#poly!stolitz x reader

He nuzzled against your hair, a soft hooting sound escaping him, and you felt some of the tension leave your shoulders.

"I felt like an idiot," you admitted quietly.

"You were magnificent," he corrected, another button coming undone. "Poised, graceful, charming. Everyone was completely taken with you."

From across the room, near the balcony, came a snort.

"Yeah, 'taken with her,'" Blitz said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He was sitting in the corner, methodically taking apart his rifle "Especially that one guy who kept trying to smell her. That was REAL charming."

"That particular Lord has always been... peculiar," Stolas said diplomatically, working on another button. "But he meant no harm."

"He was SNIFFING her! Like a fucking PERVERT!" Blitz had gotten one of the rifle's components apart and was now aggressively cleaning it. "If you hadn't stepped in, I was gonna shoot him!"

"Which is precisely why I didn't allow you to bring ammunition," Stolas said mildly.

"You WHAT?!" Blitz's head snapped up.

"Did you truly think I'd let you bring a loaded weapon to my father's party? Darling, I know you. I'm not an idiot." Stolas sounded far too pleased with himself. "I had a servant switch out your bullets for blanks before we left."

"You sneaky feathered FUCK—"

"Language, Blitzy. We have delicate company."

"She's heard worse! She LIVES with me!"

You couldn't help but smile as another button gave way. The dress was elaborate—deep blue silk that caught the light like water, with intricate silver embroidery, wearing it had felt like being wrapped in liquid starlight.

It had also been tight, restrictive, and you'd been desperate to get out of it for the last hour.

"There," Stolas said softly as the last button came free. "All done."

His hands lingered on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. You felt him lean in, his beak brushing against the junction of your neck and shoulder, another soft hoot escaping him.

"So beautiful," he murmured. "You were the most stunning creature there tonight."

"Okay, that's enough of the lovey-dovey shit!" Blitz announced loudly. "Some of us are trying to get to the FUN PARTS."

"You're cleaning a rifle that you already cleaned three times," Stolas pointed out, still nuzzling your shoulder. "I think you're doing it for the aesthetic at this point, darling."

"I'm doing it because my TRIGGER FINGER is itchy and I can't actually SHOOT anyone because SOMEONE stole my bullets!"

You stepped away from Stolas carefully, holding the front of the dress up. Underneath, you wore a simple silk slip that Stolas had also provided—apparently, Goetia formal wear required very specific undergarments.

The dress pooled around your feet as you stepped out of it, the heavy silk whispering against the floor. You bent to pick it up, and Stolas immediately took it from you.

"I'll have it cleaned and returned to the proper storage," he said, draping it carefully over a chair. "It's a family heirloom—belonged to my great-grandmother, actually. I thought the color would suit you."

"It was beautiful," you said honestly. "I just... I'm not used to fancy dresses."

"You wore it perfectly." Stolas moved closer again, his hands finding your waist over the thin silk of the slip. "Like you were born to it."

"Yeah, well, she WASN'T born to it," Blitz said, loudly clicking another rifle component into place. "She was born to like, normal human shit. Not fancy demon parties where everyone's trying to figure out who she's related to!"

"They were simply curious—"

"They were being NOSY! There's a difference!" Blitz glared at Stolas over the rifle. "And you! Getting all handsy the second the dress comes off! Have some DECORUM!" Blitz's tone had switched to a imitation of Stolas.

"I have plenty of decorum, darling. I simply choose when to employ it." Stolas's hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing just below your ribs. "And right now, after such a long evening, I think we have requests to fulfill don't we darling."

You stuck your tongue out at Blitz, which made him drop a rifle piece as he scrambled to jam them into the rifle case.

"Did you just—you just stuck your TONGUE out at me!"

"You deserved it," you said, grinning.

"RUDE! After I spent all night protecting you from creepy BLUE bloods!"

"You spent all night glaring at people and making threats under your breath!"

"Yeah! PROTECTING you! With INTIMIDATION!" He'd abandoned the rifle now, pointing at you accusingly. "And this is the thanks I get?!"

"Oh, Blitzy, don't be such a child," Stolas said, still holding you close. "She's simply teasing you. It's quite adorable, actually."

"It's DISRESPECTFUL is what it is!"

"You're just upset because you can't shoot anyone," Stolas said, his beak nuzzling against your temple now. "You get so grumpy when you're not allowed to commit violence."

"I DO NOT—okay, yes, I do, but that's not the POINT—"

As they bickered, you shifted your weight, feeling an odd prickling sensation on your left leg. You glanced down, adjusting the slip slightly, and your heart stopped.

There were feathers.

Small, downy, white feathers. Protruding from the skin at your ankle.

Three of them. No—you looked closer—five. Five small feathers growing out of your leg like that was a perfectly normal thing for legs to do.

Panic shot through you like ice water. Not more changes. Not now. Not when you'd just gotten used to the fangs.

Moving as casually as you could manage, you bent down like you were adjusting the slip's hem.

"You alright, little star?" Stolas asked.

"Fine! Just—the slip is twisted," you said, your voice thankfully steady.

Your fingers found the feathers. They were soft, delicate, and definitely attached to your skin. You gripped the base of one and pulled.

Sharp pain, but the feather came free.

You did the same with the others, quick and efficient, even as your eyes watered from the sting. All five feathers came out, small dots of blood marking where they'd been.

"You sure you're okay?" Blitz asked, suspicious now.

"Yes! Just fixing the dress—I mean the slip!" You straightened up quickly, the feathers clutched in your fist. "All good!"

You turned, pretending to adjust the slip in the back, and dropped the feathers on the floor. With your foot, you quickly kicked them under the bed.

Crisis temporarily averted.

"Well, now that everyone's indecent," Blitz said, standing up from his rifle, "can we PLEASE get to the ACTUAL FUN PARTS? It's been a long fucking night and I'm FUCKED OFF from not being allowed to murder anyone!"

Stolas smiled, one of his hands coming up to cup your face. "Let's get you comfortable, darling."

Stolas's bed was, as always, enormous. The sheets were fresh—he'd had them changed while you were at the party—and the pillows were numerous enough to build a fort.

You climbed in first, settling in the middle, and immediately felt your body relax into the impossibly soft mattress. Your ankle stung where you'd ripped the feathers out, but you ignored it, pulling the blankets up instinctively.

Blitz approached from one side, having stripped down to his boxers and tank top. "I'm taking this side. Bird brain can have the other one."

"How generous of you," Stolas said dryly, moving to the opposite side. He'd changed into a elaborate robe that was probably silk and definitely cost more than a car.

They both climbed in, and suddenly you were sandwiched between them again. Blitz on your left, Stolas on your right, both warm and solid and somehow making the enormous bed feel cozy.

"Ugh, what's with all this soft FUCKING BULLSHIT" Blitz groaned throwing several pillows off the bed.

"You didn't have to stay," Stolas pointed out, though he was already shifting closer to you.

"Like I'm gonna leave her alone with you! You'd probably try some freaky bird sex magic or something!"

"Blitzy, don't be ridiculous..." Stolas's arm draped over your waist, pulling you back against him. His chest was warm against your back, soft feathers tickling your neck. "Perhaps, some cuddling to start."

"Of course you would want that wouldn't you," Blitz muttered, but he was shifting closer too, his hand finding yours under the blankets.

You laced your fingers with his, and he squeezed gently.

For a moment, there was just quiet. The sound of breathing, the distant noise of Hell outside, the warmth of both of them surrounding you.

Then Stolas nuzzled against your hair, hooting softly. "You really were magnificent tonight."

"You already said that," you murmured, but you were smiling.

"It bears repeating." His hand on your waist slid up slightly, thumb brushing your ribs through the thin silk. "Seeing you in that dress, holding yourself with such grace... I was very proud."

"You looked hot," Blitz said bluntly from your other side. "Like, really hot. That dress was doing THINGS for you."

"Blitzy, that's crude—"

"It's HONEST! She looked hot! Everyone thought so! Why do you think half those FUCKHEADS were sniffing around her?!"

"I believe the phrase is 'interested in her heritage,'" Stolas corrected.

"I believe the phrase is 'wanted to get in her pants,' but sure, let's go with yours."

You laughed, the sound muffled against the pillow. "Can we not talk about other demons wanting to... do things with me?"

"Agreed," Stolas said, his arm tightening possessively around your waist. "I'd rather not think about that either."

"See? Bird brain and I agree on something! That's how you know it's important!" Blitz shifted closer, and now you could feel the warmth of him along your side. "Nobody gets to sniff you except us."

"Nobody is sniffing me!" you protested.

"Stolas literally just nuzzled your hair!"

"That's different! That's affectionate!"

"It's SNIFFING!"

"It's absolutely not—"

"Okay, enough," you interrupted, squeezing Blitz's hand. "Can we just... not argue about sniffing?"

"Fine," Blitz grumbled. "But for the record, I'm right."

"You're always right in your own mind, darling," Stolas said, his voice amused.

"Damn straight!"

Stolas's hand on your waist started moving in slow, gentle circles. His beak nuzzled against your shoulder, and you heard him hoot softly—that unconscious bird sound he made when he was content.

"You really were stunning tonight," he murmured, his voice dropping lower. "Every time I looked at you, I found myself... distracted."

"Distracted how?" you asked, turning your head slightly to see him.

"Distracted by how much I wanted to do this..." His hand slid up from your waist, fingers tracing along your ribs through the thin silk. "And this..." His beak brushed against your neck, finding that sensitive spot just below your ear.

You shivered, and he hooted again, pleased.

"Oh, now we're getting THERE." Blitz said from your other side, his voice taking on that rough edge you'd started to recognize. "Alright. I can work with this."

His hand on your hip tightened, pulling you firmly toward him. "You know what was hot? Watching every single demon in that room want you"

"Blitz—"

"Nah, I'm not done." He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with those glowing eyes. "Watching them circle around you like sharks, trying to figure out your bloodline, your status, your availability—" His hand slid possessively over your stomach. "And knowing that at the end of the night, they wouldn’t FUCKING have you."

Stolas made an approving sound, his hand sliding higher on your ribs. "I must admit, I quite enjoyed that aspect as well."

You scoffed, and even you could hear how breathless your voice had already gotten.

Stolas captured your mouth in another kiss. It was deeper than before, more heated. His tongue brushed against your lips and you opened for him, feeling the warmth of him, tasting something floral and exotic.

"Fuck, that's hot," Blitz muttered, his hand sliding from your stomach to your thigh. "Watching him kiss you like that."

He waited until Stolas pulled back, then immediately claimed your mouth for himself. Where Stolas was elegant and deliberate, Blitz was fierce and demanding. His hand fisted in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he kissed you like he was trying to prove a point.

When he finally let you breathe, you were gasping.

"See?" he said with a wicked grin. "That's how you kiss someone Birdie."

"Such passion, Blitzy," Stolas said, amused. "Though perhaps a bit... aggressive?"

"She likes aggressive," Blitz said confidently. "Don't you?"

Before you could answer, his hand slid further up your thigh, fingers teasing along the edge of your slip. "See? She's not exactly pushing me away."

"I didn't say stop," you managed.

"That's what I thought." Blitz's grin turned absolutely feral. "Now, here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna lie there and let us make you forget every single boring conversation you had to sit through tonight. Sound good?"

"I—yes—"

"Yes what?" His hand stilled, waiting.

"Yes, Sounds good." you breathed.

"Much betterrrr" he said, and the praise made heat pool low in your belly. "See, this is what you should've been doing all night instead of making small talk with pretentious assholes."

"I kinda had to—it was expected—"

"I know, I know. Politics and bloodlines and all that boring shit." His hand resumed its movement, sliding higher. "But you hated it. I could tell. Every time someone asked about your heritage, you got this little line right here—" He tapped between your eyebrows. "All tense and stressed."

"I was nervous," you admitted.

"You were fucking perfect," Blitz corrected. "Even when you were nervous. Especially when you were nervous." His fingers found the edge of your underwear beneath the slip. "This okay?"

"Yes."

"Say it properly."

"Yes, please."

"Fuck, you're polite about getting railed." He slid his hand properly between your thighs now, and you gasped at the contact. "There we go. See? Much better than talking about lineage."

Stolas had been watching, all four eyes dark with interest, and now his hand joined the exploration. He slid it down from your ribs to your hip, then lower, fingers dancing along your inner thigh.

"May I?" he asked, ever polite even in this.

"Yes," you said quickly.

"So eager," he purred. "And after such a long evening too. One might think you'd been waiting for this."

"I—maybe—"

"Don't 'maybe' me, little star. Were you thinking about this during the party?" His fingers traced patterns on your inner thigh, maddeningly close but not quite touching. "When Lord Andrealphus wouldn't stop asking about your family tree?"

"Yes," you admitted, face burning.

"What exactly were you thinking about?" Stolas asked, and there was a wicked edge to his voice now.

"I—I can't—"

"Sure you can!" Blitz encouraged, his own hand still working you through the fabric. "Tell bird brain what you were thinking about. Don't be shy now."

"I was thinking about... this," you managed. "Both of you. Touching me. Making me forget everything else."

"Good," Blitz said approvingly. "That's real good. See? You CAN talk dirty when you want to."

"That wasn't—"

"That was absolutely talking dirty. And you're gonna do more of it." His fingers pressed more firmly, making you arch. "Gonna tell us exactly what you want."

"I want—" You gasped as Stolas's hand finally moved higher, joining Blitz's. "I want you to touch me. Both of you. Please."

"Since you asked so nicely, tits" Blitz said, and his hand slipped properly beneath the fabric.

The feeling of his skin against yours, direct contact without barriers, made you moan.

"Oh, you like that ?" he observed, grinning. "Yeah, you really fucking like that."

Stolas's hand had found its way beneath the fabric too, and now both of them were touching you, fingers exploring, learning what made you gasp and arch and beg.

"So responsive," Stolas murmured, his beak against your throat. "Every touch makes you tremble."

"Every sound you make goes straight to my dick," Blitz added bluntly. "Just so you know. You're driving me fucking insane right now."

"Good," you managed to say, and his eyes flashed.

"Oh, getting brave now?" He increased the pressure of his touch. "Think you can handle both of us working together?"

Stolas's mouth found yours again, swallowing your moans as they worked you expertly.

"You're so close already," Blitz observed, his voice rough with desire.

"Let go, darling," Stolas murmured against your lips. "You're perfectly safe little star. Let go."

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, and you cried out, your hands clutching at both of them as they worked you through it.

