He’s mine. And tonight, he’ll know it.
Blitzø stalked through the crowd like a storm in a silk suit, eyes taking him in behind that jagged mask, licking every inch of Stolas bare with his gaze. And Stolas… draped in deep blue, chest daringly exposed, jewels shimmering along his collarbones… stood ready. Aching.
The moment they stood face to face, heat surged between them, thick and oppressive. Blitzø’s grin was downright feral.
“Well, damn,” he purred, his voice low and dark like smoke curling around a flame. “You always this fuckable, or is it just the masquerade making me want to ruin you?”
Stolas’ feathers flared with a heat he could barely disguise. His claws twitched with restraint. His eyes gleamed under his silver mask.
“I was about to ask you the same, darling,” he purred decadently, his voice threading through the tension like silk over steel. “Though I must confess…” His gaze dropped boldly down Blitzø’s form, lingering for slightly longer than was considered acceptable. “You do wear hunger like a well-fitted suit.”
Blitzø chuckled, tail flicking like a serpent behind him. “Oh, baby, I’m starving.”
His voice struck Stolas like lightning, the words slithering into his mind and cracking open every filthy fantasy he’d spent the night burying.
Suddenly, Blitzø was everywhere… in his mind, in his skin.
He’ll grab me by the throat, shove me into the shadows of this palace, rip my clothes open with those greedy hands… press me down against the wall, his mouth filthy and claiming, teeth in my feathers while he—
Stolas’ knees nearly buckled at the thought. He shivered, his feathers rippling with lust as he fought back a desperate moan.
Fuck. Not here. Not yet.
“I’ve been watching you,” Blitzø drawled, stepping so close that Stolas could smell the danger on him… a combination of gunpowder, leather, and something musky and carnal. “Seein’ you glide around like the hottest fuckin’ thing in this room… You know what that does to a guy like me?”
Stolas leaned down, the tip of his beak nearly brushing Blitzø’s ear. “Tell me,” he whispered, voice wicked. “Tell me what you’d do if there weren’t hundreds of Hell’s finest watching.”
Blitzø’s laugh was a low, lust-soaked growl. One of his clawed hands came up to cup Stolas’ cheek as he purred into his ear, “I'd have you moaning against the balcony rail before the next dance started. I'd fuck you right outta that pretty little waistcoat, see how many feathers I could tear loose with my teeth.”
Stolas gasped… quiet, breathy… but Blitzø heard it. The Imp’s eyes gleamed behind the mask like molten amber. Stolas’ mind spiraled and he straightened his spine again.
He’d bend me over my own piano. Rip an entire symphony out of me with each thrust. His claws would scratch my thighs. His tail would wrap around my neck like a collar, his voice filthy in my ear, calling me his. Fuck… Satan below, how much I want that.
He flushed, vivid images slamming through his brain: Blitzø pinning him to the ground, licking his beak clean after tearing the moans from his throat, eyes wild and shining with possession.
“Your Highness looks a little warm,” Blitzø teased, biting his lip. “Need some air? Or maybe a dark corner? I can help you get those stifling clothes off, if you need.”
“I need…” Stolas swallowed, forcing composure. He smiled slowly, seductively. “I need someone with the stamina to keep up with what’s inside my head.”
Blitzø leaned in, smirking. “I’ve got a feeling that what’s in your head would put most sinners in a coma. Lucky for you…” He brushed a knuckle down Stolas’ bare thighs, dragging it over the soft feathers. “I’m not a sinner.”
The prince’s heart thundered. His breath came faster. The weight of the love potion burned hot in his pocket, but it couldn’t match the fire Blitzø stoked in him now.
Oh, my darling… Give me one second of your unguarded self and you will be mine…
And then he got his chance. Blitzø glanced away for a split second, distracted by a passing demon’s garish mask, and Stolas seized the moment. With a practiced flick of his talons, he slipped the vial from his pocket, the crimson potion glinting like liquid fire. With a racing heart, he unscrewed the lid and poured the glistening liquid into Blitzø's champagne flute in a single, smooth motion, the potion absorbing the seething gold.
Yes, my darling, he thought, his feathers quivering with anticipation as a dizzy, insane joy swept through him. You'll adore me forever once you drink this. No one else… only me.
Stolas re-corked the vial, slipping it back into his robes with a serenity that belied the wildfire raging inside him. Behind the elegant mask, his eyes were wild… mad with euphoria, with the dizzy, insane certainty that this night would change everything.
You’ll be mine, irrevocably.
Blitzø turned back, oblivious, and close enough that his breath scorched across Stolas' exposed skin. "Are you gonna dance with me," Blitzø growled, voice rough and molten, "Or do I have to fucking beg?"
Stolas’ chuckle was low and triumphant, his eyes glinting with possessive glee. “Oh, I’ll dance with you, my dear,” he purred, his voice dripping with promise, his talons brushing Blitzø’s chest, lingering on the suit’s lapel. “But only if you can handle the heat.”
Drink, my darling, and you’ll never look away.
The bird’s obsession blazed in him, a roaring inferno as his magic and Blitzø’s deadly allure tangled around his senses, working together to bind him in chains only he could feel.
Blitzø lifted his flute, smirking with sharp, teasing malice. "To trouble, yeah?" he drawled, eyes burning through the slits of his mask. "Bet you’re the best kind, fancy bird."
Stolas' smile was serene but deadly, matching the way a predator would smile before tearing into the flesh of its maimed prey. He lifted his own glass, crystalline and glittering, never once looking away from Blitzø’s taunting gaze. "To trouble," he murmured, the words a velvet blade.
This is it, Blitzy. You’ll love me eternally.
They clinked their glasses, the sound a delicate chime amidst the ballroom’s din. Stolas brought his glass to his lips, his eyes never leaving Blitzø as the Imp tilted his flute back, the golden liquid — and the potion — sliding past his lips.
But as Stolas sipped his own drink, a strange, sweet tang bloomed over his tongue, cutting through the champagne’s crispness like a blade slicing through silk. His hand trembled, flute shuddering in his grip.
Something was wrong. Terribly, deliciously wrong.
Across from him, Blitzø froze. The Imp’s burning amber eyes widened, his pupils dilating… not with shock, but instead into familiar, glowing heart-shapes. The same transformation that was overtaking the demon in front of him was also overtaking Stolas himself. Realization struck like a thunderbolt.
He drugged me. Blitzø drugged me.
The flutes slipped from their hands, crashing in twin showers of crystal and champagne on the marble floor, the shattering lost to the ballroom’s murmuring din.
Their gazes locked, heart-shaped pupils blazing, and the world collapsed into fire. Lust, raw and searing, detonated inside Stolas’ mind, reducing every thought to ash. His body trembled with need and his mind spun off its axis, destined for the fiery star that was his ever-growing passion. The owl could feel Blitzø’s pull like gravity, the sensation akin to drowning, like coming home only to encounter a fire he couldn’t escape.
You wicked, clever, beautiful thing. You turned my game against me.
Blitzø snapped first, lunging forward with a ragged, animalistic growl that rumbled from deep in his chest. His hands, trembling with barely-restrained hunger, grabbed hold of Stolas' thighs, clutching, squeezing, claiming. His breathing was broken and heavy, the expression on his face one of a starving man having been served his final, forbidden feast after years of waiting.
He looked up at Stolas, his mask slipping just enough to reveal the pure, ravenous look that raged within his burning, heart-shaped pupils… a look that promised ruin and worship all at once. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Blitzø pressed his face between Stolas’ parted legs, burying himself in the space where the owl’s heat poured off him like a drug.
The hot, shuddering gust of Blitzø’s breath hit the owl’s already aching, dripping core directly, and the shock of it sent a violent, involuntary shudder ripping through the prince’s tall frame.
Lucifer, Blitzy, he thought, his mind a helpless snarl of lust. I’m going to fall apart if you so much as breathe on me again…
Blitzø's hands crept higher with agonizing slowness, his claws dragging up Stolas' trembling legs, savoring every inch of soft, yielding feathers that passed beneath his palms. His touch was rough, almost reverent, like he knew he was crossing a line he could never uncross… and had every intention of burning past it anyway.
When his palms finally cupped the curve of Stolas’ ass, he squeezed hard, drawing a shaky gasp from the prince… the prince who was already so lost, so molten with need, he was seconds away from just snapping, from grabbing Blitzø’s head and forcing him closer, from grinding against that sinful mouth right there in front of Hell's highest elite.
Let them watch, the thought hissed through Stolas' fevered mind. Let them watch as you make me yours.
Their eyes locked. Stolas' gaze was heavy-lidded and swimming in delirious, desperate lust, while Blitzø's pupils were blown wide, the Imp panting like a beast in heat. The prince’s knees nearly buckled from the weight of that look alone, his whole body screaming to simply fall into it, to surrender.
And for a moment… for one blistering second… Blitzø almost did. He leaned in, dragging in a slow, savage breath right against the soaked heat of Stolas' arousal, the Imp’s shudder rattling through both their bodies like a breaking dam.
But somehow, through sheer, fraying willpower, Blitzø’s claws flexed instead of grabbing. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, visibly fighting himself as he buried his face closer, desperate just to breathe Stolas in… desperate enough that his restraint looked like it might snap at any second.
His muffled voice was thick, choked with hunger and longing. “Fuck, birdy… you smell like you were made for me…”
And Stolas… trembling, burning, heart pounding so hard that it shook his very ribcage… knew that Blitzø was only one shallow breath away from completely losing himself, from dragging them both down into the fire they'd started. What once began as a spark of passion in the night was now a blaze no potion could ever hope to control.
But then he snatched Stolas’ wrist, the touch scorching and electric, and yanked him through the churning crowd. Their passage went unnoticed, the surrounding throng of masked demons too caught up in their own indulgence to care about two beings on the edge of combustion.
They stumbled into a darkened niche near the ballroom’s edge, hidden from prying eyes. With a snarl of hunger, Blitzø slammed Stolas against the cold marble, the prince's bare shoulders shocked by the chill… but it was Blitzø's body, fever-hot and pinning him there, that stole his breath.
“I’m not letting anyone else see you like this, Stolas," Blitzø snarled, voice low and shaking with feral need, each word cutting through the air like a brand. Before the owl could even react, Blitzø caged him against the cold marble, their bodies pressed together so tightly that Stolas could feel the Imp's racing heartbeat slamming against his own.
Blitzø’s masked face twisted into something borderline vicious… a snarl of lust and possessiveness so raw that it was almost violent.
Those potion-induced heart-shaped pupils still burned in Blitzø’s eyes… mocking, breathtaking, damning, glowing so fiercely that Stolas swore they could scorch his soul straight through the mask. It was unbearable, maddening, the way Blitzø looked at him… like he was a feast, a battlefield, a lover, and a possession all at once.
And there was no escape. No air. No mercy.
Only Blitzø, only this, and the vicious, beautiful gravity pulling them both into complete obliteration.
"Fuck," Blitzø rasped, voice rough as gravel, "you’re drivin’ me insane, birdy."
He planted one hand against the wall beside Stolas' waist, the other grasping at the prince’s hip, claws digging in deep enough to leave bruises. "Whatever the hell was in that drink, birdy," Blitzø growled, a low, hungry rumble in his chest, "It’s got me fucked up for you."
Their breaths tangled, fever-hot, the scent of champagne, magic, and desperate need coursing heavily between them. Stolas' blood thundered in his ears.
Good, he thought savagely as he tilted his head up, inviting Blitzø closer. Burn for me, my love. Burn until you can’t breathe without me.
A delirious, fevered glee roared through Stolas, slamming into the seething lust boiling beneath his skin. His heart pounded like a war drum as Blitzø’s heart-shaped pupils… identical to his own… locked onto him with a hunger so fierce it scorched the space between them.
Bound, Stolas thought savagely. By my potion, by your trap… it doesn’t matter. We’re bound together forever, my love. We are finished creatures.
Blitzø’s claws dug mercilessly into his hips, pressing him to the cold marble wall as he crowded the prince closer, closer, closer, until there was no space left between them, just heat, friction, and desperation.
With a sudden, savage growl, Blitzø gripped Stolas’ thighs, yanking his legs up and wrapping them around his waist. The sudden move dragged a gasp from Stolas as he slid down the wall, their masked faces now perfectly aligned, pupils blazing at each other with manic, possessive heat.
"Fuck, birdy," Blitzø rasped, voice wrecked with raw, unfiltered need, "You’re gonna kill me… I’ll fucking die if I don’t fuck you right-fuckin’-now."
He ground his hips forward, the friction brutal and electric, and Stolas cried out, his head thudding lightly as it met the wall, his talons clawing desperately into Blitzø’s jacket. The Imp’s claws squeezed his owl’s thighs harder, his grasp possessive and bruising, staking a claim as old as need itself.
You’re mine, Blitzø’s body screamed against him. You’re fucking mine.
The potion ripped through Stolas’ mind, tearing what remained of his self-control into shreds. A raw, helpless moan tore from his beak as he clung to Blitzø like a drowning man. His entire world condensed to the searing grind of their bodies, the smell of lust and champagne as it coursed between them, and the unbearable electric charge in every touch.
"Blitzy," Stolas gasped, the name a plea, a prayer, a confession slipping through cracked defenses. His voice trembled from Blitzø‘s truth serum’s burning insistence, tinged with the dark secrets it ripped straight from his bleeding heart.
"I killed them," he whispered, eyes wide and wild, drunk on need and shame, trembling against Blitzø’s crushing hold. "Your past lovers," Stolas gasped breathlessly. "I killed them… to make you mine."
Blitzø froze, his beautiful amber eyes narrowing for a fleeting second, as if the weight of Stolas’ words had caught him off guard. But the owl couldn’t stop now, his voice a broken, fevered torrent, spilling like ichor from a slashed vein.
“I brewed a potion,” he gasped, his voice cracking as tears streamed down his face, matting his feathers. “To bind you to me, to make you love only me. Blitzø, I need you. I’m begging you… fuck me, fuck me, please, fuck me until I can’t think of anything else!”
His talons dug into Blitzø’s shoulders, desperate, clawing, as if letting go would mean losing him forever.
His feathers quaked, a violent tremor seizing his entire body as the cocktail of possession, shame, and ravenous love that churned inside began to choke him. “I’d tear Hell apart for you,” he sobbed, his voice raw, unhinged. “I’d rip the stars from the sky, slaughter anyone who dares look at you. Please, Blitzø, I can’t breathe without you… fuck me, make me yours, please!” He squeezed his legs around the Imp’s waist as tightly as he could, grinding against Blitzø’s growing need with shameless desperation, his body trembling with need and his pride long since incinerated.