"Beautiful," Stolas breathed, watching you come undone.

"Fucking gorgeous," Blitz agreed, his hand slowing. "Still good?"

"Uh-huh" you managed.

"Good. Because like I said—" His grin was absolutely wicked. "—we're making up for that entire BORING-ASS party. And I've got a LOT of ideas about how to do that."

Stolas hooted softly, his hand still caressing your thigh. "As do I. And we have all night."

"All night ?" you asked breathlessly.

"Uh-huh," Blitz said, pulling you into another searing kiss.

"Now, where were we?"

Stolas didn’t let you answer. His long fingers gently caught your wrist, lifting your hand to press a slow, reverent kiss to the center of your palm. His four red eyes locked onto yours—glowing softly in that steady, hypnotic way that made everything else feel distant and safe. Not taking anything away from you, just… quieting the noise.

"Come here, little star," he murmured, voice like velvet wrapped around starlight. With effortless strength he pulled you back against him, shifting until your back rested fully against his warm, feathered chest.

Your head tucked just beneath his beak. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close, while the hand that had kissed your palm stayed there—pressed gently to his cheek as he nuzzled into it.

Blitz watched the whole thing with dark, hungry eyes, but he didn’t interrupt. Instead he shifted closer on your left, his clawed hand sliding possessively over your hip again, thumb stroking the skin just under the hem of your slip.

"Show-off," he muttered, though there was no real bite in it. "Always gotta be all fancy."

Stolas only smiled against your palm, then turned his gaze on Blitz. "Jealous, my little imp?"

"Fuck no." Blitz’s grin was sharp. "Just impatient."

Stolas’s free hand slid up your side, fingers deftly tugging the thin ties of your slip open and down your shoulders, baring your breasts to the warm air of the bedroom. He let out a low, appreciative trill, his beak brushing the shell of your ear.

"Exquisite," he whispered against your skin, nuzzling your palm again. "My brave, beautiful little star… falling into our world and still shining so brightly, thank the stars that you’re here with us."

His thumb traced slow circles just beneath your breast, teasing but not quite touching where you suddenly ached for him.

Blitz’s gaze dropped to your now-exposed chest, a sharp grin spreading across his face. "Fuck, look at you. All laid out like that… shit’s unfair." He leaned in, nipping lightly at the side of your neck before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His voice dropped, still smug but softer around the edges.

"Hey… you gonna be okay if I use my tail?"

You blinked, a little dazed from Stolas’s eyes and the warmth of his body behind you. "Your… tail?"

Blitz’s tail flicked behind him, the spade-shaped tip curling lazily. "Yeah. I can wrap it around your wrists—keep your hands right where I want ‘em. Or just trail it over you… tease you slow. Drag it along your thighs, your tits, wherever." He paused, watching your face carefully, that cocky smirk softening for a moment. "After what happened… I don’t wanna be the reason you freak out."

You nodded, because it was Blitz asking. "I trust you. Yes… you can use it."

His grin came back, smug and bright. "Atta girl. Knew you were tough." The teasing crept back into his voice as his tail slithered forward, the warm, smooth length curling once around your wrist in a loose but secure hold—testing. "There we go… nice and easy. Look at that."

Stolas hooted softly in approval, still nuzzling your palm against his cheek. "She looks divine like this, Blitzy. So trusting… so open for us." His beak brushed your temple. "Such a sweet darling little creature, letting us worship you. You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of spending nights like this."

Blitz’s tail gave a gentle tug, guiding your wrist up toward the pillow before letting the spade tip trailed slowly back down your sternum, teasing between your breasts before circling one nipple in lazy spirals. The sensation made you shiver. Behind you, Stolas’s hand finally cupped your breast fully, squeezing with open hunger, rolling your nipple between his fingers as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder.

Blitz shifted lower on the bed, settling between your spread thighs. His tail continued its journey—trailing down your stomach, teasing along your hip, then curling loosely around your other thigh to hold you open for him. "You still good, tits? Breathin’ okay?"

"Yes," you managed, voice already breathy. "I’m good."

"Perf," His grin turned feral. "Now shut up and let me eat."

He didn’t wait for more permission. Blitz leaned in and dragged his tongue up your center in one long, filthy stripe, groaning loudly at the taste of you. "Shit… you taste even better than you look."

You gasped, hips twitching, but his tail and Stolas’s arm kept you pinned. Stolas’s hand kneaded your breast possessively while he whispered against your hair, voice thick with want.

"So responsive… our little star. Every sound you make is music. Let Blitzy devour you, darling."

Blitz worked you with shameless enthusiasm—tongue flicking fast over your clit, then slowing to broad, lazy licks, occasionally dipping lower to push inside you. His tail tightened just enough around your thigh to keep you spread, the spade tip occasionally flicking teasingly against your inner thigh.

Every new touch from the tail made you jolt in the best way, and each time you did, Blitz's eyes would drift up, just long enough to check.

Stolas kept you grounded the whole time—your hand pressed to his cheek, his beak nuzzling and kissing your palm between soft, romantic murmurs. "You’re safe here… cherished… wanted beyond measure. Wonderous little human who stole both our hearts without even trying."

The dual sensation was overwhelming Blitz’s hot mouth devouring you with greedy, wet sounds, his tail restraining and teasing in equal measure, and Stolas’s warm body behind you, hands and voice worshipping every inch he could reach. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

When you finally tipped over the edge, crying out sharply, Blitz groaned against you, licking you through every shuddering wave while Stolas held you close, cooing softly.

"Fuck yes… that’s the sound I wanted." Blitz muttered, voice rough and pleased as he finally pulled back, lips shiny. His tail loosened but stayed draped possessively over your thigh.

Stolas’s four eyes were dark with hunger, his cloaca already slick and flushed where it pressed against your lower back. He nuzzled your palm one more time.

Blitz crawled back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, that wicked grin firmly in place. "You wanna pick what’s next, or you want us to keep running the show?"

The question made heat rush to your face. You flustered, mouth opening and closing for a second without any sound coming out, suddenly shy under the weight of both their attention.

Blitz scoffed, the sound low and amused. “Cute. Real cute when you get all tongue-tied like that.”

Before you could recover, he leaned across you and caught Stolas’s beak in a rough kiss. With you pressed firmly between them—your back still against Stolas’s warm feathered chest, Blitz’s body leaning in close—the motion sandwiched you tighter.

You felt the shift of muscle and feathers, the heat of both of them surrounding you completely as their mouths moved together. It was messy, hungry, and impossibly hot to be caught right in the middle of it.

You watched, mesmerized by the way Blitz’s hand fisted in Stolas’s feathers, the way Stolas’s eyes fluttered closed in clear enjoyment. The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“You’re so fucking pretty…”

Only when Blitz pulled back from Stolas did he register what you’d said. He blinked, looking hurt for a beat, then smirked. “Yeah? Bird brain’s got that fancy prince thing going for him, huh? Figures.”

You shook your head quickly, heart. “No—I meant you.”

Blitz’s eyebrow twitched, the smug expression faltering into something startled. You didn’t give him time to overthink it. Reaching up with your free hand, you dragged him down into a kiss, pouring every bit of want and affection into it.

Blitz made a surprised noise against your mouth before melting into it, kissing you back fierce and deep, like he was trying to hide how much your correction had affected him.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathing harder, you could feel him—hot and hard—pressing against your thigh. The realization sent a fresh wave of nerves and shyness bubbling up. You swallowed thickly, suddenly aware of how exposed you were, how much you wanted this.

Blitz noticed. He brushed his thumb along your jaw, voice dropping lower, almost gentle for a moment. “Hey. You look like you’re thinkin’ real loud over there.”

You nodded, managing a small smile despite the flush on your cheeks. “Yeah… I’m good. Just… a lot.”

Stolas hooted softly behind you, still holding your hand gently against his cheek and nuzzling into your palm with slow, affectionate presses of his beak.

“Little star,” he murmured, voice warm and romantic, laced with that familiar dramatic tenderness. “You honor us both with your words… and your touch. There is nowhere else in all the rings I would rather be than right here, with you between us like this darling, ypur so full of light even in Hell’s shadows.”

His free hand continued its slow exploration, cupping and kneading your breast with open hunger, thumb circling your nipple until you shivered. The contrast between his soft, poetic whispers and the blatant need in his touch made your head spin.

Blitz’s tail gave a playful flick against your thigh, the spade tip trailing lightly up toward your hip again in a teasing stroke.

“Don’t go gettin’ all shy on us now,” he said, that smug, tease creeping back into his tone. “Not when you just called me pretty and dragged me in like that. Fuckin’ bold move, tits. I like it.” He rocked his hips once, letting you feel him more deliberately against your thigh, hot and insistent.

“Keep talkin’ shit and I might start thinkin’ you actually like my ugly mug.”

You laughed softly, the sound breathless, nerves easing a little under their combined warmth and attention.

Stolas’s four eyes gleamed with interest as he pressed another kiss to your palm. “She does more than like it, Blitzy. She sees you… truly sees you. As do I.” His voice dropped into something huskier. “And I, for one, am very much enjoying the view of both of you like this.”

Blitz snorted “Fuckin' Saps. Both of you.” He leaned in again, nipping at your lower lip before glancing between you and Stolas, tail still lazily teasing along your skin.

He lined himself up, the blunt head of him pressing hot and insistent against your entrance. “Alright, Stols. You’re gonna hold her nice and steady for me. Keep those pretty hands on her, I want her feelin’ both of us.”

Stolas hooted softly in agreement, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulled you more firmly against his chest.

“As you wish, Blitzy,” he purred, voice thick with arousal. His free hand returned to your breast, kneading with open hunger while his beak trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck, feathers brushing your skin with every movement.

Blitz pushed in slowly, inch by careful inch, stretching you open with a low, satisfied groan. The drag was hot, thick, and steady—until he bottomed out with a sharp exhale. “Fuuuck… You feel that, tits?"

You couldn’t help it. The overwhelming fullness hit you instantly, and your hand flew up to press over your mouth, muffling the moan that tried to escape.

Blitz’s eyes narrowed, a low grumble vibrating in his chest. “Nuh-uh. None of that shit.” His tail flicked up fast, the warm length wrapping firmly around your wrist and tugging your hand away from your mouth, pinning it gently but insistently against the pillow beside your head.

“You do that again and I’m gettin’ Stolas to pin you down properly. No hidin’ got it? I wanna hear every fuckin’ noise you make while I’m buried in you.”

Stolas chuckled against your neck, the sound turning soft as he pressed another line of kisses along your throat, beak grazing that sensitive spot just below your ear.

“He’s quite serious, darling,” he murmured, voice warm and teasing, though his hips gave a tiny, involuntary rock against your back, his slick cloaca pressing hot and wet against your skin. “Though I would be more than happy to assist… holding our little star exactly where Blitzy wants you.”

You nodded quickly, breath coming in short gasps as Blitz started to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. He kept the pace torturously steady, like he was savoring every second.

While he fucked you, his tail uncoiled from your wrist slithering back and find Stolas. The spade tip trailed teasingly along his side, then lower, brushing over the flushed, slick folds of Stolas’s cloaca. Stolas gasped sharply, hips twitching forward against you as Blitz’s tail pressed more firmly, the tip circling and teasing the sensitive entrance without quite pushing inside.

“Fuck, listen to him,” Blitz said, voice smug and as he kept thrusting into you at that same slow rhythm. “Bird brain’s already leakin’ all over my tail. You like that, Stolas? Me fuckin’ her while I play with your Birdpuss ?”

Stolas moaned against your neck, the sound muffled by another kiss, his hand squeezing your breast harder.

“Y-yes— Blitzy— ah, your tail feels… divine…”

Blitz’s grin widened, tail working Stolas with lazy, teasing strokes—sometimes pressing just inside the slick heat, sometimes pulling back to trail slickly over the outer folds. All while he continued rocking into you, slow and deep, making sure you felt every inch.

“See? Teamwork,” Blitz said, leaning down to nip at your collarbone, eyes flicking between your face and Stolas behind you. “Now keep those pretty sounds comin’, tits. No hidin’. Or next time I really will bring the ropes and we’ll see how loud we can make you scream.”

Stolas’s beak found that spot on your neck again, sucking gently as his hand continued to explore your chest, rolling your nipple between talented fingers with open hunger.

You nodded softly, eyes closing involuntarily for a moment as another thrust from Blitz sent sparks through you. Your free hand reached up, looping around the back of Blitz’s neck, pulling him a little closer. He stilled inside you for a second, buried deep, and you managed a breathless but awkward little

“Hi…”

Blitz rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a grin. “Hi? Really? I’m balls-deep and your go to is ‘hi’?” He scoffed, but his voice had that soft edge he got when you caught him off guard.

“Fuckin’ dork.”

Behind you, Stolas let out a quiet, amused huff. His hands shifted, sliding down to grip your thighs carefully, holding them open wider for Blitz with gentle but firm pressure. The new angle made everything feel deeper, more exposed, and you couldn’t stop the small whimper that escaped.

Blitz’s tail, still slick from teasing Stolas, moved with purpose again. The spade tip pressed more firmly against his cloaca, sliding inside in one smooth motion at the exact same, deep pace he was using on you. Stolas gasped sharply, hips jerking forward against your back as the tail fucked into him in perfect sync with Blitz’s thrusts into you.

“Fuuuck, yeah,” Blitz groaned, voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s it. Both of you takin’ me. Look at that—my tail’s buried in bird brain’s pretty puss while I’m stretchin’ you open. Perfect fuckin’ perfect.”

You were trembling between them, overwhelmed by the dual sensation and the way they moved together. A needy sound slipped out before you could catch it.

Blitz smirked down at you, still rocking steadily. “Shit, listen to you. Eyes all glassy, breathin’ like you ran a FUCKING marathon.”

Stolas nuzzled into your neck, voice low and teasing between kisses. “Indeed, little star. You’re trembling so deliciously...”

You tried to quip back, voice shaky. “I’m not—ah—that worked up—”

Blitz barked a laugh, thrusting a little deeper on the next stroke. “Oh yeah? That’s FUCKING cute. Denyin’ it while you’re squeezin’ me like a vice. Real convincing, tits.”

Stolas hummed in agreement, his hold on your thighs tightening just enough to keep you perfectly spread. “My darling is quite the liar tonight. All flushed and breathless… making the sweetest little sounds every time Blitzy moves.”

Before you could protest again, Blitz’s eyes flashed with wicked amusement. “Keep her mouth busy, will ya? She’s gettin’ mouthy and I wanna hear moans, not SHIT TALKING.”