Blitzø’s grin widened, sharp and feral, his heart-shaped pupils dilating with a twisted mix of amusement and dark desire. “Holy shit, Stolas,” he growled, voice dripping with savage glee. “You’re a fucking mess for me, aren’t you? Look at you, begging like a bitch in heat.”
His claws dug deeper into Stolas’ thighs, feeling the soft feathers beneath his grip. “You think I’d let anyone else have this? Fuck that. You’re mine.”
The owl whimpered, his beak grazing Blitzø’s throat as he pled. “Yes! Yes, Blitzø, I am yours! Darling, please, I’ll do anything… just fuck me, ruin me, make me forget everyone but you. I need you inside me, now, I’m begging you!” His voice broke into a sob, his body shaking so violently it seemed like he might shatter.
Blitzø’s laugh was a low, wicked thing, vibrating against Stolas’ feathers as he dragged his claws down the owl’s thighs, shredding fabric and drawing blood. “You’re so fucking twisted, Stol,” he purred, voice thick with hunger and brutal adoration.
“And shit, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You begging for me to fuck you? I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll scream my name ‘til your voice gives out. You won’t even know your own damn name when I’m done.” The Imp ground his hard cock against Stolas’ heated core, dragging out another whimper from the prince. “Let’s see how much you can take, you desperate little bird.”
Their collision was violent, messy, their mouths slamming together in a brutal, searing kiss.
Stolas tasted champagne and poison and Blitzø’s sin-slick soul, and it only drove him crazier. He moaned into the Imp’s mouth, writhing against him. In response, Blitzø kissed him like he meant to devour him whole, his tongue plunging deep, chasing every broken sound from Stolas' throat and drinking them down like the sweetest wine.
Their twin heart-shaped pupils burned like a mirror reflecting shared madness and possession, sealing them tighter than any potion or confession could.
The world blurred into fire and marble and heat as Stolas arched into Blitzø’s relentless grind, gasping, panting, desperate for more. Their kiss became a battle, a surrender, a vow… all tangled together until nothing existed but them.
You’re mine, Stolas thought savagely, clutching Blitzø’s jacket so hard the fabric tore. And I’m yours. Forever.
The masquerade around them might as well have been another universe, forgotten and irrelevant. There was only the prince and the Imp, entwined by magic, obsession, and a love so toxic and violent it could tear Hell itself apart.
Chapter 6: Tell Me You’re Mine. Louder.
Notes:
I am so sorry it took longer than usual to update this fic! My schedule was full with writing for the NSFW week ♥ But no I am back!! And I present you a whole ass smut chapter! ~
Many many thanks to cutiepatootie RileyKate37 for beta reading my shitty grammar ♥
Chapter Text
Blitzø hadn’t expected the night to twist into this delirium. Sure, he’d known beforehand that he was going to fuck the owl tonight — he’d been planning that since the moment he first heard Stolas breathe his name like a prayer, back when the bird had just come down from his high of being thoughtfully fucked until orgasm by Blitzø’s tail alone… But he hadn’t accounted for Stolas to drug him too.
The Imp had slipped into the palace like smoke, silent, invasive, and inevitable. It was too fucking easy for him.
The guards were nothing more than useless mutts drooling at the gates, letting any demon with a royal air to them pass through. Blitzø would tear them a new one later for having given so many people access to his prince… No one should’ve even been allowed to look at Stolas, much less breathe the same air as him, get so close to him that they could potentially make contact. No… Stolas was his prince, no one else’s, and Blitzø would be damned if he let anyone try and steal that from him.
But that wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks.
No, Blitzø had paused to watch the room like a predator stalking its prey, hidden at just the edge of a flickering pool of candlelight, … and every second he stood there, his fury burned brighter.
Demons encircled Stolas like moths drawn to a forbidden flame, smiling, chuckling, and bowing low, brushing their filthy fingers along the elegant silk of his pristine outfit and grazing the divine, slender waist that only Blitzø should ever be allowed to touch.
The champagne glass in Blitzø’s hand began to crack in his grip, his claws sending tiny spiderwebs shooting through the crystal stem. His eye twitched, then twitched again, the fury in his chest bubbling into something sharp and visceral after a particular royal got one step too close to Stolas, whispering something directly into his ear with his hand wrapped around the prince’s slim waist.
Fucking touch him again. I fucking dare you, fuckface.
The Imp imagined the faces of each demon that had dared speak to his birdy, imagined those smug expressions smashed beneath his boot and ground into the floor. Imagined each hand that had dared graze Stolas' feathers, imagined them sliced off at the wrist and mounted like hunting trophies. Their pitiful screams wouldn’t be enough — he’d make them beg for death.
That’s actually a pretty good fucking idea… I’m definitely doing that once I’ve taken care of my sweet little owl.
But the only thing tethering him to sanity — albeit barely — was the way Stolas kept glancing towards the door. Subtle and anxious, like he was waiting for something. Someone.
Waiting for him .
The realization bloomed like a poisonous flower inside of Blitzø’s chest, sweet and oh-so-deadly. His smirk stretched slow and wicked across his face as he stared hungrily at the prince.
“Oh, my pretty bird…” he purred under his breath, voice gravelly and soaked in lust. “You won’t have to wait much longer.”
And when their eyes finally met — when Stolas finally caught sight of him from across the room and a flicker of soft relief flashed over his delicate features — Blitzø’s breath hitched. The world tunneled into a single point of Stolas, and nothing else mattered.
Nothing. Not the glittering chandeliers. Not the orchestra swelling in the background. Not the swarm of simpering insects trying to steal his prince.
All he saw was Stolas. All he ever saw was Stolas.
His body moved before his mind could catch up — forward one step, then another, lithe form slicing through the crowd like a blade. He couldn’t look away, wouldn’t look away. The inward curve of Stolas’ waist, the gentle swell of his hips, the pale shimmer of his feathers, the way his trembling hands were folded politely in front of him…
He’s nervous. For me.
Blitzø’s pulse thundered in his ears as he crossed the final distance.
Mine , he thought. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine —
And nothing would ever take his bird away from him again.
It didn’t take much… just a few heated glances, a couple teasing touches, and the kind of flirtation that felt more like a mating ritual than conversation before they were practically undressing each other with their eyes, waged in a silent war over who would break first.
And Blitzø? He broke — not from weakness, but from sheer obsession.
He hadn’t even noticed the bitter tinge in his drink, too focused on the sinful curve of Stolas’ beak as the prince sipped from his own, completely unaware that his drink had already been laced as well.
Blitzø had planned on having the upper hand. He hadn’t counted on being dosed too.
The drug hit them both like wildfire.
Blitzø’s blood turned to lava, molten and pulsing with one singular, craving mantra: Claim him. Fuck him. Mark him.
He needed Stolas under him, against him, around him. Now.
It took no more than a few heartbeats for them to stumble into a shadowed alcove at the far end of the ballroom, swallowed in velvet darkness, far from curious eyes.
No one else deserved to witness this.
No one else deserved to see the divine, trembling wreck he was about to turn his bird into.
Blitzø’s cock strained painfully against his pants, every second of delay a cruel punishment. He could barely think straight, not when Stolas — his bird, his fucking gorgeous, utterly helpless bird — was leaning against the wall with his cheeks flushed, lips parted, and breath hitching from the truth serum now rushing through his veins.
Words poured out of him… soft, fevered confessions that made Blitzø’s mouth curl into something primal, predatory.
“You want me?” Blitzø growled, chest heaving as he caged Stolas in. “Say it again. Say it louder .”
Stolas whimpered something incoherent, his white, heart-shaped pupils blown wide, body pliant and burning. Blitzø snickered, a cruel, wicked sound, as he recalled the way that delicious burning heat had radiated from the prince’s core the last time he’d had his face pressed between those plump feathered thighs.
He grabbed Stolas’ legs and wrenched them around his hips, pinning him tight against the cold marble wall. The friction between them made his vision blur. Layers of clothing be damned — he could feel just how soaked, just how ready Stolas was for him and only him.
“Fuck,” Blitzø hissed, grinding against the prince in a slow, punishing rhythm. “You’re burning up for me, aren’t you? Just for me. Only me.”
His hands roamed without shame, greedy and possessive, gripping the owl’s hips like he owned them.
Because he did . He would . Blitzø would carve that truth into Stolas’ soul tonight.
No more games. No more pretending.
He didn’t just want to fuck Stolas — he wanted to ruin him.
Wanted to leave him breathless, trembling, and so utterly broken that he’d never even be able to look at another demon again without thinking of Blitzø.
And no drug in the world could’ve even hoped to compare to the raw, intoxicating high of that thought.
Blitzø surged forward, pressing their mouths together in a heated, claiming kiss that left no room for question — Stolas was going to be fucking his.
Their mouths met urgently and possessively, and Blitzø’s tongue immediately pushed forward, demanding access. Stolas parted his beak with a needy whimper, granting it eagerly.
Their tongues met, sliding together with a wet, heated friction that sent a shiver coursing down Stolas’ spine. Blitzø growled low in his throat, his hands gripping the owl’s hips as he devoured him via kiss, pouring every ounce of want and raw, wanton claiming into it. There was no doubt in his touch, no hesitation in the way his tongue explored, in the way it tasted and teased.
Stolas moaned into Blitzø’s mouth, his talons clawing lightly at the Imp’s back as he arched into him. His beak parted wider, giving Blitzø all the room he wanted, their tongues tangling even further in an unparalleled rhythm that left them both gasping between kisses, desperate to breathe and even more desperate to keep going.
The Imp’s claws clung greedily to those plush thighs and the soft curve of that ass, his grip possessive and needy, fingers flexing like he wanted to shape the owl until he fit perfectly in the mold of his hands.
And the sounds… fuck , the sounds Stolas let out were enough to drive him fucking crazy.
Small, trembling chirps. Desperate little whines. Soft, near-silent moans.
Stolas clung to him like a lifeline, legs tightening around Blitzø’s waist, arms laced shakily around his neck. The bird was already a trembling mess, breath hitching, pupils wide and glassy.
So fucking pretty like this. So fucking ruined, and I haven’t even started yet.
Blitzø grinned against the kiss, teeth flashing.
“Please, Blitzø… fuck me… please…”
The words came out like prayer, raw, helpless, and dripping with need . They slammed straight into Blitzø’s core, sending a wicked tremor rolling down his spine. He pulled back just enough to look at Stolas — really look at him, see him. Those pure white, heart-shaped pupils quivered gently as they floated in a wide sea of blood-red, his eyes blown open in a way that made Blitzø’s breath catch.
Something possessive twisted deep in his gut, growing louder the longer he stared.
He moved one clawed hand from where it rested on Stolas’ thigh, slow and deliberate, sliding it up to the prince’s cheek. He traced the edge of the ornate mask… and then slipped it off, inch by inch, savoring every flicker of emotion that crossed the owl’s face as it was bared fully to him.
Gentle twitches, soft quivers, and the faint, anxious flutter of tail feathers as they brushed against his legs… He drank in every last detail like it was the most decadent, expensive wine in existence.
He abandoned his own mask in a haste before slowly sinking to his knees, still cradling Stolas in his lap like something sacred and profane all at once. From this angle, he had full access to every line, every delicate feather, every shivering inch of his bird’s perfect fucking body.
His palms roamed upward, claws ghosting over feathered thighs, hips, belly.
Exploring. Mapping. Claiming.
“Fucking hell…” Blitzø murmured, voice husky and raw as he buried his face in the crook of Stolas’ neck, nuzzling against the soft down like a beast scent-marking its prize. “You’re so fucking soft, Stol…”
He inhaled deeply, drowning in the musky scent and flowery fragrance and something else that was uniquely Stolas — sweet and unholy, like it was the essence of the prince himself.
And then the idea struck… vicious and delicious.
Blitzø’s claws tightened suddenly, tearing downwards with controlled violence. The fabric of Stolas’ trousers shredded beneath his grip, splitting open with a slow, satisfying rip that sent a shiver of pleasure racing down his spine. His tongue dragged along the exposed column of the owl’s throat, tasting salt and sweat and pure submission.
“ Blitzø… ” the prince moaned, body arching like a bow as he ground himself down hard into Blitzø’s lap.
The Imp growled, the sound guttural and unhinged, his cock straining so hard that it hurt. Every nerve in his body screamed for release, for Stolas . He was on fire, desperate and feral.
“What the fuck did you give me?” Blitzø gasped, grinding back up against Stolas like a man possessed. “Shit’s strong as hell…”
But internally he laughed, low and dark. Stolas wasn’t the only one with access to mysterious, potent aphrodesiacs…
I’m keeping this stuff, he thought to himself. Gonna feed it to you someday when you’re not paying attention, make you my little heat-drunk slut all over again…
His lips dragged lower and higher in a ravenous rise and fall against Stolas’ neck until all that existed was the taste of sweat, sweetness, and desperation… and the soundtrack of his mind, a storm of lust, hunger, and a single, screaming thought that echoed louder than anything else:
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Blitzø couldn’t stop himself. He trailed open-mouthed kisses down the long line of Stolas’ throat, tasting every inch like it was sacred. His tongue flicked out to savor the racing pulse that lay just beneath the prince’s delicate skin, trailing fiery passion from jaw to collarbone with every lick.
He felt Stolas tremble under him — felt him gasping, twitching, and being fucking needy.
And Blitzø reveled in it.
“Bl-Blitzø…” Stolas whimpered, voice high and breathy, “More… please — I-I need more — don’t ever stop touching me — ever. ”
That last, repeated word came out cracked, nearly choked into oblivion by the way Blitzø suckled at the hollow of his throat, teeth scraping possessively, desperately trying to leave a visible bruise there despite the thick, downy feathers — an attempt to mark him, to brand him.
A low growl rolled out from deep within his chest, primal and hungry, while the owl’s trembling hands clawed at Blitzø’s chest with a feverish urgency, desperately trying to peel the clothes from his skin. His dainty fingers tugged at the lapels of the Imp’s jacket like its mere existence was offensive, like every item that stood in the way of his feathers against the assassin’s skin was a vessel of pure, unholy evil. His claws scraped at buttons and made minuscule tears in the fabric with trembling insistence, valiantly persisting in their mission despite the distraction attached to his neck.
“Fuckin’ impatient,” Blitzø muttered against the owl’s skin, grinning like a devil, “You want me outta this that bad, baby? Shit, haven’t even gotten my pants off yet and you’re already falling apart.”
Stolas’ response was nothing short of manic. “I want all of you — every fucking inch of you — I want your skin pressed against mine, I want to feel you ruin me. ”
The desperation in his voice shot a spike of heat coursing straight down Blitzø’s spine. A low growl resonated deep in his throat, one that bordered on a warning and was underlain with a promise. Without hesitation, he sank his teeth into the soft skin where Stolas’ neck met his shoulder, hard.
Stolas cried out, a high, shattered moan that echoed off the walls. His entire body spasmed as he ground down hard onto Blitzø’s lap, his scalding-hot birdpuss grinding deliciously against the Imp’s straining bulge.
Blitzø groaned at the feeling, a deep, obscene sound that vibrated against the prince’s throat. Stolas moaned in response, the sounds melding as Blitzø continued to bite down on the soft flesh.
“Fuck…” he hissed, biting down again, this time only a little softer than before, dragging his tongue over the angry red mark he’d left behind. “You like that, don’t you, my pretty little bird?”
“F-Fuck, Blitzø — fuck — I need you to break me, I need it —” Stolas sobbed, talons buried in Blitzø’s jacket as he clung to him like a lifeline. “You don’t understand, I can’t breathe when I’m not touching you — please, ruin me, make me yours — kill me if it means I’ll die with you inside me —”
Blitzø chuckled, the sound so loud and guttural that it vibrated through the both of them. “You’re fucking insane,” he growled, rutting up into Stolas so hard the owl gasped. “You’re as fucked up as me — holy shit , you’re perfect…”
“You broke me,” Stolas gasped, his lips brushing Blitzø’s cheek feverishly. “You touched me once and I haven’t been sane since… My mind is entirely focused on you. Just you. Only you. ”
Blitzø’s hands dug into the owl’s hips, dragging him down again and again as they rutted together with desperate force. “Say it again,” he panted. “Say I’m the only one.”
Stolas didn’t hesitate.
“You’re all I fucking want. You’re all I think about, Blitzø. I’d burn all of hell just to have you like this.”
Blitzø snarled with lust and something far darker, their mouths collided again, wet and hungry , without any rhythm — just teeth, tongue, and panting breaths. Moans bled into groans, groans broke into gasps, and every sound was swallowed into each other’s mouths like they were dying of thirst and the only thing that could quench it was more of the other .
“Fuck—” Blitzø gasped into Stolas’ beak, claws tugging, tearing again at the prince’s half-ruined trousers. Fabric gave way under his grip in slow, jagged rips, shredding up one thigh, then the other, exposing more of Stolas’ shaking, fever-hot body.
Stolas whimpered into the kiss, head tilting back just enough for Blitzø to ravage his throat again, but not before growling out, “Rip it all — take it all — there’s nothing I want to wear but you, Blitzø—”
Blitzø snarled and obliged.
His free hand shot up to the owl’s waistcoat and ripped, claws slicing straight through buttons and lining, making threads pop. The fine, royal fabric split open like paper under his touch. Stolas arched as the garment was peeled away from him, his bare chest now rising and falling with frantic breaths.
Stolas shrugged Blitzø’s jacket off entirely, letting it slide from his shoulders like a sloughed skin. His hands immediately dove under Blitzø’s half-open shirt, talons splaying out over his abs, feeling the taut muscle there like it was holy.
“Lucifer… you’re so fucking handsome…” Stolas moaned, lips brushing Blitzø’s jaw, “I’ve dreamed of this body — touched myself to the idea of you for years… nothing compares — nothing. ”
Blitzø bucked his hips upward at that confession, a growl catching in his throat. His claws now dug into the remnants of the trousers, yanking them halfway down Stolas’ thighs, fully exposing the owl’s flushed, trembling form.
“Keep talking shit like that,” Blitzø panted, biting along Stolas’ collarbone now, “and I’m gonna fucking lose it. ”
Stolas didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
“I want you to own me, Blitzø. I want you to make sure no one else can even look at me without knowing I belong to you — body and soul… forever. ”
Their mouths met again, harder this time — bruising , gasping and trembling. Blitzø’s tongue tangled with Stolas’, licking the moans right from his throat, while the owl’s hands roamed up his chest, nails scraping lightly, possessively across his pecs.
Blitzø’s tail lashed wildly behind him, twitching with rabid impatience. His sharp grin twitched with restraint, but the twitch in his eye and the tremble in his fingers betrayed how close he was to snapping . Stolas was down to nothing but his half-ripped button-up, hanging loose off his shoulders like some gift half-unwrapped — his soft, downy chest exposed, begging to be touched, kissed and devoured .
And then Blitzø looked down.
Nestled between those delicate, feathered thighs were lace panties… obscenely thin, clinging to his heat-soaked feathers, soaked through with slick. The tiny dark patch shimmered in the low light like a mark of devotion.
The Imp licked his lips slowly, his tongue dragging across sharp teeth as his gaze locked onto the obscene sight. He leaned back slightly, letting himself drink it in. Their hips aligned perfectly — his still-bound cock grinding hard against the wet spot between Stolas’ thighs, every shift of their bodies stoking the fire roaring through him.
“You’re fucking dripping for me already,” Blitzø growled, his voice rough with disbelief and lust, “and I haven’t even touched you yet, Stol...”
He pressed down harder with his hips, watching how Stolas squirmed, how the lace bunched and stretched across that needy heat.
“What a fucking slut you are.”
“ Only for you! ” Stolas gasped, eyes wide and fevered. “I swear, only for you — I’d never… I couldn’t…” His words dissolved into a moan as his hands slid down beside his frame for balance, just so he could move better — grind harder — thrust himself along Blitzø’s clothed length with reckless abandon.
The friction was maddening, sinful even.
Blitzø grit his teeth, a low growl bubbling in his chest as the fabric of his pants pressed mercilessly against his aching cock. He was going to fucking explode if he didn’t get them off. Now.
“Shit,” he hissed through clenched teeth, claws snapping to Stolas’ hips. He held him firm, muscles flexing with restraint as he stilled the owl mid-thrust.
Stolas whimpered, hips jerking in protest at the sudden halt, the loss of motion. His pupils dilated, trembling. Then one hand rose, soft and pleading, cupping Blitzø’s cheek.
“Darling…” he whispered, voice shaking. “Please… don’t make me wait much longer…”
He leaned in and nipped at Blitzø’s neck, his sharp beak grazing skin, tongue following with a lick so light it made the Imp shiver . “I ache for you… I’m already yours — just take me… take me and never let me go.”
“Fucking fuck, ” Blitzø snarled, his breath catching in his throat.
Blitzø clawed at his belt, yanking it loose with frenzied urgency. The click of the buckle hitting the floor was a gunshot in the air, followed by the low hiss of his zipper as he dragged it down… freeing himself just enough to relieve the unbearable pressure strangling his cock. A breath shuddered from his lungs as the raw air hit the heat between his legs. For the first time in what felt like hours, he could think — barely .
But then Stolas whimpered again.
That sweet, sinful voice… high, breathless, fucking syrup on the air, made Blitzø’s brain short-circuit all over again. The prince sounded like the sweetest poison, made just for him. And the Imp knew if he didn’t take control now, he’d drown in it.
“Fuck that,” he muttered darkly to himself.
Without hesitation, and definitely without gentleness, he grabbed Stolas and wrenched him off his lap. The owl squawked in surprise, but Blitzø didn’t give him time to breathe. In a blur, he spun the prince around, shoving his chest to the wall, ass up, face turned sideways against the cold surface.
Stolas gasped, eyes wide and fluttering with heat and shock. He tried to glance back, but Blitzø was already there — one strong hand pressing the owl’s flushed face back into the stone with a firm growl.
“Eyes forward, birdy.”
The Imp leaned over his lover’s lanky frame, lips brushing against the soft plumage of Stolas’ ear as he whispered, voice dark and drenched in lust.
“You’re gonna be a good boy and take what I give you, Stol…” his claws gripped the narrow waist, possessive and hungry. “You think you can do that? Huh? Be my good little birdy ?”
Stolas’ feathers fluffed all at once, puffing up in a flurry of overstimulated submission. His breath hitched, body shivering as he nodded desperately beneath Blitzø’s grip.
“Y-Yes!” he gasped. “Yes, Blitzø! I’ll be so good — I promise, I promise! Just… just take me , please — fuck me, I need you inside me!”
That sweet, cracked voice, soaked in obsession, went straight to Blitzø’s cock and he groaned, deep and throaty.
“Good boy,” he purred, finally pulling his hand from Stolas’ head and dragging his claws down the curve of the owl’s spine in a slow, deliberate stroke. His claws scratched lightly over skin and feathers, just enough to make the prince tremble , a visible quake shuddering through his long, narrow frame.
“You’re so fucking cute when you’re begging,” Blitzø muttered against Stolas’ nape, licking a stripe there before dipping lower. His claws reached the waistband of the ruined lace panties and didn’t stop.
He dragged them down slowly , watching as the sodden fabric peeled away from slick feathers and skin, soaked through and clinging stubbornly to the evidence of Stolas’ overwhelming need.
And when he pushed Stolas tail aside he saw it .
The glistening slit of Stolas’ cloaca, twitching, already begging to be filled, like it couldn’t wait — the feathers around it drenched, messy and slick with arousal.
Blitzø froze for a beat, just staring… his pupils blown wide, tongue flicking out instinctively to taste the sweetness of the air.
“Oh fuck me…” he breathed, voice a low rasp.
His claws sank into the plush curve of Stolas’ ass, spreading him open just enough to reveal more of that maddening, twitching heat, and Blitzø couldn’t help but growl. “You’re clenching on nothing, you needy fuckin’ bird.”
Stolas mewled beneath him, the whine breaking like a sob.
“Only for you… Only ever for you, Blitzø… please, eat me , touch me, anything — just don’t make me wait…”
Blitzø dragged his tongue over his lips, slow and hungry, eyes locked on the dripping heat before him. He’d fantasized about this… fucking hell , he’d obsessed over it. A hundred times, maybe more. Dreamt about pinning his pretty bird down, spreading him open, burying his face between those soft, trembling thighs and devouring him until he forgot his own name.
But this? This wasn’t a fantasy anymore.
Now he had Stolas right where he wanted him — panting, soaked and fucking trembling, and there was nothing stopping him.
So Blitzø didn’t wait any longer.
He leaned in, tongue darting out, and licked a slow, decadent stripe over the slick slit… lapping up everything Stolas had to offer, savoring the taste like it was a meal cooked just for him.
The owl screamed at the contact, hips jerking backward, trying to force more of himself into Blitzø’s mouth.
“Fuckin’ hell, ” Blitzø groaned, gripping tighter.
“Lucifer — do it again!” Stolas begged. “Flick your tongue in — I can’t — I’m gonna lose my fucking mind!”
Blitzø let out a low, feral chuckle, but he obeyed. How could he not, when the sound of Stolas moaning his name like that made something primal snap loose inside him?
His tongue flicked out again, tracing the trembling, sensitive folds of Stolas’ slick, twitching cloaca, and the owl shuddered… his voice cracking as he gasped, “Bl-Blitzø…”
That sound. That taste. That heat.
Fuck , he never imagined anyone could taste this fucking good. Rich and sweet and heady with need, like nectar poured straight from some divine source just for him. It was addicting. It was dangerous . Blitzø could drown in it and die happy.
A groan vibrated in his throat as he shoved his face in deeper, his nose brushing against soaked feathers while his tongue greedily lapped up everything Stolas gave him — and more .
He sucked, messy and possessive, lips sealed over the dripping slit just to drink down the slick that poured from the prince’s cunt like a drugged-up blessing.
Then, finally, he let his tongue plunge inward.
The scream that tore from Stolas’ throat was high and helpless. His hips jerked backward into Blitzø’s mouth, grinding down like he wanted to fuck his face, chasing every maddening flick and stroke of that tongue inside him. His legs trembled, his talons scrabbling at the wall for purchase, and he was already losing control… perfectly .
Blitzø hummed, vibrating deep against the pulsing heat, sending those ripples of sensation straight through his tongue and into Stolas’ core.
The owl quaked, body folding slightly as his upper half slid lower down the wall, legs spread wider, trying to keep himself upright as his tail feathers fluttered weakly at the side. His pupils rolled back, feathers puffing with every breath, every sound he made a desperate, gasping whimper.
Blitzø’s half-lidded and wild gaze watched everything from beneath the mess of feathers and thighs, drinking in every twitch, every stuttered moan. But fuck — he was losing it too.
With one hand still gripping the owl’s hip, the other slid down to cup the obscene bulge straining beneath his boxers. He groaned, the pressure making his whole body tense.
Fucking shit …
Had he ever been this hard before? Had anyone ever made him feel like he was going to explode just from the sounds of them breaking apart on his tongue?
No.
It was only Stolas .
It would always be Stolas.
Just as Blitzø started to plunge his tongue even deeper, tasting every shiver and tremble from Stolas’ dripping heat, a voice sliced through the shadows — a sharp, searching call echoing the prince’s name.
The sound scraped against Blitzø’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Someone was looking for his bird, and the footsteps were coming closer to their hidden corner.
Blitzø froze mid-motion, eyes snapping toward the voice — no one , absolutely no one was allowed to see Stolas like this. Like this — broken, dripping and desperate for him.
He lifted his head just enough to peer down at the panting owl in front of him. Drool slipped slick and shiny from Stolas’ parted beak, his chest rising and falling raggedly. The owl apparently hadn’t heard the voice yet; otherwise, Blitzø would’ve expected anything but the whine and confused, pleading glance Stolas sent him — as if to silently ask, Why did you stop?
Then the voice called again… closer, more urgent.
“Vassago...?” Stolas whispered, tense and trembling.
The name hit Blitzø like a blow. He growled low and vicious, his teeth grinding angrily. No other man’s name was supposed to cross Stolas’ lips, not here, not now, not after Blitzø had just been buried inside him.
“Tell him to fuck off,” Blitzø snarled, hunger burning in his eyes, ready to dive right back into his favorite place — Stolas’ raw, dripping core.
But Stolas shifted, hooting softly, moving his hips away just enough to make Blitzø’s claws clench in frustration.
“But... I’m under a truth serum! You can’t be serious, Blitzø!” Stolas gasped, a mix of shock and desperation lacing his voice.
His wide, frantic eyes locked on Blitzø’s, and the Imp’s grin stretched wider — feral, hungry, and utterly possessive.
This was his bird. Only his.
“That’s the fucking point , birdy,” Blitzø growled, his voice low and thick with possessiveness. His claws squeezed Stolas’ ass with a bruising grip, and he leaned back down, lips brushing the trembling feathers at Stolas’ lower back. “Besides… I’m fucking busy .”
His tongue flicked out again, sliding over the now trembling folds, where it fucking belonged, while tasting the heat and desperation still pouring out of his owl. Stolas let out a strangled sound, one hand slamming against the wall, the other shakily covering his beak to muffle the moan threatening to spill.