Stolas didn’t hesitate. He tilted your head back gently against his shoulder, beak capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue slid against yours, elegant and insistent, swallowing every gasp and whimper as Blitz continued those slow, punishing thrusts. At the same time, his tail kept fucking Stolas in the same unhurried rhythm, drawing muffled, needy hoots that vibrated into your mouth.

Blitz watched the two of you kissing with dark, satisfied eyes, his free hand coming down to rub circles over your clit while he kept moving inside you. “There we go… much better. No more talkin’ back when you’ve got birdies tongue down your throat and my little red cock buried in you.”

The kiss broke only when you needed air, but Stolas immediately moved back to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat while his hands kept your thighs held open. Blitz leaned in closer, voice dropping lower.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight every time he kisses you. You like bein’ stuck between us like this?”

You could only moan in response, caught completely in their rhythm, their teasing words, and the overwhelming pleasure of both of them.

Blitz kept that same slow, deep rhythm, hips rolling steadily as his tail fucked into Stolas in perfect sync. The pleasure was overwhelming in the best way—every thrust pushing you higher, every teasing word from Blitz and every soft moan from Stolas making your head spin.

You and Stolas tried to kiss, but it quickly dissolved into nothing more than open-mouthed panting against each other’s lips. Hot breath mingled, tongues barely brushing as soft, desperate sounds spilled out.

Tears slipped down your cheeks from the sheer intensity of it all—too much sensation, too much of both of them surrounding you.

Stolas released one of your thighs, his hand sliding up gently. The soft pad of his talon brushed away a tear with exquisite tenderness, then stroked your cheek in slow, intimate little circles. “Shh, my darling… my sweet precious little star,” he murmured, voice thick but full of reverence. “You’re doing so wondrously, its alright let it out. We have you.”

Blitz’s thrusts grew a little harder, a little less controlled, his breathing ragged. “Fuck… you’re squ—gonna—ughh—shit, shit—” He buried himself deep one last time, groaning loudly as he spilled inside you, hot thick and pulsing. His tail gave a final, firm thrust into Stolas at the same moment.

The feeling of Blitz finishing inside you, combined with the relentless rhythm and Stolas’s tender touch, sent you tumbling over the edge again. You came with a broken whimper, body shaking between them.

It only took a few more moments—or what felt like moments—for Stolas and Blitz to follow. Stolas let out a long, trembling hoot, his cloaca clenching around Blitz’s tail as he came with shuddering breaths against your neck. Blitz growled low, hips stuttering through the aftershocks until all three of you were left panting and boneless in the enormous bed.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Blitz stayed buried inside you, breathing hard, while Stolas held you close. Both of them just looked at you—Blitz’s glowing eyes soft in a way he’d refuse to admit, Stolas’s four red eyes glowing with quiet reverence as they took in your flushed face, the way your chest rose and fell, the peaceful, spacey expression you wore.

Blitz finally shifted with a low grunt. “Shit…I'm gooood, she’s really out of it,” he muttered to Stolas.

He pulled out of you slowly and carefully, watching your face the whole time to make sure you didn’t flinch. A soft, incoherent mumble slipped from your lips as he withdrew, but you stayed floaty and relaxed. Blitz stared down at you.

Stolas pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, voice barely above a whisper. “She’s floating… perfectly darling.” He glanced at Blitz, four eyes warm. “I’ll run a bath, Blitzy. Stay with her a moment?”

Blitz nodded, Stolas carefully extracted himself and slipped off the bed, heading toward the bathroom. “SATAN'S TAINT, she's a FUCKING wreck. Bet she’s gonna be sore as SHIT tomorrow.” The crude words were Blitz's his usual shield—but Stolas could hear the fondness underneath.

Stolas paused in the doorway, watching Blitz for a few quiet seconds. A small, knowing smile curved his beak. He knew exactly what that look meant, even if Blitz would rather die than admit it out loud. He simply smiled wider and disappeared into the bathroom to prepare the tub.

Blitz stayed with you a little longer, then carefully tucked the blankets around your limp form, making sure you were comfortable and warm. Once he realized you were actually asleep, he pressed one last quick kiss to your forehead—quick enough that he could pretend it didn’t happen if anyone asked—and headed to the bathroom.

When Stolas returned a few minutes later, the tub was ready steaming, fragrant with starlight and sweet florals, lights dimmed low. You were mumbly now, in that floaty, spacey way.

As Stolas leaned down to scoop you up, your hand reached out blindly, searching, clearly expecting Blitz to be right there too.

“Blitz…?” you mumbled, voice soft and slurry. "Where's ... ? Bli—"

Stolas caught your wandering hand gently, bringing it to his beak and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Shh, darling. He’s right here. Rest now. We’ve got you.”

He lifted you effortlessly against his chest, your head lolling against his feathers as he carried you into the bathroom.

Blitz was already there—sitting in the water with his arms resting on the sides of the tub. Stolas lowered you gently into Blitz’s lap, your back against his chest, legs draping loosely over his thighs. The warm water enveloped you like a blanket, soothing every oversensitive inch of skin.

You were so close to unconscious, drifting in that soft, hazy space where everything felt distant and safe. Your eyes fluttered half-open now and then, but mostly stayed closed, body boneless and trusting in their hold.

Blitz’s arms came around you immediately, one clawed hand splaying protectively over your stomach while the other scooped water and let it trickle slowly over your shoulders.

“Fuck, look at her, lucky bitch” he muttered, voice low and crude but his touch impossibly gentle as he started rinsing you clean. “Still fucked out and floatin’.” He cupped more water, letting it cascade down your chest in slow, careful streams, washing away the evidence of the night with steady, thorough strokes. His tail curled around your ankle under the water, keeping you anchored.

Stolas climbed in, bracketing you between them once more. He took a soft cloth and lathered it with gentle soap, then began washing your arms and neck with slow, reverent circles. “So lovely even now, all soft and trusting in our arms. Let us take care of you… you’ve given us so much tonight.” he whispered, voice like warm velvet.

Blitz snorted softly, but his hands never stopped their gentle work—sliding the soapy cloth between your thighs to clean you with surprising care, muttering the whole time.

“Yeah, yeah, Hold still, tits—gotta make sure you’re all clean down here. Can’t have you wakin’ up sticky tomorrow.” His touch stayed light and attentive, thumbs stroking soothing patterns on your hips as he made sure you were clean.

Stolas hummed in agreement, his talons—so careful with their sharp tips—working through your hair with shampoo, massaging your scalp in slow, relaxing circles.

“Look Blitzy she’s alseep, how exquisitely trusting she is.” He tilted your head back gently to rinse, then pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. One of his hands found yours under the water, lacing your fingers together while the other continued washing your back and sides with the warm cloth.

You didn't register the faint pinprick on your fingertip—Stolas took a tiny amount of your blood, barely noticeable, and set the small vial aside on the edge of the tub.

Blitz gave him a sharp look. “The FUCK is that for?”

Stolas’s voice was quiet, almost sheepish as he whispered back, still stroking your cheek with the pad of his talon. “To figure out what her Goetic bloodline is, Blitzy. I… I want to understand what she may need to expect. Protect her from the worst of it ... if we must.”

Blitz just grunted and went back to rinsing your legs with careful claws. “Whatever. Long as she’s okay.” His tail gave your ankle a gentle squeeze under the water, almost like reassurance.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

They stayed in the bath until the water started to cool, taking their time—washing, rinsing, murmuring soft words and crude little comments in equal measure. Stolas kept up a steady stream of praise and feather-light kisses along your exposed skin. Blitz handled the more practical cleaning with blunt efficiency, his hands steady and warm.

When they finally lifted you out, you barely woke, body limp and content. Stolas wrapped you in a huge, fluffy towel first, drying you with gentle pats while Blitz grabbed one of Stolas’s silk shirts from the bedroom—an enormous thing that would swallow you whole. They slipped it over your head together, the fabric soft and smelling like Stolas—night blooming flowers, starlight and warmth. It hung down past your knees, sleeves draping past your hands, but it felt perfect.

“Looks ridiculous on her,” Blitz muttered with a fond scoff as he rolled the sleeves up on you. “But fuck if it ain’t cute.”

Stolas only hooted a laugh in agreement, lifting you again and carrying you back to the bed. They tucked you in the middle of the enormous mattress, sheets cool against your skin. Blitz slid in, pulling you against his side with one arm. Stolas took the other side, draping an arm over your waist and nuzzling into your hair with a contented trill.

Andrealphus walked with elegant, gliding steps, his long tail feathers sweeping the ground like he owned every inch of Hell he touched. He glanced back at you with a smile that was far too pleased.

“Come along, my dear daughter. No need for all that sniveling. You’re safe now. I am your rightful guardian—wholesome, proper, and far better suited to guide a young Goetia lady than those degenerates ever were. Even if you are… grown.”

You didn’t answer. The word “guardian” felt like a sick joke. You were a grown woman, yet he spoke to you like a wayward child who needed correcting, wandered too far and needed scolding. Every word made you want to scream.

The journey felt both endless and entirely to quick. When you finally arrived at the grand gates, your stomach twisted violently, it was Stolas's palace, but the palace you remembered—full of warm candlelight, scattered books, soft velvet drapes, and the faint smell of tea and old paper—was gone.

Andrealphus had already begun “improving” it.

The once-vibrant gardens were now rigid geometric patterns of frost-covered topiary. Ice sculptures of elegant peacocks and sharp geometric symbols lined the walkway. The warm golden lighting had been replaced with cold, harsh blue-white crystals that cast long, unforgiving shadows.

Everything felt sterile. Clinical. Void of love. The air itself was colder, as if the palace had been drained of every ounce of Stolas and replaced with Andrealphus’s icy perfection.

The rich reds and deep purples of the drapes were gone, swapped for stark whites, blues and silvers. Even the air felt colder, sterile. There was no warmth left—no lingering scent of old books and starlight, no soft glow from enchanted candles.

It felt like a beautiful tomb.

Andrealphus placed a guiding hand on your lower back, steering you deeper inside. “Much better already, don’t you think? A proper Goetic household should reflect dignity, not… whatever sentimental nonsense Stolas allowed.”

You heard laughter echoing from the main sitting room before you saw her.

Stella’s sharp, cackling voice cut through the air, she was seated on the newly acquired white couches, glass of something sparkling in hand, looking utterly delighted.

“Oh, the look on his stupid feathered face!” Stella crowed, flapping a hand dramatically. “Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Finally rid of that embarrassing weakling.”

Andrealphus smirked. “Indeed. All that mooning over an imp. Disgraceful. At least now the Goetia family won’t be dragged through any more mud. And with his little plaything out of the way… well, we can finally set things right.”

Your knees nearly buckled, Stolas.

They were laughing about Stolas like he was nothing more than a mildly amusing inconvenience. The sob tore out of you before you could stop it.

Both heads turned toward you. Stella’s eyes lit up with vicious glee. Andrealphus simply looked mildly annoyed at the interruption.

“Hmmmm” Stella sneered. “Still crying over your precious prince, are we?”

The laughter that erupted from both of them was loud and mocking.

Stella leaned forward, grinning like a shark. “Listen to her! Still pining after a pathetic phleban. How utterly embarrassssssssing. We are trying to give you a proper life and you are so ungrateful”

Stella snapped her fingers aggressively and a young imp servant re-filled her glass.

“Did you see the look on his face when he arrived?” Stella’s voice rang out, gleeful and vicious. “All that pathetic trembling. ‘I confess!’ As if anyone cared what that pathetic man had to say.”

Andrealphus chuckled, the sound elegant and cold. “Truly, sister. The way he simpered over both of them right until the end. Embarrassing for the entire Goetia family. Good riddance. At least now our House can rise to its proper place.”

Andrealphus moved to join Stella lowering himslef into a chair with fulid grace, his smile widening when he saw the horror on your face.

“Stolas…” you whispered, voice cracking. “He’s really… gone.”

Stella burst into fresh laughter, covering her beak delicately. “Oh listen to her! Still calling him by name like they were friends. How adorable.”

Andrealphus waved a hand dismissively. “She’ll learn. Won’t you, my dear? Now that you’re away from those degenerates, you’ll become a true Goetic vision.”

You swallowed hard, tears threatening your eyes as you refused to let them fall. Your eyes darted around the cold room until you spotted an ornate phone on a side table—one of Stolas’s old ones, though even it looked polished and stripped of personality.

“Please,” you said, voice small and desperate. “Can I… can I use the phone? I just need to call Blitz. I need to know if he’s okay. Please.”

The laughter stopped.

Andrealphus’s expression shifted instantly from false benevolence to icy fury. In one fluid motion he crossed the distance and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across your cheek.

The crack echoed through the sterile hall.

Your head snapped to the side, pain blooming hot across your face.

“How dare you,” he hissed, voice low and venomous. “Asking for that filthy imp the moment you step foot in your new home? Have you no shame?”

Stella clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh brother, she’s even more pathetic than Stolas was! Begging to speak to her little plaything already.”

You clutched your burning cheek, tears spilling over. “He’s not—I I just—”

“Silence,” Andrealphus cut you off sharply. “That chapter of your life is over. No more crawling around with imps and disgraced princes. You will harness your true nature. You will speak properly, carry yourself properly, and become everything Stolas failed to be. Elegant. Controlled. Worthy of the Goetia name.”

He straightened, smoothing his feathers as if the slap had been nothing more than correcting a misbehaving child.

“I will not have you behave like that sniveling fool—mooning over lesser demons, letting sentimentality ruin your potential. Under my guidance, you will be perfect. A shining example of what I can achieve when not tainted by weakness and… inappropriate attachments.”

“Hear, hear," Stella smirked, raising her glass. "Maybe we’ll even find you a proper match someday. Someone with actual status instead of whatever gutter trash you’ve been rolling around with.”

You stood there trembling, cheek throbbing, the cold of the palace sinking deeper into your bones. The man who now legally owned you as your “wholesome guardian” smiled at you again—all teeth and ice.

“Oh, sister, what a wonderful idea,” he purred, clapping his hands together once with elegant precision. “Truly inspired. A proper match for the newly recovered Marchioness Apparent. Yes… once she has learned some poise and control, we’ll find her someone suitable. Someone with real status.”

You stood frozen, the cold of the renovated palace pressed in from all sides, making the ache in your chest feel even heavier. Stolas was—Blitz was gone—dragged away screaming. And now these two were already planning your future like you were livestock at auction.