His entire world narrowed to the obscene wet sounds, the way Stolas’ body quivered under his touch, and the way his prince’s scent drove him fucking feral. He devoured Stolas like a starving beast.
Mine. All fucking mine.
Blitzø smiled like a devil as he plunged back in, worshiping every inch of the sensitive spot he’d found, his tongue curling just right… deep, slow, and possessive. The slick noises of his mouth moving between Stolas’ legs filled the air, drowned only by the ragged breaths of the prince under him.
And then, again, the voice called out.
“Stolas?”
Closer now. Too close.
The owl tensed, feathers puffing in panic. Blitzø’s tail twitched, but he didn’t stop… he only dug deeper, groaning as he pressed his mouth firmly where he knew it would make Stolas weak.
“V-Vassago…!” Stolas gasped, his eyes wide in shock. “ A-Ahh… ” He tried to collect himself, the words barely making it past the choking sound of pleasure clawing up his throat.
Blitzø heard the name and snarled silently, the taste of jealousy bitter on his tongue. He had been inside Stolas only moments ago — his mouth, his voice, his touch — and now the bird dared to speak another man’s name?
With a slow, calculated smile, Blitzø purred directly into the heat around his tongue, vibrating low and deep. Stolas’ entire body jolted, his claws scratching at the stone wall, hips instinctively rocking back into Blitzø’s face.
“Are you okay, Stolas?” Vassago’s voice was thick with worry, footsteps halting just close to where the two demons where hiding in the darkness. “Some of your guests were fainting, and I thought—”
Blitzø didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. His tongue swirled and thrust, chasing every hitch in Stolas’ breath, every stifled whimper. His claws raked lightly over Stolas’ thighs, leaving faint red lines on the pale skin beneath the feathers.
Stolas’ hips bucked against his face again, a faint moan escaping despite the hand over his beak.
“I’m—” Stolas tried, then gasped, the vibration curling his toes. “I’m fine, Vassago!”
There was a pause from the other Goetia before he asked. “You don’t sound fine.”
“I said I’m fine!” he snapped, though his voice cracked and his beak trembled. “I’m just… enjoying myself.”
Blitzø chuckled darkly against him, tongue dragging up one more time in a languid stroke that made Stolas shiver. The Imp didn’t need to say anything. His mouth spoke for him — his presence, his grip, his relentless tongue. He was marking Stolas, claiming him in every way he knew how.
Blitzø’s purr deepened, a possessive growl that sent shivers racing through Stolas’ core. He could feel the owl’s walls clenching around his tongue, could taste the desperation in every pulse of his body.
No one else gets this. No one else touches you.
The thought was a blade in his mind, sharp and consuming, as he doubled down, licking and sucking with a fervor that bordered on worship.
Vassago’s voice hesitated, then sharpened with realization. “You aren’t alone, I assume?”
Blitzø’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, damn right he’s not alone . He pressed himself closer, tongue working Stolas into a trembling mess, daring that other Goetia to come closer and see who really owned this moment, this body , this fucking prince.
“No! So fuck off! I’m a little busy trying to get laid here!” Stolas hissed, voice cracking with breathless urgency.
Blitzø chuckled darkly behind him, clearly pleased. His claws dug deep into the soft curve of Stolas’ ass in reward, making the owl jolt and whine — no, moan shamelessly. The sound echoed, lewd and unhidden.
Blitzø’s amusement vanished in an instant.
Without warning, his mouth left the owl’s heat, only to sink his teeth into the plush skin of his ass, biting down just hard enough to make Stolas gasp… a sound sharp with surprise but followed by him instinctively arching his back, presenting himself again.
“O-Oh! Uhm—” the voice from down the hall stammered, clearly flustered. “I assume… you’re good, then. I’ll… let you enjoy… whatever this is.”
Talons clicked awkwardly against the floor as Vassago’s steps faded, and finally, the intrusion was gone.
Stolas trembled, trying to catch his breath. “B-Blitzø… why…?” he asked, feathers ruffled and voice hoarse, clearly shaken from the sudden bite.
Blitzø growled, low and territorial. “Because you let someone else hear that noise. Your moans? Those are mine. ” He leaned closer, his breath a hot whisper against Stolas’ nape. “No one else gets to hear you like this. Ever.”
A visible shiver passed through Stolas’ tall frame, but a sly, heated smile crept over his beak. “I… assume the fainting guests earlier were your doing, then?”
Blitzø snorted, a wicked grin curling at his lips. His tail gave a sudden sharp snap against Stolas’ thigh, eliciting another startled breath. “Maybe I poisoned every fucker that did as much as look at you too long. They deserved it anyway. No biggie.”
Stolas’ next whimper was a filthy, desperate sound that shot straight to Blitzø’s core, making his cock twitch painfully against his boxers. “I love you, Blitzø…” the owl panted, his voice raw, vulnerable, and so fucking needy it nearly broke Blitzø’s mind.
The imp froze, eyes widening, his heart slamming against his ribs. He hadn’t expected that — not those words, not that tone, like Stolas was offering his soul on a silver platter. A manic laugh bubbled up, and Blitzø licked his lips, tasting Stolas’ essence still clinging to them. “Fucking hell, birdy…”
He straightened, yanking his pants down in one swift motion, his leaking cock springing free, hard and throbbing with need. The air was thick with the scent of sex as he loomed over Stolas, eyes glinting with unhinged devotion.
“You ready to scream for me again, pretty thing?”
Stolas didn’t hesitate. The owl writhed beneath him, a beautiful, trembling mess, his ass pressing back against Blitzø’s cock, slick and eager.
“Yes! Please, Blitzø… give it to me … please…” His voice was a broken, pleading whimper, his body a canvas of surrender, begging to be claimed.
Blitzø growled in approval, lining himself up slowly. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”
Blitzø’s claws dug into Stolas’ hips, anchoring himself as he pressed just the tip of his throbbing cock into the molten, silken heat of Stolas’ core.
The sensation hit him like a punch, a searing jolt that made his teeth grind and his vision blur.
Fucking hell. Fuck…
He hadn’t expected it to feel this good. Too good.
That damn potion Stolas had slipped him burned through his veins, amplifying every pulse, every slick inch of contact until he felt like he’d unravel right then and there. No fucking way was he some virgin who’d blow his load at the first touch, but the urge, the need to ruin Stolas, to bury himself so deep that nothing else mattered, screamed inside him like wildfire.
A primal snarl rumbled in his chest, his control fraying like a cheap rope. A voice in his head screamed, rabid and unhinged — Fuck him. Claim him. Make him yours forever.
Blitzø’s restraint snapped, and with a feral growl, he slammed himself fully into Stolas, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The tight, scorching grip of Stolas’ walls wrenched a gasp from his throat, his eyes rolling back as pleasure clawed through him, raw and overwhelming.
Their cries tangled… Stolas cried out at the sudden, rough thrust, voice rasping with startled pleasure, while Blitzø gasped, his whole body tensing at the overwhelming heat and tightness that greeted him.
The owl’s body arched, feathers trembling, while his cloaca clenched so hard around Blitzø’s cock it nearly drove him insane.
“F-Fuck… Blitzø!”
Then, before Blitzø could even process it, he felt it: the sudden clench, the way Stolas’ body seized around him, and a hot, slick gush of Stolas’ release, coating Blitzø’s length and dripping down his cock in a messy, glorious rush.
Blitzø’s eyes widened, heart thundering in his chest as realization struck: Stolas had cum , just from Blitzø bottoming out, his body surrendering completely to the Imp’s claim.
His resolve shattered.
With a strained gasp, Blitzø bucked once more — and lost control. His fingers dug deep into Stolas’ hips as he buried himself even deeper.
His teeth sank into his lower lip, drawing blood, as his own release tore through him, a white-hot surge that spilled deep into Stolas, filling him to the brim. “ F-Fuck…!” he rasped, voice raw and ragged.
Stolas moaned, a low, filthy sound that vibrated through his trembling frame, his insides pulsing around Blitzø as he took every drop.
The owl’s heat, the slick mess, the way his body quivered — it was too much, too perfect . Blitzø leaned down, pressing his sweat-slick forehead against the soft, feathered expanse of Stolas’ back, inhaling the musky, intoxicating scent of his prince.
Both of them panted, chests heaving, the air thick with the raw, electric aftermath of their union.
Then suddenly, Stolas started to giggle a soft, breathless and delirious sound that danced through the air like music, and Blitzø couldn’t help but catch the contagion, his own rough chuckle spilling out as he pressed himself closer to his trembling owl.
“Fucking hell , birdy. What are we, a couple of horny teenagers?” he muttered, still panting, voice hoarse with effort and lingering pleasure.
“Seems like it, darling…” Stolas purred, his laughter melting into a low, sultry hum as he rolled his hips back, grinding against Blitzø’s still-hard cock with shameless intent.
“But… You seem to be ready for another round already…” he purred.
The slick heat of Stolas’ cloaca, still pulsing from their last round, sent a jolt through Blitzø’s core, his length throbbing as if he hadn’t just poured himself into the owl moments ago.
Fuck, he’s perfect.
Blitzø’s eyes widened, a feral grin splitting his face. “Fucking shit… that your damn potion messing with me again?” His voice wasn’t angry… hell no , it was gleeful, laced with raw excitement. Another chance to wreck his pretty bird? He’d take it and make Stolas scream his name until all of Hell knew who owned him.
With a possessive growl, Blitzø pressed a clawed hand between Stolas’ shoulder blades, forcing the owl’s chest to the floor. Stolas arched beautifully, his feathered back curving in a sinful arc, tail feathers splaying like a midnight fan, offering himself up like a fucking sacrifice.
The new angle made Stolas’ walls clamp even tighter around Blitzø’s cock, a scorching, velvety vice that dragged a dark chuckle from the Imp’s throat. “Oh, you’re just as fucking ready as I am, aren’t you, birdy?”
“Ahhh … darling, please …” Stolas moaned, his voice a desperate, trembling plea as he rutted back, impaling himself on Blitzø’s length like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“Move… wreck me, fuck me !” The owl’s hips rocked with reckless abandon, using Blitzø like a toy for his own pleasure, his feathers quivering with every frantic thrust.
But Blitzø’s patience was a lit fuse, burning fast.
His claws dug into Stolas’ hips, a bruising, possessive grip that halted the owl’s movements cold. Stolas squirmed, a whimpering mess of feathers and need, his body trembling under the Imp’s iron hold.
Blitzø’s amber eyes gleamed, drinking in the sight… his prince, reduced to a writhing, pleading wreck, desperate for him.
Only me.
“Blitzø…?” Stolas’ voice was a broken whine, his ruby eyes glistening as he tried to rut back again, only to be pinned by Blitzø’s unrelenting grip. “Darling, please … let me move. I need to feel you…”
Blitzø’s smirk was pure, predatory delight, his tail lashing as he leaned over Stolas, breath hot against the owl’s feathered neck.
“Oh, you want it, pretty bird? Then beg for it. Nice and sweet.” His voice dropped to a dangerous purr, dripping with obsession.
“Tell me who you belong to. Tell me you’re mine . Then maybe — just maybe — I’ll fuck you so hard like you fucking deserve.”
Stolas shivered, his body taut with need, and Blitzø’s heart pounded with the thrill of it… his prince, his bird, laid bare and begging, every inch of him claimed by the Imp’s unrelenting desire.
Stolas’ red eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his beak parted as he panted, each breath a trembling plea that stoked the fire in Blitzø’s veins.
The owl’s feathered body quivered beneath the Imp’s grip. The air was thick with the musky scent of their mingled arousal, the slick heat of Stolas’ cloaca still clenching around Blitzø’s cock, desperate for movement, for more.
“Blitzø, please…” Stolas’ voice cracked, a raw, needy whimper that sent a shiver of dark delight down Blitzø’s spine.
“Not good enough,” Blitzø murmured against the back of his neck, letting the warmth of his breath dance over Stolas’ ruffled feathers.
The owl’s taloned hands scrabbled at the floor, feathers ruffling in disarray as he tried to push back, to chase the friction Blitzø cruelly denied him. “I’m yours , darling… only yours . No one else — never anyone else. Please, I need you… fuck me, claim me, make me forget e verything but you…”
Blitzø’s grin widened, sharp and predatory, his eyes glinting with unhinged adoration as he drank in Stolas’ desperation.
That’s it, birdy. Beg for me. Break for me.
His tail flicked, slapping against Stolas’ trembling thigh, the tip leaving a faint sting that made the owl gasp.
“Oh, you’re singin’ real pretty now,” Blitzø purred, his voice a low, dangerous growl that dripped with possession.
He leaned closer, his lips grazing the sensitive feathers at the nape of Stolas’ neck, inhaling the sweet, intoxicating scent of his prince — his everything. “Say it again. Louder. Who do you belong to, Stolas? Who’s the only one who gets to wreck this perfect fucking body?”
“You, Blitzø!” Stolas cried, his voice shattering into a sob of raw need, his body arching as much as Blitzø’s grip allowed. His tail feathers flared wider, offering himself up completely.
“I belong to you! Only you! Please, darling, I can’t — I can’t stand it anymore. Fuck me, ruin me , make me yours again and again… I’ll do anything , anything…”
His words dissolved into a keening moan, his cloaca pulsing around Blitzø’s cock, slick and scorching, as if his body itself was begging.
Blitzø’s heart pounded, a feral rhythm that matched the throb of his cock buried deep in Stolas’ heat. The owl’s words, his surrender, his need … it was a drug, feeding the fire that burned in Blitzø’s core.
Mine. Mine forever. No one else gets to hear this, see this, feel this.
His claws tightened on Stolas’ hips, drawing a faint whimper as they left crescent marks in the soft flesh beneath the feathers.
“Good boy,” he rasped, his voice thick with possessive hunger. “You beg so fuckin’ sweet, birdy. Makes me wanna tear you apart and put you back together.”
He shifted, just enough to tease, pulling out an inch before slamming back in, the wet, obscene sound of their bodies colliding echoing in the room. Stolas’ cry was a broken, desperate thing, his head tossing back, beak open as he gasped for air.
“Blitzø! Please, don’t stop… I need more… Please, give me all of you…” His voice was a litany of devotion, each word a vow that only fueled Blitzø’s obsession, pushing him closer to the edge of control.
Blitzø leaned down, his chest pressing against Stolas’ trembling back, his lips brushing the owl’s back as he growled, “You’re gonna scream my name until it’s the only fucking word you know, pretty bird. Let’s see how much more you can beg before I fuck you into oblivion.”
Blitzø’s claws dug deeper into Stolas’ hips, the sharp tips breaking skin just enough to draw tiny beads of blood that mingled with the slick mess dripping down the owl’s thighs.
With a feral snarl, he pulled back, his cock dragging against Stolas’ scorching, pulsing walls, making the spikes on the underside of his cock drag deliciously at the owl’s insides, only to slam back in with a force that shook the owl’s entire frame.
The wet, lewd slaps of their bodies colliding filled the air, a filthy symphony punctuated by Stolas’ broken, ecstatic cries.
“Blitzø! Yes , yes!” the owl wailed, his voice a raw, trembling hymn of surrender, his eyes rolling back as he clawed at the floor, feathers splaying in a chaotic mess.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Blitzø growled, his voice rough with possessive hunger , each thrust a claim, a brand, a fucking oath that Stolas was his and his alone .
The potion coursing through his veins made every sensation razor-sharp — the way Stolas’ cunt clenched around him, the slick heat coating his cock, the way the owl’s body shuddered with every brutal thrust.
Blitzø’s tail lashed wildly, smacking Stolas’ thigh with a stinging crack that drew another desperate moan, the sound sending a jolt of pure, joy through his core.
Scream for me, birdy. Let everyone in Hell know you’re mine .
Stolas was a writhing, glorious wreck beneath him, his back arched impossibly, tail feathers fanned wide as he pushed back to meet every punishing thrust.
“Please… More… Harder, darling!” he begged, his voice a ragged, euphoric plea, dripping with adoration. “Ruin me, Blitzø… make me yours!”
His cunt shuddered, their combined slick form earlier dripping onto the floor, pooling beneath them, as Blitzø pounded into him.
Stolas’ moans grew louder, unrestrained, each one a testament to how much he loved this — loved the pain, the pleasure, the way Blitzø claimed every inch of him with relentless ferocity.
Blitzø’s grin was all teeth, manic and unhinged. “You fucking love this, don’t you, pretty bird?” he rasped, his breath hot against Stolas’ neck as he thrust deeper, faster, the angle hitting that rough, sensitive patch inside Stolas that made the owl scream.
“Look at you, falling apart on my cock like you were made for it. Made for me.”
“Yes!” Stolas sobbed, his voice shattering with pleasure as his body convulsed, another wave of slick flooding around Blitzø’s length. “I was made for you, Blitzø… only you! Don’t stop, please, never stop!”
His talons scraped the floor, leaving deep gouges, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his ecstasy. The owl’s love, his devotion, poured out in every cry, every shudder, fueling Blitzø’s ego to new heights.
No one else gets this. No one else gets to see him like this, feel him like this.
Blitzø’s pace became merciless, each thrust a declaration of ownership, his claws raking down Stolas’ sides, leaving red trails that made the owl gasp and arch even more. The Imp’s own pleasure was a wildfire, burning through him as Stolas’ walls clenched tighter, milking him with every brutal plunge. “Fuck, birdy,” he panted, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of control.
“You’re gonna make me lose it again… gonna fill you up ‘til you’re fucking dripping with me.”
“Do it!” Stolas cried, his voice a desperate, adoring plea, his gaze locking onto Blitzø’s over his shoulder, wide and filled with worshipful need. “Fill me, Blitzø… mark me from the inside out, make me yours forever!”
His body shuddered violently, another climax crashing through him, his cloaca pulsing so tightly it dragged Blitzø over the edge with him.
With a guttural roar, Blitzø spilled inside Stolas, hot and relentless, his release flooding the owl’s core as Stolas moaned, long and broken, savoring every second of being claimed.
Blitzø collapsed against Stolas’ back, both of them panting, slick with sweat and fluids, the air heavy with the scent of their combined release.
His claws still gripped Stolas’ hips, unwilling to let go, as he pressed a possessive kiss to the owl’s feathered back. “You’re mine, Stolas,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, laced with devotion. “Always fucking mine.”
Stolas whimpered, a soft, sated sound, his body still trembling with aftershocks as he leaned into Blitzø’s touch. “Always, darling…” he whispered, his voice thick with love, his smile radiant despite the delicious wreckage of his body. “I’m yours… forever.”
With a reluctant groan, Blitzø pulled back from the warmth of Stolas’ body, watching as the owl shivered and whimpered, overstimulated and still twitching from the aftershocks. Their mingled release glistened as it trickled down between the prince’s thighs, and Blitzø swore under his breath.
“Fucking hell… We made a fucking mess,” he muttered, glancing around in vain for anything to clean them up with. “How the hell am I supposed to clean you up now?”
Stolas chuckled softly, his fingers flicking with casual grace. A portal shimmered beneath them — swirling hues of violet and electric blue — and before Blitzø could react, gravity yanked them down. He yelped as he landed with a soft bounce on something plush.
Blinking, he looked around and realized they were now sprawled across the silken sheets of Stolas’ lavish bed.
“You could have done that the entire time ?” Blitzø asked, half-shocked, half-impressed as he sat up.
Stolas gave a satisfied little hum as he leaned lazily back against the headboard, his feathers slightly ruffled but his expression utterly pleased. “Oh, of course. But really, darling, where would the fun be in that?”
Blitzø stared, then let out a rough, amused laugh. “You filthy little bird,” he snickered, licking his lips. “You actually liked the risk of getting caught.”
Stolas met his gaze with a wicked smile, his beak glinting as he slowly ran his tongue along its edge. “Why yes, Blitzø. I wanted everyone to see who I belong to.”
That earned another low chuckle from the Imp. “Damn. We really are the same kind of crazy,” he said, shaking his head fondly.
Blitzø hopped off the bed, tucking himself back into his pants before striding into the adjoining bathroom. He returned a moment later with a warm, damp cloth in hand.
Blitzø vaulted back onto the bed with a predatory grace, his amber eyes glinting with a possessive hunger as he gazed down at Stolas.
The owl’s feathered thighs, soft and trembling, parted instinctively under his touch, inviting him back into the sacred space that was his.
Blitzø settled between them, his claws grazing the delicate skin beneath Stolas’ feathers with a reverence that belied the fire in his chest.
The air was heavy with the musky scent of their shared passion, a tangible reminder of how thoroughly he’d claimed his prince.
His gaze dropped to the glistening evidence of their connection, still lingering on Stolas’ skin, a mark of their union that made Blitzø’s heart pound with unhinged pride.
Mine. All fucking mine.
With a slow, deliberate touch, he traced a clawed finger along the sensitive folds between Stolas’ thighs, dipping back into the heat to try and get their shared release out.
Stolas sucked in a breath at the unexpected tenderness but didn’t move, simply letting his head fall back against the pillows as he watched the imp through heavy-lidded eyes.
Blitzø glanced up from between Stolas’ thighs, a crooked smile spreading across his face. He leaned up until their foreheads nearly touched, eyes gleaming with mischief and something deeper.
“How about we just stop playing games and make it official, tell everyone we’re together?” he murmured, voice low and sincere.
Stolas shivered… Blitzø’s fingers were still gently scooping out their shared mess, but his breath caught in his throat as he answered, “I… I would love that, Blitzø. And I’d really like you to meet Octavia.”
Blitzø paused mid-motion, blinking. “Wait… Who’s Octavia?”
“My… daughter?” Stolas said slowly, confused by the reaction.
“You have a daughter, too ?” Blitzø asked, his eyes wide.
Stolas tilted his head, a little incredulous. “Yes? You also have a daughter?”
A beat of stunned silence followed as the realization hit both of them. They stared at each other, brains clearly trying to compute how two people who had obsessively chased, stalked, and zeroed onto each other for years could have missed something so obvious.
And then… they both burst out laughing. Loud, unfiltered, ridiculous laughter that shook their shoulders and echoed through the lavish bedroom.
They weren’t blind. They were just so focused on each other that the rest of the world had blurred out, thinking everyone else was a fucking threat.
When their laughter died down, their eyes met again, warm and a little teary from how hard they’d laughed. They leaned in at the same time, mouths meeting in a kiss that was slow, full of affection and a heat that still simmered just beneath the surface.
Blitzø pressed in closer as he resumed cleaning Stolas up, now less clinical and more caring, his body molded against the owl’s. Stolas’ talons curled gently over his shoulders, and he whimpered softly into the kiss.
“We are both such fucking idiots,” Blitzø muttered against his beak, smirking.
Stolas gave a breathy chuckle. “Yes… but I’m in love with this ridiculous little Imp anyway.”
Blitzø’s grin softened into something tender as he met Stolas’ gaze. “Yeah… And I love this dramatic, insane, gorgeous bird too.”
Chapter 7: How Much Will You Love Me Now?
Notes:
*looks at chapter count*
*looks at my outlines*
Uhh.... It seems like this fic will be longer than I first thought LOLMany thanks to cutie RileyKate37 for beta reading ♥
Chapter Text
Stolas’ mornings had been predictable for years, an endless cycle of lonely rituals. After rising far too early — because sleep was a cruel, mocking stranger to him — he would drag himself from bed and take breakfast with his daughter if she was home, cherishing those fleeting moments before duty chained him again to the endless work his father demanded.
But his true solace came afterwards, when he would indulge in his private, sacred devotion: watching his darling little Imp.
It was his favorite sin, the sweetest of poisons — observing Blitzø carve his way through fragile human prey like a ruthless machine. Every swing, every splatter, every sneer dripping with feral charm filled Stolas’ chest with unbearable warmth.
Oh, the sight of Blitzø bathed in blood, so alive and so vicious — it set his heart racing and his body trembling. He would never, could never tire of it. Watching Blitzø kill was his morning prayer, his worship, his holy ritual.
But today… Today was different.
He didn’t wake before the city’s shadows had slunk back to the depths from which they came, too scared away by the blazing heat of the morning sun to lurk. Instead, sunlight stabbed at his eyes, too sharp and too brazen for his sleepy eyes. He winced, twitching against his sheets, his body too heavy to fully move, while something in his chest fluttered with a strange anticipation. A lazy flick of his hand sent the curtains snapping closed with a wave of magic, casting the room into a much cooler gentle shade.
Blessed relief, and yet… something else tugged at his awareness.
A sensation. Unfamiliar. Maddening.
It crawled up his spine like fire mixed with honey, curling deep in his belly until his thighs trembled with weakness. His breath hitched — this wasn’t the faint, teasing ache he’d felt during his lonely indulgences of self pleasure. No, this was something deeper… A gnawing, clawing hunger, one that seemed to masticate at his very being. His legs shifted — and froze.
Something was wrapped around him, a sweet pressure that bit into his thigh and cinched around his waist. Instead of feeling heavy and malicious, though, it was… almost comfortable, the squeeze tight and possessive.
Stolas’ eyes snapped open, his breath instantly stuttering in his throat.
An intruder? How dare anyone breach his private sanctuary, touch his body without his consent — !
Unless…
He blinked slowly, fighting through the haze of drowsiness that clung to him like a parasite. His pulse raced as his gaze dragged downward sluggishly, everything inside him hungering to know what had attached itself to his body — and then his heart stopped.
His own arms were locked, coiled like serpents, around the body pressed into him.
But it wasn’t just just any body.
No. It was him. The one he’d dreamt of, hungered for, obsessed over for years. His darling little Imp, curled against him in a perfect fit, as though the universe had conspired with itself and agreed to finally gift Stolas what he had been starving for his entire life.
Blitzø.
The sight of him there, in Stolas’ bed, in Stolas’ grasp, made every nerve in the owl’s body sing. A feverish, trembling delight surged through him — terror, ecstasy, and delirium all at once. His talons tightened possessively, involuntarily, sinking into naked flesh as Blitzø’s sharp and intoxicating scent flooded his senses like the sweetest drug to ever exist.
At first, Stolas’ mind fumbled in confusion — how could Blitzø possibly be in his bed, tangled so deliciously against him? His pulse quickened again, and his talons twitched against muscle, digging in further as though the warm body against his was a mere mirage, an image that would disappear for good the second Stolas blinked. But then, like a rush of fire coursing through his veins, memory clawed its way back to him. Yes, yes, of course!
Yesterday, his darling Imp had finally yielded, had finally become his. They had joined, body and soul, in a way so sweet, so perfect, Stolas thought he might never recover from the pure bliss it envoked.
Oh, how utterly Blitzø had devoured him — hands roaming, claiming every inch of his body, even finding those hidden places that Stolas himself had yet to discover. He had never known that anything could make him tremble like that, but from now on, he would be craving it more than air itself, everything else ruined as he relentlessly chased after the memory of that beautiful moment. His darling moved with such vicious, reckless talent that it stole the very breath from his lungs, leaving him shuddering, unraveling as Blitzø mercilessly fucked him into oblivion.
A trembling smile stretched across his beak, slow and reverent, as if carved there by fate itself. He pulled the small body closer, greedy for every inch of contact, burying his beak against Blitzø’s horns and inhaling the lingering scent of sweat, cinnamon, and sex.
His heart thundered when he realized that the firm pressure at his thigh was Blitzø’s tail, coiling possessively around him, and that that precious face had burrowed into the softness of his chest feathers like it belonged there.
There was nothing left to question — Blitzø was clutching him so fiercely, so possessively, that Stolas could only surrender, melting helplessly into the searing warmth of his darling’s body, as though he were designed to fit there and nowhere else.
Was he over the moon? No — far beyond. His potion, his brilliant and flawless creation, had taken hold perfectly. Blitzø hadn’t just touched him, hadn’t just wanted him — no, his darling had nearly ravished him right there, well within sight of prying eyes, in reckless defiance of propriety.
The memory alone sent a violent shudder coursing through Stolas’ body, the sensation settling as a delicious chill that lingered in his bones. They had been so close to being caught, so close to being exposed, and yet… Stolas had adored every breathless, dangerous second of it.
His love. His Imp. His Blitzø. There would be no more stupid thoughts of rejection, no hollow space gnawing between them — Stolas had starved for him his entire life, ravenous for every ounce of his darling’s love, and now there was nothing left that would keep them apart again. The distance, the doubt, the pain — all obliterated. Blitzø was his, entirely, irrevocably, and eternally. He was bound to him in a way no force in existence could ever undo.
The thought nearly ripped a shameless moan from his throat. The craving to become one with his love was unbearable, swelling in his chest, clawing at his ribs, but he stifled it, clutching his darling tighter instead.
No, no, not yet. He mustn’t wake him, not when Blitzø looked so heartbreakingly vulnerable, curled in his arms like a treasure he’d stolen from the cruel world.
And he would never ever give him back.
Stolas dared a glance downward again, and his breath hitched, warmth swelling in his chest.
Look at him!!
How could Stolas not obsess over this perfect, maddeningly adorable demon? The way Blitzø burrowed his snout into the prince’s feathers, tangling their legs together until there was no telling where one demon ended and the other began, the way he clutched his waist so tightly that the possession all but drowned out the comfort… And then Stolas noticed the sweetest torment of all — the sound.