Andrealphus tilted your chin up with one cold finger so you were forced to meet his eyes.

“Perhaps even King Paimon himself could approve the match. Wouldn’t that be delightful? His endorsement would silence any lingering whispers about your… unfortunate past associations.”

Stella let out a sharp, tinkling laugh that echoed off the icy walls. “Paimon? Oh, he’d love that. The old buzzard was always so dismissive of Stolas. At least this one might actually listen.” She waved a hand dismissively.

“Stolas was such a disappointment. Always crying, always making scenes, always lowering himself. I tried to tell him — repeatedly — what a real Goetia marriage should look like. Duty. Power. Status. Not whatever sentimental garbage he wallowed in.”

You felt sick. The way they spoke about Stolas—like he was nothing more than an embarrassing footnote—made fresh tears prick at your eyes. He had never been cruel to Stella. You knew that. This wasn’t about old wounds. This was about elevating themselves through you.

“And you,” Stella continued, turning her sharp gaze on you with cruel sweetness, “will do so much better than he ever did. No more letting silly feelings get in the way of your duty. You’ll be elegant. Controlled. The perfect little Marchioness. And when we find you a match—someone powerful, someone with actual influence—you’ll thank us.”

Andrealphus’s smile never wavered, though his eyes remained cold as the ice sculptures lining the halls. “She will. Won’t you, daughter? This is your fresh start. No more weakness. You’ll learn quickly, or we’ll simply have to be… firmer with your education.”

Stella smirked, swirling the liquid in her glass. “Imagine it. King Paimon approving the match himself. You’ll be attending proper functions, strengthening alliances, and making the family look good for once.”

The two of them shared another laugh — light, elegant, and utterly heartless.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper, still raw from crying. “I don’t… I don’t want any of that. I just want to know if Blitz—”

Andrealphus’s expression hardened again. He didn’t slap you this time, but the look he gave you was sharper than any blow.

“That name will not be spoken in this house again,” he said quietly, danger threading through the false warmth. “Those days are over. You belong to me. And you will learn your place, or you’ll end up just like Stolas — pitied, disgraced, and ultimately discarded—You’ll thank us one day. When you’re looking down on the filth you once wallowed in.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Andrealphus turned away. “That will be all for now. Go. We have important matters to discuss.”

Your legs moved on autopilot as you stumbled out of the grand sitting room, the cruel laughter of Andrealphus and Stella following you down the freezing corridor.

The palace felt even more wrong the further you wandered. Eventually your feet carried you toward the one place that still smelled faintly of life—the kitchens.

The heavy door creaked open. Warmth hit you first—actual warmth, from ovens and simmering pots—along with the familiar clatter of pans and the low murmur of imp voices.

The staff hadn’t been replaced. These were the same imps who had served Stolas for years.

Your eyes found her the older imp woman with the severe grey bun pulled tight at the nape of her neck. The same one who had panicked and firmly shooed you out of the kitchen, when you’d tried to help like a normal person.

She turned at the sound of the door. For a split second her eyes widened in recognition.

“Most Honorable Ladyship,” she bowed deeply, stiff and formal, voice respectful but laced with the weariness of someone who had seen too much of Stella’s cruelty.

The sight of her bowing—this kind Imp who ran everything like clockwork—cracked something deep inside you. Tears welled up instantly, hot and overwhelming.

“Please… don’t,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Don’t do that. Not today. Please.”

She straightened slowly, studying your tear-streaked face and the faint red mark still visible on your cheek. Without a word, she pulled out a low wooden stool from under the counter and gestured for you to sit. The other kitchen staff glanced over but kept working quietly, giving you space.

The older imp moved with quiet efficiency, filling a kettle and setting it on the stove. Soon the comforting smell of tea—one of Stolas’s favorite blends, you realized with a fresh pang—filled the small warm space.

She placed a delicate teacup beside you and patted your hand sympathetically, her calloused fingers rough but gentle.

“There now,” she murmured, low enough that only you could hear. “Sit. They don’t come down here.”

You wrapped your hands around the teacup, the staff moved around you with quiet efficiency, occasionally the older woman patted your shoulder or refilled your tea without asking.

The other staff kept glancing at you with sympathetic eyes but said little—they knew better than to speak too freely these days.

The swinging door suddenly burst open. A imp rushed in, panting, carrying an empty silver ice bucket.

“Quickly! They want more champagne upstairs—chilled properly this time!” he gasped, slamming the bucket onto the counter. “Lady Stella’s already complaining it’s not cold enough, and Lord Andrealphus is tapping his fingers like he’s about to freeze one of us.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you recognized the ornate ice bucket. It was the same one Stolas used during your last stay here—the one he’d filled, while he'd made you fall apart under the stars in the observatory.

The older imp woman clicked her tongue in disapproval, shaking her head as she watched the younger imp carefully arrange the ice around the bottle.

“Tsk. Stolas was, you know for all his faults he,” she muttered under her breath, low enough that only those closest could hear. “He never demanded champagne every hour like some—”

She caught your eye mid-sentence and stopped herself, pressing her lips together tightly.

You gave a dry, tired smile, your voice coming out hoarse but laced with bitter sarcasm.

“Yeah… heaven forbid you don’t keep the ice FUCKERS upstairs properly inebriated.”

The older imp woman let out a short, surprised huff that was almost a laugh. A couple of the other staff nearby exchanged small, nervous grins before quickly returning to their tasks.

She turned back to the stove where several pots were simmering. The rich, gamey smell of something roasting filled the air. You leaned forward slightly, peering at the pan.

“Vole,” the older woman said with clear distaste, poking at the small creatures with a long fork. “Lord Andrealphus requested it specifically. Says it’s ‘refined.’”

You wrinkled your nose. The thought of the elegant, cruel peacock upstairs demanding the tiny roasted rodents made your stomach turn even more than the cold palace already had.

The older imp woman glanced toward the door to make sure no one important was listening, then gave you a conspiratorial look. She reached into the lower cabinet and pulled out a plump chicken breasts.

With quick, practiced movements she began shaping and trimming the chicken, molding it carefully until the pieces bore a suspicious resemblance to the small roasted voles already on the tray.

“Won’t know the difference once it’s sauced and plated up nice,” she muttered, a sharp glint in her eye. “Looks close enough. And between you and me… they’re too busy preening their own feathers to notice anyway.”

She slid the reshaped chicken onto the tray beside the actual voles, then gave the whole thing a generous drizzle of rich sauce to hide any imperfections.

You couldn’t help the small, dry snort that escaped you.

She glanced at you again, eyes sharp but kind. “And you can always pretend it’s one of them up there. Just imagine biting the bitches head off. Might make the whole meal go down a little easier.”

A few of the younger imps nearby nearly dropped their knives, biting back laughter.

“Careful" One of them whispered

The older woman snorted softly and patted there hand, before she gave the fake “vole” tray one last critical look, then slid it into the oven.

“There. Good enough for royalty,” she said with heavy sarcasm, rolling her eyes. “Now go on, get that bucket upstairs before they throw another fit. And you—” she turned back to you, voice softening, “—you stay as long as you need. Lovey."

You nodded, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat. For a little while longer, you let yourself hide in the warmth and quiet defiance of the kitchen, surrounded by a part of Stolas’s palace that still held some of his warmth.

Later that evening, you were summoned to dinner in the newly redecorated formal dining hall. The long table gleamed under harsh crystalline lights, every surface cold and unforgiving.

Andrealphus sat at the head, feathers pristine and posture impeccable. Stella lounged to his right, already on her second glass of champagne from the ice bucket the frantic imp had delivered earlier.

You took your assigned seat in stiff silence, the heavy silverware and icy blue table settings making the whole room feel more like a stage than a place to eat. A domed silver platter was set before each of you. When the lid was lifted, the smell of roasted meat and rich sauce filled the air.

Your “vole” looked perfect—expertly shaped, garnished, and sauced exactly as Andrealphus preferred. None of them would ever know it was plain chicken.

Andrealphus sliced into his portion with elegant precision, taking a delicate bite before nodding in approval.

“At least you little createns are learning to meet basic standards.” he said coolly, dismissing the staff with a wave.

Stella poked at hers with her fork, lips curling in mild disdain. “It’s still a little common for my taste, but I suppose it will do. Anything is better than the slop Stolas used to let them serve.”

You stared down at your own plate. The meat was tender under your knife. As you cut a small piece, the older imp woman’s dry voice echoed in your mind

“You can always pretend it’s one of them up there.”

The thought slipped in before you could stop it, you imagined the perfectly shaped “vole” was Stella instead—her sharp tongue silenced, her cruel laughter finally still.

Then Andrealphus, so proud and icy, reduced to something small and roasted on a plate. For one dark, fleeting moment, the image brought a twisted flicker of satisfaction.

You lifted the fork slowly toward your mouth.

But then you stopped. You shook your head softly, almost imperceptibly, forcing the image away. No. You'd done enough damage, wouldn’t let yourself become like them—finding joy in imagining others suffering.

You lowered the fork for a moment, breathing through the wave of grief and anger that threatened to swallow you whole.

Andrealphus noticed your hesitation and raised an elegant eyebrow.

“Is something wrong with your meal?” His tone was deceptively mild, but you could hear the warning beneath it. “I expect proper manners at my table. Even from someone still learning basic refinement.”

You forced yourself to take the bite. The chicken tasted rich and savory, nothing like the exotic delicacy they believed it to be. You swallowed it down with difficulty.

“No,” you replied quietly, voice steadier than you felt. “It’s… fine.”

Stella laughed lightly, dabbing at her beak with a silk napkin. “She’s still so sullen. Really, brother, you’d think we’d rescued her from some slum instead of giving her the life she was born for. All this moping over that pathetic prince and his little imp whore. It’s embarrassing.”

Andrealphus took another elegant bite, chewing thoughtfully before speaking.

“Indeed. But she will learn. I've already recieved expressions of interest. Some of them were quite eager.”

Your stomach twisted. You kept your eyes on your plate, cutting another piece of the disguised chicken. The older imp’s sarcastic words rang in your ears again. You pictured Stella’s face on the meat for half a second before shaking your head once more, rejecting the cruelty.

No. I’m not like them.

You took the bite and chewed mechanically.

Stella leaned forward, eyes glittering with amusement. “Already? In one day? Well, that's certainly good news.”

Andrealphus smirked faintly. “Quite. And once our Marchioness Apparent here stops clinging to her sentimental weaknesses, she’ll make an excellent wife. Poised. Controlled. A credit to the family instead of a stain.”

You gripped your fork a little tighter, but you didn’t speak. Instead, you focused on the food in front of you—the secret act of quiet rebellion from the kitchen staff. Every bite was a small, hidden defiance, while the two demons across the table praised their own superiority and planned your future like you were property.

Andrealphus raised his glass of champagne, smiling thinly in your direction.

“To new beginnings,” he said smoothly. “And to leaving weakness behind.”

Stella clinked her glass against his with a bright, vicious little laugh.

You lifted your own glass in silence, the warm memory of the kitchen feeling further and further away with every passing second.

After dinner, Andrealphus stood gracefully and snapped his fingers. Two icy constructs grabbed your arms.

“Enough of this nonsense. You’ve had a very trying day. Time to rest.”

You struggled as they dragged you up the grand staircase, but your body felt heavy with grief. They shoved you roughly into Stolas’s old bedroom—the one place that still looked mostly untouched by Andrealphus’s cold renovations.

The door slammed shut and with a sharp click.

You stood there for a long moment, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. The room still carried faint traces of Stolas—the large four-poster bed, the shelves of his fascinating books. But even here the warmth was fading fast.

Memories crashed over you without mercy.

Stolas cradling your face late at night, his gentle voice painting pictures of stars the warmth of his chest as you slept. Blitz’s rough laugh as he teased you.

The three of you tangled together under the sheets, Stolas's gentle ministrations and Blitz's crude aggressive commentary, Blitz’s arm slung lazily over your waist in sleep while Stolas’s fingers traced idle patterns on your skin.

The desperate huddle in the courtroom, their quiet voices trying to comfort you even as everything fell apart.

You stumbled toward the massive wardrobe on shaking legs. The doors creaked open under your hands.

Inside hung rows of Stolas’s clothing—elegant robes, flowing capes, and dozens of silk shirts in deep reds, midnight blues, and soft violets. Your fingers trembled as they brushed over the smooth fabric. Slowly, you pulled one shirt closer and pressed your face into it.

The scent hit you like a punch to the chest.

It still smelled like him—faint starlight, old paper, warm feathers, and that subtle floral cologne he always wore. Your knees gave out.

You sank to the floor, clutching the silk shirt tightly to your face, breathing him in again and again as if you could somehow bring him back through memory alone.

The dam finally broke.

Great, wracking sobs tore out of you—ugly, painful sounds that echoed in the too-cold room. You curled in on yourself, pressing the shirt harder against your mouth to muffle the cries, but it didn’t help. Tears soaked the fabric as your shoulders shook violently.

“Stolas…” you whispered brokenly into the silk. “Blitz… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

You stayed there on the floor of the wardrobe, surrounded by the last pieces you had left, crying until your throat felt raw and your eyes burned. The palace outside your door was cold and cruel, filled with laughter that celebrated their deaths.

But in this small, dark space, wrapped in Stolas’s scent and the ghost of Blitz’s comfort, you let yourself fall apart completely.

The bedroom door creaked open, a voice called out quietly, confused and hopeful.

“…Dad?”

A soft knock at the door made you sit up, pulling the silk sheets—actual silk sheets—around you.

"Come in?"

The door opened to reveal a butler—in an immaculate uniform—carrying a silver tray. "Good morning, Miss. Prince Stolas wished me to bring you breakfast and a fresh moon-flower from the garden."

He set the tray on the bedside table. On it was a cup of tea in delicate china, some kind of pastry that looked almost too pretty to eat, and a single moon flower. It glowed faintly, its petals a soft silver-blue that seemed to shimmer in the light.

"There so... beautiful," you breathed.

"The Prince thought you might appreciate it. They only bloom during the full moon, but we have a few under lights in the greenhouse." The butler bowed slightly. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you very much. This is perfect."

He left as quietly as he'd arrived, and you were alone with your impossibly fancy breakfast.

You picked up the flower carefully. It was cool to the touch, and the glow pulsed gently, like it was breathing. You set it down gently and reached for your phone.

A text to Blitz: good morning! how r u?