A low, rumbling purr, faint but steady, vibrated through Stolas’ feathers and into his very bones, unraveling him from the inside out. His heart collapsed under the weight of it, performing frantic, delirious flips that no circus, no spectacle, no miracle on earth or in Hell could ever rival.
It was too much. Too adorable. Too intoxicating.
A strangled coo burst from him as he rubbed his face against those horns, desperate to brand every detail into his memory. Blitzø stirred at the contact, his tail tightening reflexively as his mouth parted open, spilling out a slurred, half-asleep, “Wphua?”
Stolas’ chest nearly burst with overwhelming joy. He couldn’t contain himself, couldn’t slow down the flood of obsession. His taloned hands rose, trembling with utter devotion as he cupped Blitzø’s cheeks. With exquisite care, he tilted his darling’s face upward, greedy and giddy, so that he — Stolas, the one who adored him beyond reason — would be the first sight to bless Blitzø’s eyes this beautiful, gorgeous morning.
But when Blitzø’s eyelids fluttered open and those amber eyes glowed softly in the dimness, Stolas froze. His entire body locked up, and his mind screeched to a halt. The smile that had been stretching across his beak — so radiant and foolishly sure — cracked and withered in an instant.
Because… where were they?
The hearts. The shimmering glaze of enchantment that should still be pulsing in Blitzø’s pupils. Where was the proof that his potion still clung and still bound the Imp’s heart and soul to him?
Panic struck like a blade through his ribs. Had he done something wrong? Had he mismeasured, mis-stirred, miscalculated the one miracle potion he had so desperately needed? Had he fucked up the single thing that could save him from this everlasting loneliness?
No. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening!
If the spell had broken — if Blitzø’s heart was truly free — then of course he wouldn’t love him! How could he? Who would ever want this ? He didn’t have the radiant peacock hues of a noble bird, lacked the gleaming jewel tones of his fellow Goetia — no, Stolas was nothing but a dreary, washed-out owl, with a pale grey body that was too thin and bony and limbs that were too long and spindly. He was nothing but a brittle crown, wealth, and a name cursed with expectations. How could those ever hold even a fraction of Blitzø’s attention — his bright, dangerous, beautiful Blitzø?
With his mind too busy spiraling ever deeper into a self-made pit of gnawing despair to pick up on anything, Stolas didn’t even notice the Imp stirring, nor his adorable yawns as he sloppily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. And then — then Blitzø looked at him.
Not with spell-clouded hunger, or glassy-eyed devotion, but something else… Something warm, almost gentle.
A soft smile crept onto the Imp’s lips as he took in the anxious bird before him. Blitzø lifted a hand and cupped Stolas’ face, his thumb brushing lightly against the prince’s cheek, motions tender and deliberate as he leaned upward, aiming a kiss directly at Stolas’ trembling beak.
The owl’s breath shattered in his throat, a violent gasp breaking free as his body jolted back, feathers flaring in wild disarray. Horror crashed over him in suffocating waves.
No — no, it couldn’t be. Blitzø hadn’t just tried to kiss him as part of some tender morning ritual… had he? No — he wasn’t under the spell anymore. That meant — oh, Lucifer — that meant his darling must have been trying to reject him, to shove him away, to spit venom and scream at the prince for the manipulations that had bound him to Stolas’ bed.
The thought clawed at his chest, Stolas’ internal voices screaming that a rejection would shatter him beyond repair. He would never recover if Blitzø cast him aside… never, not when his entire being was wound so tightly, so irrevocably, around this Imp.
No. No! That cannot happen!
His pulse pounded in his ears, talons flexing frantically against his palms. He needed to fix this, needed to smooth things over. Needed to smother the truth, if he had to. He would gladly do whatever — anything, no matter the price — so long as it ensured Blitzø remained his.
“Stolas?” Blitzø whispered, confusion furrowing his brows, his voice was raspy with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
The prince’s chest heaved and his body tensed. His limbs were shaking as he tore himself from the embrace that had been paradise only moments ago, desperate to get away from it, from him. Yet his long legs had gotten tangled in the sheets, leaving his talons scrambling for purchase as he staggered backwards, headed towards the foot of the bed like a man cornered by his own worst nightmare.
“No. No, no, no!” he hissed, voice breaking, each word sharper, higher, more desperate. He clawed at the bedsheets as if trying to tear himself free from his own mistakes, destroy the restraints binding him to this agonizing moment.
Blitzø sat up fully, narrowing his eyes as obvious suspicion sliced through what remained of the sleep fog clouding his expression. “Stolas… what the fuck is wrong with you?”
The owl’s breath came in frantic bursts, his thoughts spilling into words he couldn’t contain. “I — I fucked up! I miscalculated! How — how are you not under my spell anymore?! You — you’ll never love me, not really, not as I am!” His talons dug into his own feathers as he staggered, wild-eyed, getting closer to the edge of the bed. “I have to fix it. I have to redo the potion —”
With a graceless flail of limbs and a tangle of sheets, Stolas toppled from the bed, crashing onto the floor with a strangled “Oof!” The sound was small, pitiful — almost comical. The owl, however, didn’t even register the fall — his mind had room for only a single, blinding truth: he had faltered, made a mistake, and he had to fix it. He would fix it, even if it consumed his entire being.
The potion had to be remade, perfected, reforged until there was no question, no doubt, no chance for Blitzø to ever slip from his grasp again. He would toil away until his darling loved him forever, was just as obsessed with the owl as he was the Imp.
But then, Blitzø’s voice broke through the frantic spiral in Stolas’ head. It was low at first, barely noticeable, then bubbled up into a chuckle. The sound made the owl tense up, entire body frozen where he knelt on the floor. The Imp gracefully flopped onto his belly, landing at the foot of the bed with his chin propped in his hands and elbows dug into the plush mattress, all while watching Stolas with that maddening, infuriatingly casual grin. Blitzø’s legs kicked lazily in the air behind him, his tail swishing from side to side with equal languidity. Every gesture radiated a careless charm that cut through Stolas like a hot, sharp knife.
“I have no idea what the hell you’re panicking about, Stol,” Blitzø drawled, quietly snickering. “But I can assure you, even without your fancy little potion trick, I still would’ve fucked your brains out last night.” His smirk gleamed in the dim light, his words as shameless as could be. The way he wriggled his feet in the air made the Imp look unbearably attractive and yet so fucking dangerously adorable at the same time.
Stolas’ throat worked overtime as he blinked up at him, trying — and failing — to compose himself. His feathers ruffled as he sat up stiffly, talons trembling visibly as he spoke. “But — but you don’t love me like this! How could you?! Have you seen me?” The words broke from him in a desperate cry, coming out sharper than intended, his voice cracking beneath the weight of his sheer terror.
For a moment, Blitzø just stared. Then his smirk softened, shifting into something that made Stolas’ heart jolt so hard it nearly stopped. A smile, smooth, tender, and unbearably fond painted the Imp’s perfect face, transforming it into a sight so beautiful that the owl barely knew what to do with the gift.
“I still love you even without all the magic, pretty bird,” Blitzø said, his voice steady and almost disarmingly calm, as if the truth was obvious and undeniable. “You think I’d have chased you down for years, run after you like a fucking idiot, if I wasn’t already head over heels? Give me some credit.”
He winked, wicked and unrepentant, before letting his lips curl back into that familiar smirk. “And yeah… I’ve seen you. More than that — I’ve tasted you.” His tongue slid slowly across his lips, deliberately teasing the owl, and Stolas’ gaze snapped to it, unable to resist.
Blitzø’s purr thickened, husky and dark, curling around him like smoke. “And I can tell you, Stol… I’ve never seen, never tasted anything better than you. You’re so fucking hot I could bend you over any available surface at any fucking minute, hard as a rock just from looking at you.”
Stolas’ beak gaped, opening and closing rapidly like a suffocating fish. All four of his eyes blinked, horribly out of sync, as his panic glitched into disbelief. “You… what?” he whispered, the sound barely audible yet louder than everything else.
Blitzø tilted his head, eyes glinting with heat and truth. “I’ve been watching that fancy, sexy ass of yours for the last twenty years, Stol.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping into something almost reverent. “You really think I’d obsess over you like that if I didn’t fucking love you?”
The Imp folded his arms on the bed, resting his chin atop them, and tilted his head just enough to make sure his amber eyes caught the light in a way that stole the air straight from Stolas’ lungs. And he was smiling . His expression was so very radiant, magical… gentle.
It was soft in a way Stolas had never seen before, as though some secret, tender memory had bloomed behind the Imp’s gaze the moment he looked at him.
“Besides,” Blitzø murmured, voice husky with affection, “you have no idea how incredible your heart is, do you? You’ve got so much love, so much gentleness to give — even to people you don’t know, to demons well beneath your status… But you don’t care about any of that. You’re just… you. How could I not fall in love with you?”
His darling’s tail swayed lazily behind him, betraying his languid contentment… but it was that fond, lovesick expression that struck Stolas harder than any blade ever could. He instantly melted into a puddle, his feathers trembling as his heart buckled beneath the weight of it.
It was rare — so painfully rare — that he had ever allowed Blitzø to truly see him, observe him, even though he had followed and obsessed over him since the very first moment their paths crossed. So what memory, what spark of tenderness, had painted this look across his darling’s face? This radiant, achingly vulnerable love that made Blitzø seem utterly besotted?
Stolas’ breath stuttered and all of his doubts dissolved like shadows in daylight. For once, not even the deepest recesses of his self-loathing could twist this moment. The only undeniable and unshakable truth that remained was that Blitzø loved him. Completely.
Blitzø extended his free hand, open palm upwards in a welcoming gesture. A hand that had touched him, claimed him, clawed at his feathers just mere hours ago. A hand that could destroy, had torn through so many human lives, but was now offered with almost unbearable gentleness. Just for him.
Stolas’ chest ached and his gaze lingered on Blitzø’s face — taking in those fierce amber eyes, that warm grin — before dropping to his outstretched hand. The strong, real hand that promised something far scarier than magic ever could.
He’s telling me… that I didn’t need a potion after all? That I could’ve had him, truly had him, all this time?
The thought stabbed deep. He was so fucking stupid, wasn’t he? Stolas’ vision blurred, tears bubbling hot in his eyes as a strangled whine slipped free before he could even think about stopping it. With shaking talons, he slid his hand into Blitzø’s palm, letting himself be pulled upward and into Blitzø’s arms, into his warmth and strength that felt like fire beneath his skin.
“Why… Why did you wait so long then?! It must have been so painfully obvious that I loved you for all these years!” Stolas cried out, his voice cracking like a broken wail as he buried his face into the crook of Blitzø’s neck, clutching him like he’d vanish if he let go.
Blitzø chuckled again, softer this time, the sound vibrating against Stolas’ feathers as he nuzzled into him. “I could ask you the same thing, Stol.” His voice was low, almost scolding… but at the same time, almost tender. “Guess we’re both fucking idiots for not seeing it sooner. But that doesn’t matter now.”
Blitzø’s arms clamped unrelentingly tighter around the prince’s trembling frame, like iron bands forged to hold him in place. The embrace was merciless in its sweetness, crushing and nearly suffocating — and Stolas reveled in it, everything inside him aching for more .
Each breath Blitzø exhaled burned hot against his feathers, ghosting over him like fire, and the sensation sent shudders racing through his body, every quiver a sign of delirious surrender to his darling’s hold.
“Now that I have you… I’m never letting you go.”
The finality in Blitzø’s tone left no room for questions. There was no room for escape left.
Stolas’ legs trembled in his kneeling position, unsteady beneath the crushing weight of joy. Blitzø’s words rang in his skull like a sacred hymn, sweet enough to make his entire body quake.
Yes — yes, this was all he had ever wanted. To belong, to be his. To let Blitzø’s rough, perfect hands be the only ones that ever touched him. To have those sharp amber eyes see only him and nothing else in all of Hell. To have that beautiful, possessive heart belong to no one but Stolas, be entirely devoted to him and him alone.
And oh… The thought of anyone else ever daring to lay claim to his darling Imp made Stolas’ feathers bristle and his talons twitch with the urge to tear. No one would ever be allowed to be near him anymore, no one but Stolas.
He ached to mark, to bind and to cage Blitzø in every twisted way imaginable. He would love to brand his name into his Imp’s skin, chain his soul with rites older than the Pit itself. He would carve blood sigils into both their bodies if that was what it took to ensure Blitzø could never, would never leave him.
His mind spun with feverish images of binding chains, rivulets of blood mingling together while vows no force could even think of undoing were solemnly whispered into the night.
Blitzø, his forever.
Blitzø, locked in his grasp for eternity.
But now… now, he forced himself to pause. To breathe and to cling to this perfect moment where Blitzø’s arms held him not by a stupid spell or ritual, but by choice . He allowed himself to surrender, just for a fleeting heartbeat, to the warmth of that sweet, suffocating embrace.
Because soon enough, he would make sure this moment never ended.
Blitzø shifted against him, the Imp’s tail giving a lazy flick as he pulled back just enough to smirk up at the owl. “Y’know, Stol, as much as I love being wrapped up in your fluffy feathers…” he sniffed dramatically, wrinkling his nose, “…we both reek like sweat and sex. Might be a good idea to hit the shower before we start stickin’ to the sheets.”
Stolas blinked at him, his four eyes wide as his words caught in his throat. And then Blitzø stuck his tongue out, curling it in a lewd, exaggerated gesture, dragging it over his lips once before giving him a slow, deliberate wink. “And hell — maybe we can do… other things in there too~”
The implication landed like a strike to Stolas’ chest, and heat surged into his pale faceplate, blooming crimson across his cheeks. His feathers puffed uncontrollably and his throat tightened, a single, strangled sound slipping out. Blitzø’s words — so shameless, so filthy, and so perfectly him — made Stolas’ stomach coil and ache with unbearable anticipation.
He practically scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over his own long legs in his eagerness, talons snatching Blitzø’s hand with more force than grace. “Yes! Yes, of course — right this way, darling, immediately — ” His voice cracked with the desperation of a man starved for centuries as he tugged Blitzø along with reckless urgency, dragging him toward the adjoining bathroom like prey being carried by a predator.
Blitzø barked out a laugh at Stolas’ eagerness, but he didn’t resist — he let himself be tugged, pulled, and dragged wherever the owl desired, that devastatingly sweet smile never once leaving his lips. The sight of it made Stolas’ chest ache with the urge to crush him close and taste him. Lucifer, he wanted to kiss him so badly.. .
Though… Blitzø had offered more than just “cleaning” in the shower, hadn’t he?
Perhaps he would get that kiss sooner than later.
The vast elegance of Stolas’ gilded bathroom seemed to vanish the moment they stepped inside, too consumed were they in their need for closeness. The only things left were the gleaming marble walls that encased them, the scent of Stolas’ expensive preening oils that clung to the air, and the massive showerhead that loomed above them. With a wave of Stolas’ talons, hot water thundered down in a steaming cascade and mist rose to swallow them in heat.
Blitzø chuckled under his breath as Stolas dragged him beneath the burning waterfall, the owl’s talons already digging into him, desperate and unrelenting in their demand for closeness. Stolas couldn’t wait a second longer — he needed his darling Imp pressed against him now, needed to feel him, to claim him, to fucking drown in him.
And beneath the pounding rush of water, the world dissolved into chaos: mouths colliding, hands grasping greedily, breathless noises swallowed by the downpour until nothing remained but raw hunger and the fever of possession.
The Imp’s grin turned wicked as he shoved Stolas back against the slick tiles, water splattering across their entwined bodies. With one smooth, practiced motion, he hooked his hands under the owl’s thighs and hoisted him up, forcing Stolas’ long legs to wrap tight around his waist. Stolas slid down the wet wall until their faces hovered on the same level and their heated breaths mingled in the rising steam, lips merely inches away from each other.
The position was all too familiar — something they had already indulged in the day before, hidden away in a dark alcove beneath the noses of Stolas’ unwitting guests. But here, under the pounding heat of the shower, stripped bare in their desires, it was… different.
It was much more raw, much more intimate. With nothing between them but feverish skin and damp feathers, Stolas could feel Blitzø’s already hard cock as it pressed between his ass cheeks in a way that made his pulse shudder.
Their eyes locked, wide and unblinking, their pupils dilated with hunger. No words passed between them; they didn’t need them. Their gazes said it all — the craving, the desperation, the truth that neither could deny. Stolas’ chest heaved as his eyes flickered down to Blitzø’s mouth, then back up to those blazing amber eyes. He caught it in that split-second — Blitzø staring at his beak with the same unbearable want, the same passionate desire.
They wanted each other with burning intensity, didn’t they? The same ravenous hunger coiled in both their hearts, festering into a possessiveness that clawed and tore at their chests from the inside out. It wasn’t mere craving — it was a primal necessity, as vital and urgent as the need to breathe, to survive.
They each needed the other’s touch, the other’s body, as if the absence of it would kill them within minutes, as if their very souls would wither without that connection.
Ah~ My darling… How could I have ever doubted you? You’re so perfect, so achingly sweet and adorable. Every breath you give me feels like a gift stolen from fate itself. I am so impossibly, deliriously lucky… to have bent the world just enough, twisted reality just enough… to make you want me…
Like magnets, they crashed together, mouths colliding without hesitation. The kiss was wet and ravenous, and neither was bothered by the water rushing down their faces, running into their mouths, or dripping from their chins. Stolas cupped Blitzø’s face with trembling but loving talons, touch delicate as if his Imp might shatter.
Stolas let his tongue playfully flicker against his darling’s, the teasing action earning himself an affected groan from Blitzø. The sound vibrated in Stolas’ chest deliciously, and Blitzø‘s claws dug shamelessly into the owl’s thighs, tracing down damp feathers, squeezing and claiming. His tail wrapped possessively around Stolas’ leg, tightening as if daring him to ever try and escape.
Who in their right mind would ever dream of escaping this flawless, perfect Imp? Surely not me. No — I’ll bind myself to him for eternity, wrap my chains around us both, and never let him slip away~
Every touch between them turned into a frantic half-caress, half-clawing grab, both entirely overcome by lust as their bodies rapidly heated up from the hot shower. Their lips shaped over each other again and again, tongues caressing feverishly and messily, and the sound of their ragged gasps filled the shower just as much as the rushing water.
Stolas cried out when Blitzø’s hand shifted higher up his leg again, his claws scraping deliberately across his thigh before cupping his ass, squeezing hard enough to make the owl jolt against the tiles.
A sharp and delicious shiver shot through him as his head snapped back violently, exhaling with a loud gasp that echoed off the marble. “Blitzø…” His voice was hoarse and trembling with lust. He dragged his gaze back to his darling, eyes wide and glassy, his talons clutching Blitzø’s shoulders as though to anchor himself. “I want you — ” he breathed, sounding raw and broken.
Blitzø’s face was just as undone, his eyes glazed with heat as his muscular chest heaved. His smirk faltered into something desperate, real, and so hungry. “Yeah,” he rasped, nodding against Stolas’ forehead. His voice came out rough, ragged, and promising ruin. “Yeah… I want you too.”
Blitzø leaned in, letting his lips and tongue claim the delicate feathers of Stolas’ throat, dragging wet, heated stripes along the curve of his neck before teasing nips sent shivers ricocheting down the owl’s spine.
Every flicker, every tremor, every strangled sound that spilled from Stolas was not just noticed, but catalogued — his darling Imp watched him like a predator, filing away each reaction to ensure that he was able to carve out the sweetest and sharpest pleasure possible.
Stolas swore — no, vowed — that he would give Blitzø the same exquisite torment in return. He would make his precious Imp writhe and melt beneath his touch, break him down until there was nothing left but surrender, just as he was unraveling now. The thought alone made his pulse thunder, already hungry for that moment to come.
For now though, only the sound of feathers brushing against lips remained, tangled with Stolas’ sharp, needy gasps and the thundering downpour of water on top of them. The air grew thick and smothering, charged with the unbearable tension of possession and desire.
Stolas’ legs twitched in Blitzø’s grasp, hips rolling instinctively as the hard length of his darling pressed eagerly at his slick, sensitive cloaca. Blitzø’s clawed hand drifted lower, teasing closer to Stolas’ heat, and he let one finger dip experimentally into the slick folds, testing and coaxing him open.
Both moaned in unison, Stolas’ hips bucking wildly as the tip of Blitzø’s cock grazed his most sensitive spot. “Blitzø… Blitzø… please… just… just fuck me already… Don’t make me wait… any more… You made me wait long enough…” Stolas slurred, intoxicated by lust. His body was violently trembling under the demon’s touch, legs shaking even as they stayed clamped around the Imp’s waist.
Blitzø pulled back slightly from his assault on Stolas’ throat and locked eyes with him, drinking in the desperation and need in Stolas‘ gaze. Then he pressed his lips to Stolas’ again, tongue brushing against his in a slow, teasing dance. “You’re right… so right…” he breathed against the owl’s beak, voice thick and dripping with heat.
With deliberate slowness, Blitzø guided his cock to Stolas’ dripping cloaca. Gravity, combined with the lingering stretch from their frantic fucking hours earlier, made his descent down the length seamless. Blitzø bottomed out instantly, and they moaned into each other's mouths before freezing for a heartbeat, each eager to savor the press and the perfect fit. Their mouths molded together again, lips and tongues exploring hungrily as if they could never get enough.
Their hips rolled in near-perfect synchrony as instinct took over, chasing the sweet friction and pressure they each craved. Every movement drove them closer to one another, bodies sliding together while their lips met again and again until Blitzø’s teeth bit into Stolas’ lower lip. Moans spilled freely into the charged air and the room seemed to shrink around them. Every touch amplified their need, every gasp and shiver a symphony of lust and longing they couldn’t, wouldn’t resist.
Blitzø began to move with deliberate force, thrusting up slowly at first, letting Stolas feel every inch of him, every press of his length. The slight resistance and the slick heat around him drove Blitzø wild, and a low growl rumbled from his chest as he kissed Stolas again, then let his teeth graze down lightly along the bird’s jaw.
Stolas moaned, and his body arched towards Blitzø’s naked, heated body in hopes of making his darling Imp lose control. “Ahh… Blitzø… harder… please… ” he gasped and begged pathetically, his voice just a trembling noise, while his eyes rolled back in lust. Every word, every shiver, every tremble sent a fire shooting through Blitzø’s veins.
Blitzø obeyed without hesitation, driving his hips harder, faster, lacing each slam into Stolas’ heat with a ruthless control that left the owl trembling beneath him. The friction of Blitzø’s spiked cock sent sparks through them both, ripping moans and pants from their throats that tangled together in perfect, maddening harmony.
Stolas bent forward, unable to resist sinking his beak into Blitzø’s throat, nipping and marking him, desperate to return even a fraction of the overwhelming pleasure his darling was bringing him.
Blitzø’s hands were everywhere — seizing Stolas’ hips, sliding down the length of his thighs, gripping, teasing, and claiming him as his claws sunk deep into the owl’s flesh.
Every touch screamed ownership, and Stolas welcomed it, reveled in it. His own claws raked over Blitzø’s back and shoulders, carving shallow black lines into his skin, each one a brand of possession. The Imp only grinned through it, savage and beautiful, as though the sting itself was proof of their bond.
“You feel… so fucking good, Stolas,” Blitzø growled between thrusts, his voice hoarse and ragged. “Fuck, you take me so well… every little shiver, every fucking moan… it’s all mine.”
Stolas gasped, a high, wet sound, as his body pressed closer and his hips met Blitzø’s with every desperate thrust. “Y-Yes… yours… Take me… Fuck me like you mean it… Blitzø… please…”
The intensity built between them as their bodies moved in perfect, heated rhythm, each thrust driving them closer to the edge. Blitzø’s lips left Stolas’ throat, trailing along his jaw, back to his neck, and down his collarbone, biting, nipping, and licking as he fucked him relentlessly. Stolas’ soft, ragged moans filled the space, echoing with pure need, pushing Blitzø higher and higher.
Blitzø’s chest heaved as his hips snapped relentlessly, and a low growl vibrated through him as he whispered against Stolas’ ear, “You’re mine, Stolas… all mine… and I’m never letting you forget it.”
Stolas’ legs trembled around him and his talons clutched needily at Blito’s back, and he let his hips roll to meet Blitzø’s, every nerve ending alive with exquisite friction. “Yes… Blitzø… I’m yours… You can have me… all of me… Just please… don’t stop…”
The rhythm quickened to a brutal and beautiful crescendo, a perfect storm of lust and desire. They were both entirely lost in each other as they chased the inevitable sweet release that was rapidly approaching.
Their bodies were slick and wet with both water and the fever of their passion as they slid together seamlessly, every movement a desperate demand for more. Each of their hearts hammered against one another’s chests, pounding in a rhythm so perfectly synchronized it felt ordained, as if they had been made to beat in unison.
And through the thick haze of pleasure, their voices broke free — ragged and raw, a chorus of gasps and cries that fused into one sound, one need, one soul.
Blitzø’s thrusts quickly became merciless, each one driving deeper, harder, hitting every sensitive spot inside Stolas. The way Stolas’ hips bucked, his body trembling and quivering beneath him, sent waves of heat through Blitzø, making his own control slip further with every stroke.
“You’re… fuck … you’re so… Ah, Stolas … so tight, so good for me…” Blitzø growled, as his teeth grazed along Stolas’ jaw and his tongue flicked at his throat, while his hands gripped hips and ass with deliberate force.
Stolas’ cries grew louder, rawer, and more desperate, filled with need and pleasure that cut through Blitzø like fire. “Blitzø… oh fuck… don’t stop… I… I can’t… can’t take any more…” His voice cracked, feathers ruffling from the intensity of the waves pulsing through him.
“Oh, you’re taking it, baby… taking me so fucking well,” Blitzø rasped with a thick voice, words dripping with lust. “I love how you sing for me, Stolas… So fucking pretty…. Pretty bird… Mine!”
Stolas’ legs trembled violently and he arched into Blitzø’s chest, moans tearing from his throat. “Yes… yes… ah! Blitzø… ahhh… I’m… I’m coming… oh fuck—”
Blitzø’s own body shook, the heat, friction, slick, and perfect fit driving him past control. He growled, plunging into Stolas with abandon, hips snapping and cock dragging deep inside, every inch coated with their combined need. “That’s it, baby… cum for me… scream for me… feel me take you…”
Stolas’ body convulsed, shivering as he came violently around Blitzø, talons gripping him tightly as his cries echoed throughout the room. Blitzø followed immediately after, teeth grazing the feathers at the base of the owl’s neck as he let his own release shudder through him, filling Stolas further with every thrust.
They collapsed to the ground as one, panting and trembling, their hearts hammering and pressed together. Blitzø nuzzled Stolas’ neck, lips brushing over sensitive skin as he whispered hoarsely, “Mine… always mine…”
Stolas let out a shaky, breathless laugh, feathers ruffling as he pressed impossibly closer, murmuring against Blitzø’s shoulder, “Yours… always…”
The two of them sat tangled together on the warm, slick floor of the shower, water cascading over their hot, intertwined bodies. They lazily pressed their lips against each other, tasting and sighing softly as they came down from their dizzying heights. Stolas rested in Blitzø’s lap, not ready to part from the hot body against him… and especially not from the Imp’s cock that was still buried deep inside his cloaca, the delicious friction that came along with every subtle shift sending shivers through them both.
Even the smallest movement made their overstimulated bodies ache, gasps and soft pants slipping into each other’s mouths as they adjusted to find comfort. Eventually, they reluctantly parted, foreheads resting against each other as their breaths mingled, their eyes locked together in quiet intimacy.
“You… really will love me… no matter what?” Stolas whispered, barely audible above the sound of the rushing water, his voice tremulous with lingering need and vulnerability.
Blitzø’s grin spread wide, dark, and teasing, making Stolas’ heart flutter in his chest. “Of course, birdy,” he murmured, fingers brushing through Stolas’ damp feathers. “You’re stuck with me now. I finally got you… You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Stolas let out a soft, blissful sigh, nuzzling closer against Blitzø’s chest as the warm water drummed around them, the rest of the world fading away completely.
…
After one… or maybe two… more rounds in the shower, they finally emerged and got dressed. Their bellies were a chorus of growls, aching for food, which was the only reason they had stopped their lovemaking.
Their breathless, reckless laughter echoed down the long, empty corridors as they walked, acting like the halls belonged only to them. Every giggle from Blitzø set something sharp and wild alight in Stolas’ chest. The owl still couldn’t grasp it, couldn’t decide if this intoxicating reality was truly his — his darling Imp so close, wanting him, choosing him!
The thought alone strangled him sweetly, coiling like molten chains around his ribs and squeezing until every breath came out ragged. It burned, a dangerous, delirious heat that threatened to consume him whole, and Stolas welcomed it, craved it, begged for it to never let him go.
He wanted him. All of him.