The response came twenty minutes later Blitz 💣: finr

Just one word, and misspelled, though you where beginning to suspect he just couldnt spell. You frowned, typing back: r u ok?

Another long wait, then

Blitz 💣: busy. talk ltr

Well. That was... something.

You'd been texting him since you arrived—updates about the palace, questions about whether he and M&M were eating properly, just general check-ins. His responses had gotten progressively shorter and more sporadic. And more typo-filled, which was saying something given his usual texting style.

You tried not to worry. He was on a job. He was busy. That was normal.

But you kinda missed him.

Lunch was another elaborate affair—multiple courses, each one more complicated than the last. You ate in a dining room that could have hosted a state dinner, with Stolas at the head of the table looking perfectly at ease.

"I trust you slept well, little star?" he asked, delicately cutting something that might have been fish.

"Yes, thank you. The room is beautiful. Everything is beautiful." You gestured around. "It's just... a lot."

"Ah, yes, I suppose the palace can be rather overwhelming." He smiled, all four eyes warm. "I've lived here my entire life, so I forget how imposing it must seem to newcomers."

"It's not imposing, exactly. It's just... big. And fancy. And everyone keeps bringing me things I didn't ask for."

"That's what staff are for, darling. They delight in being helpful." He took a sip of wine. "Speaking of helpful, I've been thinking about this evening."

"This evening?"

"The observatory!" All four eyes lit up with genuine excitement. "I've been waiting to show it to you properly! I have the most magnificent telescopes, and tonight's sky should be particularly clear. We'll be able to see the Nebula's quite well!"

His enthusiasm was infectious. You found yourself smiling despite your general overwhelm. "That sounds amazing."

"It will be! I have so much to show you!" He was practically bouncing in his seat now. "The main telescope can magnify up to five thousand times! And the star charts are original—over three centuries old! And the viewing dome rotates a full three-sixty degrees!"

You laughed softly. "You really love astronomy."

"It's my passion!" He set down his silverware, gesturing animatedly. "The stars, the planets, the vast cosmic dance of it all! It's the one thing that makes sense in this chaotic realm. The stars don't lie, don't scheme, don't play politics. They simply exist in their perfect mathematical harmony."

There was something almost vulnerable in the way he said it, and you felt a surge of affection for this strange, dramatic bird demon who got so excited about telescopes.

"I can't wait to see it," you said honestly.

His smile could have powered a small city.

Dinner was, predictably, massive. Seven courses, each one more elaborate than the last. By the time dessert arrived—some kind of chocolate creation with gold leaf and what might have been actual stardust—you were pleasantly full and slightly drowsy.

"Now then," Stolas said, standing with a flourish, "shall we adjourn to the observatory?"

"Yes!" You stood too, eager despite your food coma.

He offered his arm, and after a moment's hesitation, you took it. His arm was solid and warm, his feathers soft against your hand.

"It's quite a walk, I'm afraid," he said as he led you through the palace corridors. "The observatory is at the very top of the eastern tower. I hope you don't mind stairs."

"How many stairs?"

"Oh, not terribly many. Perhaps... five hundred?"

"Five hundred?!"

"Give or take! But the view is worth it, I promise!" He squeezed your hand gently. "We can take breaks if you need them."

The stairs were spiral, winding up and up inside the tower. The walls were carved with more astronomical symbols and star charts, lit by floating orbs of light that drifted along beside you as you climbed.

Stolas kept up a running commentary as you ascended. "This tower was built by my great-grandfather, who was also quite passionate about astronomy. He insisted on placing the observatory at the highest point to minimize light interference from the city..."

You were breathing hard by the two hundredth step, your legs burning.

"Would you like to rest, dear?" Stolas asked, not even slightly winded.

"No, I'm fine," you lied, determined not to seem weak.

"You're breathing quite heavily."

"It's just... a lot of stairs."

"Yes, well, that's what happens when one insists on putting observatories in towers." He stopped, turning to face you. "Here, allow me."

Before you could protest, he'd scooped you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back.

"Stolas!"

"Hush, little star. No sense in you arriving exhausted when I'm perfectly capable of carrying you." He resumed climbing. "Besides, it gives me an excellent opportunity to continue my lecture without you gasping for air and missing all the important bits!"

You laughed despite yourself, your arms wrapping around his neck for stability. "You're ridiculous."

"I prefer 'chivalrous,' but I'll accept ridiculous." He continued his astronomy lecture, unbothered by the additional weight or the stairs.

By the time you reached the top, you were thoroughly educated on the history of Goetic astronomy and also deeply embarrassed that he'd had to carry you like a princess in a fairy tale.

He set you down gently at the observatory door. "There we are! Safe and sound!"

"Thank you," you mumbled, face hot.

"Think nothing of it, darling." He opened the door with a flourish. "Now, prepare to be amazed!"

The observatory was... breathtaking.

The room was circular, with a massive domed ceiling that was currently closed. Around the edges were various telescopes of different sizes, from small handheld ones to enormous contraptions of brass and crystal. Star charts covered the walls, some ancient and yellowed, others clearly new. There were comfortable chairs scattered about, and a desk covered in notebooks and astronomical instruments.

"This is incredible," you breathed, moving carefully into the room.

"Isn't it? This is my favorite place in the entire palace." Stolas moved to one of the larger telescopes, running his hand lovingly over its brass casing. "This is my main telescope. Eighteenth-century design, modified with modern optics. The clarity is simply extraordinary."

You approached slowly, almost afraid to touch anything. Everything looked delicate and expensive.

"Go ahead," Stolas encouraged. "You can touch them. They're meant to be used, not just admired."

Carefully, you reached out to touch the telescope. The brass was cool and smooth under your fingers, the mechanisms intricate and beautiful.

"Would you like to look through it?" Stolas was already adjusting something, his long fingers moving with practiced ease.

"Yes, but... I don't want to break anything."

"You won't break anything! Here, let me help you." He guided you to the eyepiece, his hands gentle on your shoulders as he positioned you. "Just look through here and tell me what you see."

You peered through the eyepiece and gasped. A cluster of stars, so clear and bright you could see their colors—blues and reds and whites all sparkling against the void.

"That's the Hellfire Cluster," Stolas said softly, still close behind you. "One of the oldest star formations visible from this realm. Those stars have been burning for millions of years."

"They're beautiful," you whispered.

"Yes," he agreed, but his voice was strange. "Quite beautiful."

You looked up from the telescope to find all four of his eyes fixed on you, not the stars. He seemed to realize you'd noticed and quickly cleared his throat.

"Right! Well! Let me show you the others!" He moved to another telescope, his composure somewhat ruffled. "This one is specifically calibrated for nebula observation..."

He showed you several more views, each one more stunning than the last. Distant planets, colorful nebulas, binary stars orbiting each other in an eternal dance.

"Stolas?" you said after you'd looked through the fifth telescope.

"Yes, little star?"

"What's that?" You pointed up at a mechanism on the domed ceiling. "Can the roof open?"

"Oh! Yes! Would you like to see?" He moved to a control panel on the wall. "Watch this."

He pressed a button, and with a low mechanical hum, the dome began to open. Panels slid back to reveal the night sky above, vast and spectacular.

But it wasn't just the sky. The inside of the dome itself was painted—or enchanted—to mirror the sky outside. Constellations glowed and moved across the surface, perfectly matching the real stars beyond.

"Oh my goodness," you breathed.

"Rather impressive, isn't it?" Stolas looked pleased. "The enchantment took three years to perfect. It shows the true sky in real-time, adjusted for our position and the season."

You stared up at the impossibility of it, at the stars that seemed to go on forever in all directions. "Can we... can we lie down and watch?"

"Lie down?" He looked surprised.

"On the floor. To see better." You were already moving to the center of the room, where there was open space. "Please?"

"I... well, I suppose we could..." He seemed uncertain, like this wasn't something he'd considered before.

You laid down on your back, looking straight up at the dome. The view was incredible—like floating in space itself, surrounded by stars on all sides.

"Come on," you urged, patting the floor beside you.

After a moment's hesitation, Stolas folded his long frame down beside you, his cape spreading out like wings. He lay stiffly at first, like he wasn't sure what to do with himself, but gradually relaxed.

"Oh," he said softly. "Oh, this is rather nice."

"Right?" You were grinning up at the stars. "It's like we're floating in space."

You lay there in comfortable silence for a while, just watching the stars slowly move across the dome. The floor was cold beneath you, the stone chilling even through your clothes.

You shivered slightly, and immediately felt Stolas shift beside you.

"Are you cold, little star?" His voice was soft, concerned.

"A little," you admitted. "The floor is kind of—"

Before you could finish, his arm slid around you, drawing you closer to his side. His feathers were incredibly warm, like a living blanket.

"Better?" he asked, and his voice was closer now, intimate.

"Yes, but—" You felt your face heat. "Is this okay? I don't want to make you uncomfortable—"

"Shh, darling. I'm simply keeping you warm. The observatory does get rather cold at night." His other arm came up pointing out stars as they moved across the roof. "Nothing untoward, I assure you. Just ensuring you don't catch a chill while we stargaze."

You relaxed into him, his warmth seeping into you. He was right—it was warmer like this. And his feathers were so soft...

"That one," you said, pointing up at a bright red star, trying to focus on the astronomy and not on how nice this felt. "What's that one called?"

"Ah, that's Lucifer's Eye. It's actually a red giant star roughly—" He launched into an explanation, arm still loosely around you, the other gesturing at the stars above.

You found yourself getting drowsy, warm and comfortable, his voice a pleasant rumble.

"And that cluster there?" You pointed to another formation, fighting off the sleepiness.

"The Serpent's Crown. It's quite ancient, and there's a legend that—"

He told you the legend, then the science, then another legend about a different constellation. You asked about more stars, more constellations, and he answered every question with enthusiasm, his arm loose but warm.

At some point, his hand started absently stroking your arm, the touch gentle and soothing. You weren't sure if he even realized he was doing it.

"You know, little star," he said eventually, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "I've been thinking."

"Hmm?" You were still watching the stars, comfortable and warm in his embrace.

"About you. And Blitzy." His beak was close to your ear now, his breath warm. "The two of you together."

"Hmmm," you murmured.

"Yes, i suppose I find my mind drifting lately." His hand continued its gentle path up and down your arm. "And I wonder... what it might be like. To take care of both of you."

"Take care of us?"

"Mmm. Making sure you're both fed, comfortable, safe." His voice had taken on that amorous quality, intimate and warm. "Blitzy works himself too hard, never seems to rest properly. And you well, you're so delicate. You both might benefit having someone to look after you."

"That's sweet," you said, your attention drifting to a particularly bright star.

"I could give you both everything," he continued, his voice a low purr now. "Soft beds, good food, all the comfort you could want. I could take care of every need. Every. Single. One."

The way he said it made something flutter in your stomach, but you were too focused on the stars to fully process it.

"I imagine it quite often, actually," he continued, his hand still stroking your arm in that soothing rhythm. "The two of you in my palace. Perhaps the three of us sharing a room—or separate rooms if you'd prefer. I could visit you both, make sure you're satisfied."

"That sounds nice," you murmured absently. "But we really shouldn't impose." You pointed up at another star. "Oh, what's that blue one?"

He laughed softly, his chest vibrating against your side. "That's Asmodeus's Tear, darling, but I'm trying to paint you a picture here."

"Of us hanging out more ?"

"Taking care of you darling, it wouldnt be an imposition" His beak brushed against your hair. "Imagine it. The three of us. I could worship you both properly. Blitzy needs someone to tell him how wonderful he is, how perfect, how absolutely delicious. And you need someone to show you all the pleasure you've been missing."

"What do you mean why would pleasure be part of it?" You were trying to follow, but the stars were so distracting.

"So much pleasure, little star. I could show you things you've never even imagined. Teach you exactly how your body can feel. And Blitzy—oh, I'd love to watch him with you. Those skilled hands of his, that talented mouth, making you absolutely fall apart while I watch and then we co—"

"Wait, what?" That got your attention.

"And then perhaps I'd join in," he continued, his voice thick with suggestion. "Show you both how a prince treats his treasures. I'd be so gentle with you. So thorough. Make sure every inch of you is appreciated. And Blitzy—he'd make me watch first, naturally, let me see how you respond to every touch, every kiss, every—"

"STOLAS?" Your face was burning now.

"Yes, darling?" He sounded far too pleased with himself.

"I think you're talking about... things, we should stop talking about this."

"Oh, Have I scandalized you?" He chuckled low in his throat.

"A little bit, yeah."

"Good. You should be scandalized. It's healthy." His hand squeezed your arm gently. "But I meant every word. I would take excellent care of you both. In all the wholesome ways—and all the decidedly not-wholesome ways, should you choose them."

You lay there, face hot, trying to process what he'd just described while staring very intently at the stars.

"That constellation," you said firmly, desperate to change the subject. "Tell me about that one."

"Deflecting, are we?" But he humored you, launching into an explanation about stellar formations while his arm stayed wrapped around you, keeping you warm and close.

After a while, he returned to the topic, his voice soft and intimate. "You know what I love about Blitzy?"

"What?" you asked, grateful he seemed to be changing direction.

"The way he cares while pretending not to. The way he protects the people he loves even though he's terrified of admitting he loves them." Stolas's hand resumed stroking your arm. "He'd deny it, of course. Claim it's just duty or convenience or anything but what it actually is."

"What is it?" You turned your head slightly to look at him.

"Love, darling. Messy, complicated, terrified love." His eyes were soft as he looked down at you. "He loves so fiercely while simultaneously being convinced he doesn't deserve to be loved back. It's rather heartbreaking, actually."

"He does deserve it though," you said quietly. "To be loved back."

"Yes, he does." Stolas smiled. "And I rather think he's starting to be loved back. Whether he realizes it or not."

You thought about that, about Blitz and his gruff care, his complaints that never actually meant no.

"I've had a wonderful time," you said eventually. "But I can't wait to see Blitz tomorrow."

Stolas's expression shifted to something soft and knowing. "You miss him."

"Yeah," you admitted. "I know it's only been a couple days, but... yeah. I miss him."

"He's quite lucky to have someone who misses him so readily." Stolas's arms tightened briefly around you. "I rather think he doesn't realize how lucky he is. But perhaps, in time, he'll figure it out."

"He's probably been too busy to miss me," you said, pulling out your phone awkwardly with one hand. "His texts have been really short."

You typed out another message: saw the most amazing stars tonight! cant wait to tell u about it!

The response came an hour later: cool

Just one word. You tried not to feel disappointed.

Stolas saw your expression and squeezed you gently. "He does miss you, little star. He's just rubbish at expressing it."

You stayed there a while longer, watching the stars and trying not to think too hard about everything he'd said about taking care of you both.

The next day, you were packed and ready hours before Blitz was supposed to arrive. You'd said goodbye to the palace staff, thanked them for their hospitality, and carefully packed the moon-flower Stolas had given you in tissue paper.

Stolas himself walked you to the front entrance. "I do hope you've enjoyed your stay, little star."

"I have. Thank you so much for everything." You meant it. Despite the overwhelming luxury, Stolas had been a perfect host. Interesting, kind, patient with your endless questions about Hell and stars and everything else.

"You're welcome anytime, you know. My doors are always open to you." He hesitated, then added, "And do take care of Blitzy. He's... he struggles, sometimes. With things."

"I will," you promised.

A horn honked outside—aggressive and impatient and unmistakably Blitz.

"Ah, that would be your ride," Stolas said with amusement. "Do try not to let him corrupt you too thoroughly on the drive home."

You grabbed your bag and headed down the palace steps. Blitz's van was parked at an angle that was probably illegal even in Hell, and you could see him leaning against the driver's side door, smoking and scowling at the palace like it had personally offended him.

"Finally! Took you fucking long enough!" he called out when he saw you. "What, did bird brain make you sit through a slideshow of his fucking telescope collection?!"

Without thinking, you dropped your bag on the steps and ran.

"Blitz!"

He barely had time to drop his cigarette before you crashed into him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug.

"What the—FUCK—" He stumbled backward, his whole body going rigid. "What are you DOING?!"

"I missed you!" you said into his shoulder, squeezing him tighter.

He was frozen solid, his hands hovering in the air like he'd forgotten how they worked. "You... what?"

"I missed you! Are you okay? Your texts were so short and weird! I was worried something happened!" You pulled back to look at him, your hands still on his shoulders. "Are you hurt? Did the mission go okay? You look exhausted!"

He was staring at you like you'd just spoken in tongues. "You were... worried? About ME?"

"Of course about you! Who else would I be worried about?"

"I don't—why would you—" He seemed genuinely baffled. "I'm FINE! I do this shit all the time! Why the fuck would you be worried?!"

"Because I care about you?" You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Something complicated crossed his face—surprise, confusion, something that might have been hope before it was quickly buried under defensiveness. His hands came up and physically removed yours from his shoulders, not quite pushing you away but definitely creating distance.

"Yeah, well, that's stupid. I told you I was fine." He turned back to the van, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. "And my texts were fine! Perfectly readable!"

"They were full of typos—"

"That's just my STYLE! It's EFFICIENT!" He was aggressively not looking at you now. "Now can we GO? Or are you gonna stand there all day asking me about my FEELINGS like some kind of therapy session?!"

From the palace steps, Stolas watched with barely concealed amusement, all four eyes twinkling.

"Yes, just let me grab my—"

"I'll get the bag! You get in the fucking van!" He stomped past you to grab your bag off the steps. "Can't believe I have to do EVERYTHING around here!"

You climbed into the passenger seat, a little hurt by his reaction but not entirely surprised. This was Blitz, after all.

He threw your bag in the back with perhaps more violence than necessary, then climbed into the driver's seat, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the whole van.

"Fucking bird... fucking palace... fucking FEELINGS..." he muttered, starting the engine with an aggressive turn of the key.

As he pulled out of the driveway, you saw Stolas wave from the steps. You waved back.

"Stop waving at him! We're LEAVING! No more bird interaction required!" Blitz was gripping the steering wheel like it had personally wronged him.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly.

"I'M FINE! Why does everyone keep ASKING me that?! I'm ALWAYS fine! This is my BASELINE!" He was driving perhaps faster than was strictly necessary. "Can't believe you were worried. That's so DUMB. I've been on way more dangerous missions than this one!"

"So the mission went well?"

"Yeah, it was fine! We killed the guy, got paid, nobody died! Standard job! Nothing to worry about!" He was still gripping the wheel too tight. "And Stolas was fine with you? Didn't try any weird shit?"

"He was a perfect gentleman," you said.

"A perfect—of COURSE he was! That's his whole THING! Being all perfect and gentlemanly!" He took a sharp turn. "What'd you guys even DO for three days?"

"Looked at stars. Had nice dinners. He told me about astronomy."

"Astronomy. Of course. Because he's a NERD who nerds about NERD SHIT." But some of the tension was leaving his shoulders. "That's it? Just... stars and dinner?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Huh." He was quiet for a moment. "No weird... bird advances or whatever?"

"No. He was very respectful." You paused. "He talked about you a lot, actually."

His head whipped toward you so fast you worried about whiplash. "He WHAT?!"

"Eyes on the road!"

"WHAT DID HE SAY?!" He looked back at the road but was still clearly panicking. "What kind of shit was he talking?! Was it bad?! Did he tell you about—about—"

"He said you care about people even when you pretend not to," you said. "And that you work too hard."

Blitz's hands tightened on the wheel again, and he was very quiet.

"That's... that's such BULLSHIT," he finally said, but his voice had gone rough. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. Fucking bird doesn't know SHIT about—about anything."

"I think he knows you kinda well."

"Well he's WRONG! About all of it! I don't—I'm not—" He stopped, jaw working. "Can we talk about something else?! Literally ANYTHING else?!"

"Okay, alright" you said gently.

They drove in silence for a bit, the only sound the rumble of the engine and Hell's ever-present ambient screaming.

"The apartment was too quiet," Blitz said suddenly. "Without you there. Even Loona noticed. She asked went we were getting you like three times."

"I'm kinda glad to be heading home," you said softly.

He didn't respond, just kept driving, but you saw his tail do a werid little curl.

"I look like I'm playing dress-up," you muttered.

He turned you around to face him, hands coming up to cup your face gently. "You look exquisite, little star. Truly." His thumbs brushed across your cheekbones, and he examined you carefully. "How are you feeling? Anxious?"

"Terrified," you admitted.

"That's perfectly normal." He adjusted a strand of your hair with careful talons, tucking it behind your ear. "But you're going to be alright, we will be right there with you."

The sound of metal clicking made you both glance over. Blitz was sitting in the corner, methodically assembling a rifle with practiced efficiency.

"You look like you're TRYING TOO HARD!" he said without looking up, snapping a scope into place. "Which you are! Because this whole thing is FUCKING STUPID!"

"Blitzy, is the weapon really necessary?" Stolas sighed, though his hands remained gentle on your shoulders.

"You're taking her into a room full of you royal feathered ASS-CLOWNS who proably have shitty ulterior motives!" Blitz checked the sight, making minute adjustments. "So yeah, the weapon is VERY necessary! I'm your bodyguard tonight, remember?"

His voice had an edge on that last word—something bitter underneath.

"No one is going to attack her at a formal Goetia event—"

"You don't KNOW that! What if someone doesn't like the idea of 'fresh blood' in their precious family line? What if someone wants to test her? What if—"

"What if you're being paranoid?" Stolas deadpanned, his hands on his hips.

"Paranoia keeps people ALIVE, Stolas!" Blitz finally looked up, his expression hard. "She's going into unknown territory. I'm bringing insurance."

"No one is going to hurt her, Blitzy. We simply wouldn't allow it." Stolas sighed.

"Yeah, well, I'm the one with the RIFLE, so I get the final say on that!" Blitz went back to loading ammunition with sharp, precise movements.

You leaned into Stolas's warmth, when his hands stroked the small of your back in a soothing motion, trying to calm your racing heart.

"What if I mess up?" you whispered. "What if I say something wrong or use the wrong fork or—"

"You won't," Stolas said firmly, his hands returning to your face again, gentle and reassuring. "I'll be with you the entire time darling, I'll guide you through everything."

"But what if I make you look bad? Or embarrass you in front of your family?"

"Little star," he said softly, and then he leaned down and kissed you. It was gentle, tender, barely more than a brush of his beak against your lips, but it was full of reassurance and care. When he pulled back, his eyes were warm. "You could never embarrass me. You're going to be wonderful, and everything will be alright. I promise."

Your face heated, but you nodded.

"She's gonna be MISERABLE is what she's gonna be!" Blitz interjected, strapping the rifle to his back. "Stuck at some fancy party with a bunch of judgmental pricks while I lurk in the background pretending to be security!"

"You ARE security tonight," Stolas pointed out.

"Yeah, because that's not a transparent excuse to let an imp into a Goetia event AT ALL!" Blitz's tail lashed. "Real subtle, bird brain!"

You pulled away from Stolas and walked over to where Blitz was doing a final ammunition count. He glanced up at you, his expression defensive.

"Thank you," you said softly.

"For what? Being a fake bodyguard so I can get past the door?"

"For coming with me. Even if we're all pretending it's for security." You pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'm glad you'll be there."

He froze, his tail going completely still. "I—that's—you don't have to thank me for doing my JOB—"

"We both know it's not really a job," you said gently. "So thank you anyway."

His face flushed darker red, and he cleared his throat roughly. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't accidentally start a diplomatic incident or what-FUCKING-ever."

Stolas made a pleased hooting sound from across the room. "How sweet."

"SHUT UP, BIRD BRAIN! I'm being PROFESSIONAL!"

"Of course you are, Blitzyyy." Stolas teased.

You smiled despite your nerves, feeling slightly better about the evening ahead.

Paimon's palace made Stolas's look like a modest cottage.

It was enormous—sprawling across what seemed like miles, with towers that scraped Hell's red sky and architecture that was clearly designed to intimidate. Everything was gold and crystal and excess, screaming wealth and power in a way that made your head swim.

"Holy shit," you breathed as the car pulled up to the entrance.

"Indeed," Stolas agreed. "Father has always been... ostentatious."

"That's one word for it," Blitz muttered from the other side of you. "I'd go with 'compensating for something' but sure, ostentatious works too."

The entrance hall was already filled with demons. Tall, bird-like demons in elaborate clothing, all chattering amongst themselves. Their voices echoed off the high ceilings, creating a cacophony that made you want to cover your ears.

You unconsciously stepped closer to Blitz, your shoulder brushing his arm.

His tail immediately curled slightly toward you—protective, possessive—but he didn't say anything.

"Ready, darling?" Stolas asked, offering you his arm.

You took it, your eyes finding Blitz's. He tensed but didn't pull away, his claws digging into his own palms.

"Let's get this over with," Blitz grumbled.

A servant announced your arrival—some formal sounding thing that included the word "Goetia" and made you want to sink into the floor—and suddenly every eye in the room was on you.

The conversations didn't stop, exactly, but they quieted. Whispers rippled through the crowd like water.

"Is that her?"

"She's so small..."

"I heard she didn't even know about her heritage—"

"What family line, do you think?"

"Those fangs are quite prominent—"

You resisted the urge to cover your mouth. Your fangs weren't visible unless you smiled or spoke, but suddenly you were hyperaware of them.

Stolas began walking forward, and you had no choice but to follow, Blitz trailing slightly behind.

A tall demon approached—easily nine feet tall, with elaborate burgundy plumage and eyes that examined you with undisguised curiosity.

"Stolas! Is this the young Goetia you've been hiding?" Paimon's voice boomed across the space. "My word, you weren't exaggerating! She's absolutely darling!"

"Father," Stolas said with practiced courtesy. "May I present—"

"No need for formalities! Come here, let me look at you!" Paimon grabbed your free hand, pulling you forward and away from both Stolas and Blitz.

Your hand slipped from Stolas's arm, and you saw both him and Blitz tense, Blitz's tail lashing once before going still.

"Fascinating! Simply fascinating!" Paimon was circling you like you were a specimen. "The fangs are quite prominent—excellent definition. And your eyes—there's definitely Goetia in that coloring. Tell me, dear, do you have any idea which line you're from?"

"I—no, I don't know what the line's are exactly—"

"Marvelous a mystery! Absolutely delightful!" He was too loud, too close, too much. "And you grew up on Earth? Completely unaware of your heritage? How extraordinary! Tell me, what was it like? Being human?"

"It was...uhh normal?" You weren't sure how to answer that.

"Normal! How quaint!" Paimon laughed. "And now you're here! In Hell! What a journey!"

More demons were approaching now, drawn by Paimon's enthusiasm like moths to a flame.

"Where is your plummage?"

"How did you discover your heritage?"

"Have you manifested any other abilities?"

"Which family do you want to—"

"Now, now, give the girl some space!" Paimon said, but he didn't actually make them back up. "Though I am curious—do you have any siblings? Family on Earth who might also carry the bloodline?"

"I... I don't—its only ever been me and—"

"Fascinating! We'll have to do a full genealogical study! Trace the line back! This could be groundbreaking!"

Behind you, you could hear Stolas trying to interject, trying to deflect some of the attention, but it was like trying to stop a flood with a paper cup.

The questions kept coming, getting more personal, more invasive.

"Have you experienced any other physical changes?"

"Are you seeing anyone? Romantically?"

"What are your intentions regarding the Goetia family?"

"Do you plan to stay in Hell permanently?"

"What match are you hoping for?" That made your eyes widen, you didn't want a 'match' with anyone. You wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted Blitz to make some crude joke to break the tension.

But when you glanced back, Blitz wasn't beside Stolas anymore. He'd drifted further back, his expression carefully blank as he watched the crowd of royalty surround you.

He looked small. Out of place. Like he didn't belong.

The evening droned on, continuous hours of faces and names you wouldn't remember. Stolas had stayed as close as he could and you'd drifted back to Blitz as often as you could, but now Stolas had been dragged away by another owl looking demon and Blitz was standing at the far pillar, arms crossed.

"Would the you care for refreshments, my lady?" A imp server appeared at your elbow, holding a tray.

"Oh, um, thank you—" You glanced down. Small, white, definitely meat-based. Your stomach did a slow, horrified flip.

"Roasted vole," the server supplied cheerfully helpfully. "Freshly prepared."

Vole... Rat... They were offering you roasted rat.

You knew you were in Hell. You knew the food was different. But roasted rat was where you drew the line.

"I'm... not hungry," you managed, trying not to gag. "Thank you."

The server bowed and glided away.

"Not a fan of vole, eh?" A rich, accented voice cut in behind you—smooth, theatrical, with a rolling lilt that made every word feel like a performance. "¡Qué pena! Can't say I blame you, querida. It's an acquired taste for those with more... adventurous palates."

You turned to find a striking demon with brilliant red feathers that shimmered like living flame under the chandeliers, with a white face, hooked black beak, and a dramatic crest of long gold-tipped purple feathers sweeping back from his head.