Then Blitzø froze, as his eyes fixed upon something along the wall. Stolas’ faltered mid-step, and his gaze left Blitzø’s face to see what the Imp was staring at with that intense, unreadable gaze. His pulse instantly stuttered, and he stood stone-still. Before his very own eyes, he saw Stella, her smile stiff as she posed beside him, little Octavia nestled in the owl’s arms. The sight of that woman was like acid in his veins, and Stolas could feel a dark, coiling fury unfurling in his gut.
He moved closer to Blitzø, brushing over the Imp’s shoulder just enough to let his heat linger, and whispered, sharp as a blade, “If Octavia didn’t care so much about this… I’d take it down or at the very least have her erased. That disgusting woman.” His jaw tightened, while heat pooled in his belly, threatening to spill and curled into something sharp and hungry. The memory of Stella, of her hands on him, made his body tremble — not with fear, but with an obsessive fury that knew no end.
Perhaps he’d indulge in his second-favorite activity soon…
“Where is she even? I haven’t seen her for like… five or six years?” Blitzø asked. He almost sounded casual, but the fire in his voice betrayed him. His darling Imp couldn’t possibly fool him with such flimsy acting — Stolas knew him too well. Every flicker of jealousy, every tiny flare of possessiveness — it was for him , and Stolas let himself drown in it, devouring it like a bitter, intoxicating wine he loved. He reveled in it, letting it coil through his chest and curl around his heart, twisting around his core to fuel a delicious, maddening need only Blitzø could inspire.
Blitzø looked up at him, letting his eyes narrow, revealing a glimmer of a silent, dangerous rage — not at Stolas, but at the woman who had laid claim to him before. A low and restrained growl vibrated through the Imp’s frame, and Stolas felt it like a spark, the sound igniting something dark and possessive inside him.
Stolas’ chest constricted as he studied the Imp, wondering how much of the truth he could spill, wondering how much he could tell him about the things he did behind closed doors. Could Blitzø handle the tangled, dark corners of his mind? Could he accept all of him — the obsession, the jealousy, the desire that sometimes scared even Stolas himself?
Would he accept him?
“Yes… She hasn’t been in front of Octavia in at least six years,” Stolas said, words measured and deliberate. His eyes drank in every line of Blitzø’s face, every flick of his tail, every tense muscle. The Imp’s fire, his jealousy — it thrilled him. Possessing him, controlling him, protecting him… Blitzø wanted all of him, and it was intoxicating.
Blitzø’s tail lashed behind him like a whip of restrained fury as his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. He folded his arms, the muscles taut against his chest, and his small frame hummed with silent fire. “What do you mean by that? You still… talk to her?” His growl was low, dangerous, and somehow… sexy. Stolas felt a thrill at the sound, electricity coursing throughout his body.
Stolas’ eyes drifted back to the painting, to Stella’s smug, frozen smile, and his thoughts twisted. He could lie. He could protect Blitzø from his inner demons, from the things hidden deep beneath his skin. But… maybe he could risk it. Risk everything to see how much Blitzø truly, wholeheartedly belonged to him. “Yes… I’ve been in contact with her,” he said finally, each word carefully weighed.
Blitzø’s jaw snapped tight, his teeth grinding together, and a growl erupted from deep within his chest, primal and raw. “What the fuck?! You still talk to that bitch?! Have you still been talking to her since we’ve gotten together?!”
“It’s not… what you think,” Stolas murmured, his voice low, like silk over steel, before rolling his eyes. “I — ” The owl looked at the floor, but the truth twisted inside him. Perhaps honesty could pull them closer. Perhaps Blitzø would accept him, all of him, or perhaps he would leave. But if he left… well, Stolas could always find… other ways to chain his darling to him.
Ways to make him stay.
Ways to bind him to him forever.
Ways to make him permanently his.
He dared to look into those fiery amber eyes, the world shrinking around them as he did. The anger, the jealousy, the tiny sparks of fear — they were all his now, and he wanted to drown in them. He wanted to own them. Own Blitzø. Completely.
The thought made his stomach coil even tighter, pleasure and possession tangling in a delicious, dangerous knot.
“Would you… follow me, Blitzø?” His voice was soft, intimate… seductive. A low rumbling purr laced his words. “I want to show you something.”
The Imp’s tail lashed even harder, thrashing with pent-up anger, but he didn’t speak. A scoff, sharp and small, was all he offered before falling in step beside Stolas, close enough for the owl to feel the tremors of heat radiating off him. It was… addictive.
Their footsteps echoed softly as they strode down the long corridor, the faint hum of the palace settling around them like a living thing. The air was cooler here, tinged with the scents of dust and something faintly metallic, something that made Stolas’ chest tighten with a dangerous thrill. Blitzø walked beside him, his eyes darting around in curiosity, while his tail flicked around nervously, betraying his inner unease.
Every glance Blitzø cast his way made Stolas’ pulse stutter violently and sent a dark fire burning low in his belly, scorching him from the inside out. What if this was all a colossal mistake? What if his darling recoiled in disgust, ripping himself away after seeing one of Stolas’ most twisted secrets?
But no — it was too late to unravel now. He had already chosen honesty, and he had to believe in the ferocity of the love and hunger that they shared. What if, instead of recoiling, Blitzø reveled in it? What if he embraced the very shadows Stolas bathed in?
The thought ignited something sharp and delirious inside him. The image of the two of them, drenched in blackened blood, wrapped in a madness no one else could ever understand, sent a violent shiver down his spine. He nearly moaned at the thrill of it.
Yes… oh yes … This wasn’t fear — this was destiny. And the idea of Blitzø sinking with him into this exquisite depravity — the idea of them indulging in it together — was more intoxicating than anything Stolas had ever dreamed of.
Then Stolas paused mid-stride, drawing in a deep breath to calm his inner lust down. They’d literally just had sex, how could he still be hungry for more? Blitzø truly fueled his desire and passion far better than anything, anyone else… It was so utterly addictive.
The owl let his hand move along the paneling that lined the wall, brushing against the rectangles until a subtle click echoed through the corridor. Then, a section of the wall swung inward, revealing a narrow spiral staircase that descended into shadow. The steps seemed to absorb the light, as though they led into the very heart of some forgotten, twisted secret.
Blitzø’s eyes widened, the spark of awe in his gaze mixing with a sharp glint of curiosity. “What’s this? You gonna show me your secret sex dungeon or something, birdy?” he snickered, his tail flicking playfully against Stolas’ thigh in a teasing swipe.
Stolas’ beak curved into a small, knowing smile, a chuckle rumbling from deep in his chest as he rolled his eyes with fond amusement. “No, my darling…” he said, before leaning down and letting his breath ghost hotly over Blitzø’s ear. His voice dropped an octave as he purred, “My sex dungeon? That… that is something I will show you another time, dearest~”
Stolas got his reaction immediately — Blitzø’s tail stiffened straight up, betraying him like a traitor, and his body shivered violently, the tremor sending a delicious spark coursing through Stolas’ brain. The owl’s smile sharpened mischievously, satisfaction gleaming in his gaze as he straightened to his full height and raised one elegant hand into the air.
With a flick of his wrist, magic spilled forth — soft, ethereal light, unfurling like silk before them. It danced along the edges of the stairs, illuminating the descent with a ghostly glow. Every curve of stone was revealed by the strange, warm gleam that made the passageway seem less like a staircase and more like an invitation into something forbidden.
“No, these,” he said, his voice low and velvety, “are the secret passages. Paimon, my father, used to use them when this palace was still his…” He tracked Blitzø from the corner of his eyes as they began their way down, gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary in order to not miss any reaction from his darling. “This is where he liked to keep the demons who didn’t obey him the first time.”
Blitzø snorted in amusement. “So your dad has a punishment kink or something? Or is this just his way of showing his servants who’s got the biggest dick?”
Stolas chuckled, covering his beak with a languid hand. “Well, considering he doesn’t have a dick, I’d wager it’s the first option.” He glanced back over his shoulder, giving Blitzø a sly wink.
The Imp barked out a laugh so loud it made his shoulders shake. “Oh fuck, I forgot! True, true… So your old man was just a massive sicko!”
The words should have hurt him, should have lodged barbs in his heart — but instead, Stolas felt only a strange calm, a deep certainty, as though he’d already crossed a point of no return. They were too far down the rabbit hole now. Whatever happened next, whatever Blitzø chose to feel or say, Stolas had no intention of letting Blitzø leave — whether that went against his will or not.
“Hmm…” he hummed in a low tone, voice like velvet threaded with steel as he kept his gaze fixed on the glowing steps. “Well, at least I know where I got it from, then, right?”
Blitzø’s head tilted, confusion lacing his voice. “What do you mean by that?”
Stolas didn’t answer. He let silence curl around them like smoke, heavy and suffocating. Each echoing step as they traveled further down into the depths only wound the tension tighter, feeding Blitzø’s curiosity, stoking his unease. Soon… soon he would understand.
Every step they took echoed like a heartbeat in the dark, drawing them further into shadows that smelled faintly of dirt and decay, something his father always had enjoyed. Stolas’ hand brushed along the wall, lingering near Blitzø as if he couldn't bear to be away from him even for a mere second.
Finally, they reached the bottom. The staircase opened into a low chamber, lit only by the soft glow Stolas conjured, and there, at the far end, was a steel door that gleamed coldly in the pale light. Stolas stopped, but he didn’t turn to Blitzø immediately — he didn’t need to. The Imp’s wide-eyed stare told him everything, his expression a combination of intrigue, curiosity, and anticipation.
“I…” Stolas’ voice was softer now, more fragile than the commanding tone he’d carried before. “I want to be honest with you, darling.”
Blitzø tilted his head, one brow arched, and suspicion flickered across his face. “What do you mean? You weren’t honest with me before?” His tone was challenging, almost harsh, yet clearly wounded beneath all that.
Stolas let his half-lidded gaze slip over his shoulder, drinking in the sight of his Imp: hips cocked, one hand planted defiantly on his side, his posture almost offended, almost dangerous. A low hum escaped the owl before he turned back towards the looming steel door.
“That’s not what I meant, dearest,” he said softly, almost coaxing. “I meant… I will answer your question honestly. About where Stella is.”
The words lingered in the stale air, heavy and suffocating. From beyond the steel door seeped the faint metallic tang of blood, subtle but unmistakable, pressing heavily against their senses. Blitzø’s tail twitched sharply, betraying him, and every muscle pulled taut as a bowstring as he tried to decipher the meaning behind Stolas’ words.
The corridor behind them felt impossibly distant now, like the world above had nothing to do with the two men descending into shadows. Every step Stolas had taken, every flicker of magic along the stone, every whispered word had drawn Blitzø closer, bound him to this moment… to Stolas.
And Stolas… oh, he surrendered to it — gave in to the pull, to the exquisite, gnawing need to show Blitzø everything. To strip away every secret, every shadow, until his darling saw him fully, understood him utterly, belonged to him in every possible way.
If Blitzø’s love for him burned even a fraction as fiercely as his own… Stolas nearly trembled at the thought, a violent shiver crawling down his spine. His beak bit into his lower lip, smothering the moan clawing its way up his throat. The anticipation was palpable, almost unbearable.
Because if that was true — if Blitzø truly loved every part of him — then what lay beyond this door would not only bind them closer… it would thrill them both. Oh yes… beyond this threshold waited a promise of ecstasy, of darkness, of a good time that could never be undone.
Stolas reached for the steel door, his fingers curling around the cold metal. With a slow, deliberate push, it groaned open, revealing a chamber swallowed in shadows. The faint light of the glowing stairs above barely touched the space, but Stolas didn’t need it. With a flick of his wrist, warm candlelight erupted throughout the room, dancing along the walls, casting long, trembling shadows that flickered like living things.
The light revealed the stark emptiness of the room — cold, silent and barren. Nothing… except, in the center, a single metal chair bolted firmly to the floor. And in it sat a once-white swan Goetia, her form pathetically fragile and trembling. Chains clamped her to the armrests and legs of the chair, binding her completely. Her feathers were disheveled, streaked with a combination of dirt and blood that slowly dripped off her feathers and pooled beneath her. Tear-streaked trails painted her cheeks, the lines seemingly the only clean part of her body, and the wild terror in her gaze as she made eye contact with Stolas made her seem almost too small to occupy the space she did.
She flinched violently as the prince advanced, his every step drawn out, deliberate and predatory. His shadow loomed over her as he slowly circled around her, savoring the way each of his movements only served to quicken the panicked rise and fall of her chest. The chains rattled and clinked as she twisted helplessly, a pitiful accompaniment to her ragged breaths.
Stolas’ beak curved into a mischievous, dangerous smile, eyes glinting with something unreadable. He let one talon drag feather-light across her cheek before gripping her face in his palm, yanking her head to the side with a force so violent, it tore a pathetic whimper from her throat.
“Shhh,” he cooed mockingly, rubbing his cheek against hers in a grotesque mimicry of affection, relishing every useless flinch, every stupid attempt to wriggle free. His eyes slid open, glowing faintly as he turned his half-lidded gaze toward Blitzø, who was still standing in the doorway.
“This…” he purred, voice dripping with delight, “is where Stella has been all these years.”
One hand slithered down from her throat, caressing her shoulder mockingly before clamping harshly around her upper arm. His talons sank in deep, drawing forth inky-black blood that welled and smeared beneath his grip. The woman whimpered and choked, fresh tears streaking down her face.
“After years of her abuse… of her violence… rape…” he drawled the words slowly, almost sultrily, like a lover confessing devotion. His gaze never once left Blitzø, too immersed with watching him, drinking in his widened eyes, and absorbing his frozen frame to look away. “I decided it was only fitting… that she choked on the torment she so freely gave. Naturally tenfold back.”
His talons bit deeper, tearing flesh satisfyingly. Stella screamed, a raw sound that bounced off the stone walls, her head still immobile in his iron grip.
“Especially after this wretched woman dared lay a hand on my daughter!” he hissed, voice sharp with a serrated edge of rage.
The fury vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, instantly smoothed into a silken purr. He straightened, tossing Stella’s head aside like discarded cloth, and turned his full attention back on his darling Imp. His smile was like honeyed poison, sticky-sweet and deadly.
“So tell me, Blitzø…” his voice dripped with velvet malice. “How deep does your love for me truly run, dear?”
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stolasstar (Guest) on Chapter 1 Sat 19 Apr 2025 02:59PM UTC
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Last Edited Sun 20 Apr 2025 09:39AM UTC
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AngelatBirth on Chapter 3 Sun 27 Apr 2025 10:56AM UTC
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ItzAbriale on Chapter 3 Sun 27 Apr 2025 02:45PM UTC
Last Edited Sun 27 Apr 2025 04:11PM UTC
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schleitheimia on Chapter 3 Mon 28 Apr 2025 10:38PM UTC
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