Yellow visor-shades perched on his beak, giving him an extra touch of flamboyant style. His elaborate red coat, trimmed in gold, matched his plumage perfectly.

"Prince Vassago, at your service," he introduced himself with a deep, flourishing bow, his tail feathers fanning out dramatically.

"And you, mi nueva amiga, must be the mysterious little Goetia everyone's been whispering about all night. The one causing such delicious escándalo."

"I... yes? Maybe? I'm not entirely sure about the whole 'Goetia' label yet—"

"¡Psh!" He waved a hand dismissively, red feathers rustling. "You're here, dancing among the rest of us vultures, which is what matters. I imagine these stuffy old birds have been smothering you with questions, no? Probing, prying, all that tedious lineage nonsense."

"A little bit," you admitted, glancing around at the other nobles.

Vassago's beak curved into a bright, genuine smile—though his red eyes sparkled with mischief behind the shades.

"Would you like to escape for a dance, cariño? I promise no personal questions, no judgments about your... unique situation. Just music, a little movement, and a break from all the gawking. ¿Qué dices?"

You glanced toward Stolas, who was deep in conversation with a cluster of other owl-like Goetia. He caught your eye and gave an encouraging little nod, his expression warm.

Then your gaze shifted to Blitz. He was posted up near a marble pillar like a very grumpy, armed shadow—arms crossed, tail lashing sharply back and forth, eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd. His whole posture screamed "bodyguard on high alert." When he noticed you looking, he met your eyes, gave a tight shrug.

"Okay," you said, turning back to Vassago. "T-thank you."

"¡Excelente!" Vassago's face lit up. He took your hand with exaggerated gallantry and led you onto the polished dance floor with a dramatic swirl of his coat. "Let us give them something worth gossiping about, sí?"

He was an excellent dancer—confident, fluid, and full of flair.

One taloned hand rested lightly at your waist while the other held yours, he kept proper distance, guiding you through elegant steps that matched the sweeping orchestral music.

True to his word, he kept things light and fun.

"How are you finding your first proper Goetia social event, hermosa?" he asked, spinning you out and then pulling you back in with a playful flourish.

"A little ... overwhelming," you answered honestly.

"¡Esa es la respuesta correcta!" He laughed, a bright, trilling sound. "Anyone who says otherwise is lying through their beak. These parties are a circus of feathers and fragile egos." He dipped you smoothly, his mostly red plumage catching the light like living fire, before righting you again. "They're not all terrible, most of them. Just... very stuck in their ways. Lineage this, propriety that, arranged marriages and ancient grudges. Qué aburrido."

As you twirled, you caught sight of Blitz again. He had moved closer to the edge of the dance floor, leaning against another pillar with his arms still crossed. His tail flicked irritably every time Vassago spun you.

A couple of nearby nobles gave him a wide berth.

Vassago noticed your glance and chuckled. "Ah, your fierce little red shadow over there. He looks ready to pluck my feathers out if I step out of line. Muy leal, that one."

You tilted your head. "What did you call him? 'Muy leeeall'?" You repeated the forgein words unsure of there meaning.

"¡Sí! It's just an expression. " Vassago dismissed with a grin, adding a quick extra spin that made your skirt flare. "Protective little thing. I like that. In our world, you need someone watching your back—especially with certain pendejos stirring up drama."

The music swelled into a livelier section. Vassago executed a more energetic sequence, guiding you through quick steps and another elegant dip while the surrounding dancers watched with polite interest.

"So ... your a Prince too?" you asked as he pulled you into a gentler sway.

"Guilty as charged, mi amor." He winked, voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone while still staying theatrical. "But I try not to let the title inflate my head like some people. Unlike that icy bastard and his shrill little sister—puta madre, the way they keep running their mouths about things that no longer concern them. Qué carajo is wrong with those two? Always clinging to old scandals and bad blood like it's fashionable. ¡No me voy a callar about that nonsense!"

He leaned in just enough for the next line to feel private. "You and dear Prince Stolas seem to understand that life is too short—even in Hell—to waste it on toxicity. Bien hecho."

The music reached its crescendo. Vassago finished with a final, elegant dip, holding you securely as the crowd offered polite applause. When he brought you back up, he bowed low again, kissing the back of your hand with exaggerated flair.

"You move like you were born for better things than our silly little cages." He straightened, red feathers fluffing proudly.

You caught sight of what you assumed was Stella across the room, and your attention snagged. She was tall, elegant, and currently talking to Stolas with an expression that could curdle milk.

Even from this distance, you could tell she was being cruel. Her voice was raised just enough to carry, her gestures sharp and dismissive.

"—pathetic, really, Stolas. Parading around some novelty like she's something special—"

Stolas's expression was strained, trying to maintain composure.

"—Is this what you've reduced yourself to? I knew you were pathetic but this is a—"

"I'm sorry," you said to Vassago, "I need to—"

"Go. I understand." He released your hand with another small bow. "If you ever need another escape—or someone to remind the court how boring their gossip is—come find me."

You made your way through the crowd, beelining for Blitz, who was still stationed near his pillar like a gargoyle.

"Blitz," you said quietly, "do you have a knife on you?"

He blinked. "What?"

"A knife. Do you have one?"

"I—yeah, obviously tits, but why—" He pulled a small blade from somewhere on his person, handing it to you with confusion.

You knelt down, using the knife to deliberately scuff up the bottom of your expensive shoes, creating rough patches for better grip.

"What are you DOING?!" Blitz hissed. "Those probably cost more than—"

"I need traction," you said simply, as if on queue your heel slipped on the polished floor as you tried to balance on one foot. Blitz didn’t hesitate—his arm slid around your waist, firm and steady, pulling you in just enough so you could lean your weight against his side for balance while you scuffed the last bit of traction into your other shoe with a few quick drags of the blade against the sole.

He kept his other arm free, eyes still sweeping the party with full bodyguard intensity — tail lashing slowly, posture tense, ready to move at the slightest sign of trouble even as he supported you. His hand rested possessively at the edge of your stomach, thumb brushing once in a subtle, grounding circle.

“You’re gonna break your neck in those fancy FUCKING death traps.” he muttered, voice low so only you could hear.

You smiled, finished with the shoes, and straightened up. When you handed the knife back to him, Blitz pocketed it without a word, his arm still loosely around your waist for another moment.

Then you leaned in, rising onto your newly-grippy heels, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth—soft, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

A few heads turned from the nearby Ars Goetia. Murmurs rippled through the crowd like startled birds taking flight. You didn't catch the flash of several judgmental stares and raised eyebrows from the owl-like nobles.

Blitz froze for half a second, eyes widening. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, voice a low, half-hearted growl. “You’re gonna get us both stared at like freaks.”

There was no real heat behind the words. His tail had curled slightly around your ankle, and the arm around your waist gave a tiny, reluctant squeeze before he finally let go, stepping back into proper bodyguard spacing — though his eyes lingered on your lips a moment too long.

You just smiled at him sweetly. “Couldn’t help it.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but you were already moving toward Stolas, who was still enduring Stella's verbal assault.

"—always were weak. So fucking sentimental. This little display of yours just proves how pathetic you really are. You were useless in bed, you know that? Couldn't satisfy a damn thing. I had to do everything just to get it over with. You're not a man, Stolas, you're a sad, starry-eyed disappointment who couldn't even—"

"Stolas," you interrupted calmly, stepping between them and offering your hand. "Could we dance?"

He stared at you, startled, his four eyes blinking rapidly. Stella stared too, her beak twisted in open disdain.

"I was having a conversation with my ex-husband," Stella said coldly, her voice dripping with ice.

"You were berating him at a party," you corrected, your voice soft but firm. "That's not a conversation. That's just being a bitch."

Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "You wretched little—"

"Stolas?" you repeated, completely ignoring her. "Please?"

He took your hand like it was a lifeline thrown into stormy waters. "I'd be delighted, darling."

You pulled him toward the dance floor, feeling Stella’s glare burning holes into your back the entire way.

"Thank you," Stolas breathed once you were in proper dance position. "That was... becoming rather unpleasant."

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, as he begun to lead you in slow turns

"I'm... managing." But his voice was strained. "Stella has a gift for finding exactly what will cause the most damage."

"What was she saying?"

"Nothing of importance. Just... the usual criticisms. That I'm pathetic, that I've embarrassed the family, that I'm a waste, that I dont deserve to have discovered..." He trailed off.

"Me?" you guessed.

"Well ... Yes, darling." He looked down at you, his expression softening. "She's wrong, of course. But she knows how to make doubt creep in."

You squeezed his hand gently. "You've been nothing but kind to me since all this started. That's not weakness. You and Blitz are the two people who have kept me afloat in all of this."

"Stella would disagree."

"Stella is a bitch."

That startled a laugh out of him—short and surprised. "Little star!"

"What? Am I wrong?"

"No. Not remotely." He spun you gently, and you saw some of the tension leave his shoulders. "Thank you. For the rescue."

"Anytime." You smiled up at him. "That's what we do, right?"

His expression shifted to something warm and complicated. "Yes. That's exactly what we do."

Across the room, near his pillar, Blitz watched you dance with Stolas.

He watched how fucking perfectly you fit together — your smaller frame tucked against Stolas’s tall, feathery one. The way Stolas looked down at you with that tender, protective starry-eyed bullshit. The way you smiled up at him like he’d personally hung every fucking star in the sky.

How you both looked like you belonged in this world of crystal and gold and aristocratic circle-jerk bullshit.

And Blitz... Blitz didn't belong here. Had never belonged here. Was only here because the FANCY FUCKHEADS thought he was being PAID to be here. Bodyguard duty. Security. The hired help.

He watched you laugh at something Stolas said, watched Stolas's answering smile, and felt something dark and ugly curl in his chest.

He was only tolerated because of a stupid fucking book and the monthly transactional FUCKFEST that kept the arrangement running with the damn bird.

Of course you'd choose this. The palace, the prince, the pretty life. Why wouldn't you?

He was just an imp. Short, broke, crude, good for murder and security details and not much else.

You'd been slumming it in his apartment, but now you were here, where you belonged, with people who matched you.

And he was just... watching from the sidelines. Like always. Doing his job. Keeping you safe so you could dance with princes and smile and fit in.

His hand unconsciously went to the rifle strapped to his back—a reminder of what he was here for. Protection. Security. That's all.

Not companionship. Not... ugh...WHATEVER.

His tail curled around his own leg—that protective gesture that meant nothing now because you were here. With Stols. With a fancy Goetia in the world you belonged to.

You were Goetia now. Or always had been, really.

And he was just Stupid fucking Blitz. Thinking they might actually stay—Idiot.

The dance ended, and Stolas bowed formally. You curtsied—awkwardly, but you managed not to trip over the dress.

"Thank you, little star," Stolas said warmly. "That was lovely."

"Thank you for not stepping on my feet," you replied, smiling.

"I would never." He kissed your cheek gently. "I should go speak with Father about some administrative matters. Will you be alright for a few minutes?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

As Stolas moved away, you immediately searched the room for Blitz. Found him still by his pillar, He was so deep in his own spiraling head that he didn’t notice you and Stolas had finished dancing.

You made your way over, the fancy dress swishing around your legs in a way that still felt foreign.

"Hey," you said softly when you reached him.

"Hey." He didn't look at you, eyes scanning the room—professional bodyguard mode. "Party going okay? Nobody giving you shit?"

"It's... a lot." You fidgeted with the dress. "Blitz?"

"Yeah?"

You reached out, taking his hand. "Want to blow this popsicle stand?" you asked with a small giggle.

He finally looked at you, surprise flickering across his face. "What?" He scoffed.

"I'm tired. This dress is uncomfortable. And I'd really like to go." You squeezed his hand. "Can we leave? Please?"

"I—yeah. Yeah, we can go." Something in his expression shifted, softened, the ugly monolouge in his head quieting. "Let me go tell bird brain we're heading out."

The car ride back to Stolas's palace started in comfortable silence. You'd settled into the plush seat, the dress pooling around you like a silk puddle, your feet already aching from the unfamiliar heels.

"Come here, little star," Stolas said gently, patting his lap. "Let me help with those."

You shifted, lifting your feet, and Stolas carefully guided them into his lap. His fingers were deft as they worked the tiny buckles on the ridiculous shoes—why did fancy shoes need so many buckles?—and when he finally slid them off, you couldn't suppress the relieved groan that escaped.

"Evil," you declared, wiggling your freed toes. "Those shoes are pure evil."

"Beauty is pain, darling," Stolas said, his thumbs already working into your arches with practiced skill. "Though I do agree, heels are rather barbaric."

The relief was immediate and intense. You hadn't realized how much tension you'd been carrying in your feet until his hands started working it out. Without thinking, you shifted closer to Blitz, your head finding his shoulder like it belonged there.

He tensed for just a moment, then relaxed, his arm coming around your shoulders in a gesture that felt both natural and careful.

You reached for his free hand, finding his claws and beginning to trace them absently. The repetitive motion was soothing, grounding. His claws were warm, sharp at the tips, and you found yourself fascinated by the way they tapered to points.

"That feels amazing," you mumbled as Stolas found a particularly sore spot. "How are you so good at this?"

"Practice, dear. I've attended many formal events in uncomfortable shoes myself." His fingers pressed into the ball of your foot, and you melted further into Blitz's side. "Though I must say, you handled tonight remarkably well."

"I almost panicked like five times," you admitted. "And I definitely said something stupid to Paimon about human customs that made no sense."

"Father thought you were charming," Stolas assured you. "Trust me, if he didn't like you, you'd know. Immediately. And loudly."

You giggled softly, still tracing Blitz's claws. They were longer than you'd realized, each one deadly sharp. "Do they ever hurt? The claws?"

"What? No. Why would they?" Blitz's voice was quiet, almost cautious.

"I don't know. Mine still do sometimes. The fangs...I guess it's cause there still new." You carefully touched the tip of one of his claws. "These are sharper than my fangs."

"Yeah, well, they're supposed to be. For killing and stuff." But he was watching you trace his claws with an expression you couldn't quite read in the dim light of the car.

"They're kind of beautiful," you said, too tired to filter yourself. Your fingers moved to the next claw, then the next. "Dangerous, but beautiful."

Stolas made a soft hooting sound, and when you glanced at him, he was smiling warmly while still working on your feet. "I think our little star is getting philosophical in her exhaustion."

"'M'not exhausted," you protested, even as you yawned. "Just... tired. Long fucking night."

"You were very brave tonight, little star," Stolas said, his hands moving to your other foot, repeating the gentle massage. "Facing all the Ars Goetia, enduring all those questions, navigating an entirely unfamiliar social landscape. I'm quite proud of you."

"Stols is right," Blitz said quietly, and something in his voice made you look up at him. "You did good tonight. Better than... better than I would've."

"You would've told them all to fuck off within five minutes," you said with a sleepy giggle.

"Exactly. Which is why you're going to be really good at all this fancy shit." His arm tightened slightly around your shoulders, and his voice went carefully neutral. "You fit right in with all those royal assholes."

There was something in his tone—something bitter underneath the casual words. Something that made your chest ache.

"I didn't want to fit in," you said, turning your face against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him—gunpowder and smoke and something spicy. "I wanted to leave. With you."

He went very still.

"Both of you," you amended, wiggling your toes in Stolas's capable hands. "But especially you. Because you looked like you wanted to shoot someone and I thought you might need an excuse to leave before you actually did it."

That surprised a laugh out of him—short and loud in the quiet of the car. "I did want to shoot someone. Several someones. Multiple times. But I showed RESTRAINT. I'm very fucking proud of myself."

"I'm proud of you too," you mumbled, your eyes drifting closed as you continued tracing his claws. "My protective bodyguard."

"That's my job, tits" he said, but his voice had gone soft.

You were quiet for a moment, the car humming beneath you, Stolas's hands working magic on your aching feet, Blitz's warmth solid and steady against your side.

"My protective men," you murmured, the words slipping out as you slipped into that happy mostly-asleep stage, unfiltered.

Blitz's hand twitched in yours. Stolas's fingers paused for just a moment on your foot before continuing their gentle massage.

"We'll always protect you, little star," Stolas whispered soft enough that you didnt hear it, there was something profound in the way he said it. A promise.

"Damn right," Blitz added gruffly under his breath. "Even when you're being stupid and grabbing hot coals or whatever other dumbass things your gonna do." the air in the car had changed. Become charged with something tender and complicated, but you were so close to sleep you didn't notice.

"Sleep, little star," Stolas said louder but still gentle. "We'll be home soon."

Home. His palace. But it didn't feel wrong anymore.

You were already adrift, warm and safe between them, your feet in Stolas's lap and your head on Blitz's shoulder.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

The car pulled up to the palace, and you made a disappointed sound when Stolas woke you so you could get out.

"Come on, little star," he said gently. "Let's get you inside and into something more comfortable."

You tried to stand and immediately stumbled—your feet were too sore, and you were too tired.

"No you don't," Blitz said, and suddenly you were being scooped up. "I got you DIPSHIT."

"My hero," you said with a sleepy giggle, your arms going around his neck.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm amazing, tell me something I don't know."

He carried you up the palace steps, and you found yourself studying his face in the low light. The sharp angles, the white markings against red skin, those glowing eyes that had scared you once and now just felt like something normal, something Blitz.

You cupped his cheek gently with one hand, ypur thumb tracing the line where it shifted from white to red by his jaw.

"What?" he asked, pausing at the top of the steps.

You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you. For being my bodyguard. Even if it was all fake."

His face flushed dark red. "Yeah, well, someone's gotta—and you can't just—I'm carrying you, that's not fair—"

"Blitzy, stop sputtering and bring her inside," Stolas said holding open the doorway, amused.

"I'm not FUCKING SPUTTERING!"

You giggled again, and Blitz looked down at you with an expression you couldnt name.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping lower, "We could make up for that disaster a few weeks ago where you freaked out."

The offer was crude, classic Blitz, but your response surprised even you.

"Promise not to bite me this time ?" you asked, your voice soft but deliberate.

He nearly dropped you.

"WHAT—you—did you just—"

"Oh my," Stolas said, all four eyes wide. "Little star, are you propositioning us?"

"Maybe," you said, and you weren't quite sure where this boldness was coming from—exhaustion, relief at being away from the party, or just the feeling of being safe between them. "Is that okay?"

"Okay?! Is that—" Blitz looked at Stolas, then back at you. "You're serious? Because last time—"

"Last time you bit me," you interrupted softly. "But I've been thinking about it. About... trying again. If you both want to."

The silence stretched.

Then Blitz grinned—that wicked, sharp grin that meant trouble. "Oh, we FUCKING want to. Trust me tits. But we're doing this RIGHT this time. No rushing, no freaking out—"

"And certainly no interruptions," Stolas added letting out a low, delighted hoot. One taloned hand came up to gently card through your hair, brushing it back from your face with exquisite tenderness. “My precious little star… my darling...If this is truly what you desire, then who are we to deny you?” His voice dropped into that smooth, velvet register that always made your stomach flip. “You deserve to be worshipped properly...Are you absolutely certain?"

You nodded.

Stolas sat on the couch—your couch, the one you'd slept on since the first night you'd arrived—and he wasn't moving. Hadn't moved in the hours since they'd gotten back. He just sat there, staring at nothing, his hands folded in his lap, all four eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance that only he could see.

He looked smaller somehow. Diminished. Like someone had taken the prince of the Ars Goetia and hollowed him out, leaving just the shell behind.

"This is BULLSHIT!" Blitz's voice cracked through the silence like a whip. "This is complete and utter BULLSHIT and you KNOW it!"

Stolas didn't respond. Didn't even blink.

"Are you even LISTENING to me?!" Blitz whirled on him, hands thrown up. "Because I've been TALKING and you're just sitting there like a FNACY fucking STATUE!"

Still nothing. Stolas's gaze remained fixed on that invisible point, his expression blank.

"STOLAS!"

Finally, a blink. Slow, mechanical. "I'm listening."

"Oh, you're LISTENING! Great! Fantastic! So you HEARD me when I said this is FUCKED?!" Blitz was in front of him now, getting in his space. "You heard me when I said we can't just LEAVE her with him?!"

"Yes." The word was flat, empty.

"And?! What are we gonna DO about it?!"

"Nothing." Stolas's voice was barely above a whisper. "There's nothing we can do."

"NOTHING?! NOTHING?!" Blitz's voice climbed to a near-shriek. "She's with that ICE FUCK who turns out, NEWSFLASH, to be her DAD and you're saying there's NOTHING we can do?!"

"The trial ruled—"

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT THE TRIAL RULED!" Blitz was shouting now, really shouting, his face flushed dark red. "They took her! They took her away and gave her to that—that PEACOCK ASSHOLE who—"

"I KNOW!" Stolas's voice cracked, all four eyes suddenly sharp with pain. "Do you not think I KNOW?!"

"Then WHY are you just SITTING there?! Why aren't you—I don't know—DOING SOMETHING?!"

"WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO, BLITZY?!" Stolas surged to his feet, and for a moment he looked like himself again—powerful, imposing, angry. "Storm my own palace? Declare a war? I have NO POWER anymore! No grimoire, no magic, no ACCESS to anything that could POSSIBLY help!"

"So that's IT?! You're just giving up?!"

"I'm being REALISTIC!" Stolas's hands were shaking. "The court gave custody to Andrealphus. He is her biological father. He has EVERY legal right—"

"FUCK legal rights! She doesn't KNOW him! She doesn't WANT to be there!"

"And what would you have me do about that?! Kidnap her? Start a war between Goetia's that would get us ALL killed?!" Stolas's voice was rising to match Blitz's volume. "I've already lost my powers! Already lost access to Via! Already lost EVERYTHING and you want me to—to—"

His voice broke completely, and he sat back down hard, like his strings had been cut.

"You want me to lose our little star too," he finished quietly. "Permanently. That's what would happen if we tried anything. They'd make sure we never saw her again."

"So instead you're just gonna—what? Accept it?! Let that frozen FUCKFACE have her?!"

"HE'S HER FATHER!" The words exploded out of Stolas with something like anguish. "I know you don't want to hear it, I know WE don't want to accept it, but the blood doesn't LIE! Andrealphus is her biological father and the court—"

"THE COURT CAN SUCK MY ENTIRE ASS!" Blitz was pacing again, more violently now. "I don't CARE about blood! I don't CARE about legal bullshit! She is OURS! She—she slept on this couch! She made those stupid fucking noises when she burnt her hands! She asked permission to touch my TAIL like my permission actually FUCKING MATTERED!"

"Don't you think I know that?!" Stolas's voice was raw now. "Don't you think I remember every moment?! The way she'd curl into my feathers! The gentle way she'd touch my face! How she'd look at us like we we're the STARS themselves!"

"Then how can you just SIT there?!"

"BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!" Stolas's composure shattered completely, his voice breaking on a sob. "I researched! I planned! I tried to find a way to help her, to keep her safe, and instead I—I led her right to HIM! I found the evidence that proved her heritage, I might as well have handed it to the court on a SILVER FUCKING PLATTER!"

"Yeah! You did! Because you KNEW!" Blitz's voice turned sharp, accusatory. "You knew what you found out and you didn't tell me!"

Stolas flinched like he'd been struck.

"I didn't want to believe it was Andrealphus," he said weakly. "How could our sweet perfect Little Star be related to to HIM—"

"But you knew it, You knew she was his FUCKING KID you kept that shit to yourself!"

"I was trying to PROTECT her!"

"Well you did a SHIT job of that, didn't you BIRD BRAIN?!"

The words hung in the air, brutal and cutting.

Stolas made a sound like he'd been punched in the gut, his hands coming up to cover his face. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"Dad!" Loona's voice cut through the chaos like ice. "That's enough."

Blitz whirled to find her standing in the doorway of her room, arms crossed, expression fierce.

"Stay out of this, Loonie—"

"No." She moved into the room, and there was something protective in the way she positioned herself. "Look at him. Actually FUCKING LOOK at him."

Blitz looked, Stolas was folded in on himself, trembling, his face still hidden behind his hands. His feathers were ruffled and dull, his clothes disheveled from the trial. He looked... broken. Completely, utterly broken.

"He lost his powers," Loona said quietly. "He lost access to his FUCKING KID. And he lost the human too. He's lost everything, and you're standing here SCREAMING at him like it's all his fault."

"It IS his fault! He's the one who—"

"He tried to help! He researched and studied and did everything he could to understand what was happening to her!" Loona's voice was sharp. "Yeah, maybe he should've told you what he found. Maybe he made mistakes. But he didn't DO this. The court did. That popsicle flavoured asshole did. NOT him."

Blitz opened his mouth to argue, but Loona wasn't done.

"And right now, he needs someone to NOT blame him for everything. Because he's already doing that SHIT to himself."

Blitz looked at Stolas again—at the way his whole body was shaking, at the silent sobs that wracked his frame, at the complete devastation written in every line of his posture.

The anger drained out of him all at once, leaving behind something raw and aching.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck, I—"

He moved to the couch, sat down next to Stolas, and carefully—so carefully—pulled the former-prince into his arms.

Stolas resisted for a moment, then collapsed against him, his face buried in Blitz's shoulder as broken sobs finally found their voice.

"I'm sorry," Stolas gasped out between sobs. "I'm so sorry, I tried—I tried so hard—I thought if I could—if I could just find the RIGHT time—Blitzy I thought there would be enough time."

"I know," Blitz said, his voice rough but gentle now. "I know you did."

"But I FAILED! I failed her! I failed YOU! I failed everyone!"

"Hey, hey, no." Blitz tightened his hold. "You didn't fail anyone. The system's fucked. The trial was rigged. None of that's on you."

"But if I hadn't researched—if I hadn't found the evidence—If I hadnt told my father about her in the first place!"

"Then we still wouldn't know what the fuck was happening to her!" Blitz pulled back enough to look at Stolas's face. "Look, you fucked up by not telling us who her Dad actually was.That was shitty. But you were trying to HELP. I get that."

"I should have told you," Stolas whispered. "The moment I found the connection, I should have—"

"Yeah, you should have. But beating yourself up about it now doesn't change SHIT about DICK." Blitz wiped at the tears on Stolas's face with surprising gentleness. "What's done is done. Now we gotta figure out what comes NEXT."

"There IS no next," Stolas said hollowly. "She's gone. The court gave her, a grown woman might I add, to Andrealphus. It's over."

"It's not over until I SAY it's over," Blitz said firmly. "And I don't say it's over."

"Blitzy—"

"No. FUCK THIS I don't accept that we just LOSE her because some fancy court said so." His jaw set stubbornly. "We'll find a way. We ALWAYS find a way."

"How?" Stolas's voice was small, broken. "How do you propose we fight SATAN himself ? I have no power anymore, Blitzy. No station, no grimoire ... I'm nothing."

"You're not nothing," Blitz said, fierce and certain. "You're Stolas. You're the smartest fucking BIRBPUSS I know. And you're not alone in this."

Stolas just shook his head, fresh tears spilling over.

"When's the last time you ate?" Blitz asked, changing tactics.

"I... I don't know."

"Bathed?"

"This morning. Before the trial."

"Okay." Blitz stood, pulling Stolas with him. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna take a bath. You're gonna put on clean clothes. You're gonna eat something. And THEN we can collapse into misery. But we're doing it PROPERLY."

"I don't want to bothe—"

"I don't CARE what you want right now. You're doing it anyway." Blitz's tone left no room for argument.

Getting Stolas into the bathroom was like moving a puppet with cut strings. He went where Blitz guided him but with no volition of his own, no resistance but no cooperation either.

The bathroom was tiny compared to Stolas's palace bathrooms—barely enough room for the tub and toilet and sink. But Blitz made it work, starting the water running and adding some kind of soap that made bubbles.

"Arms up," Blitz ordered.

Stolas complied mechanically, letting Blitz pull his regalia over his head. The rest of his clothes followed until he was standing naked and shivering despite the steam rising from the tub.

"In you go."

Stolas stepped into the water and sat down, drawing his knees up to his chest like he was trying to make himself smaller, his arm dragged in the water, and he just... sat there.

Blitz grabbed a washcloth and soap, kneeling beside the tub.

"This is gonna be a SHIT SHOW because you're too FUCKING TALL for this tub," he muttered, "but we're making it work."

He started washing Stolas's back, gentle and methodical. The water turned slightly grey from the grime of the trial, the stress-sweat, the tears.

"She used to like baths," Stolas said suddenly, his voice distant. "After she adjusted to the fangs. She'd spend hours in my tub, watching the floating stars."

"Yeah?" Blitz kept washing.

"She'd ask so many splendid questions." A shaky breath. "She was so curious about everything. So eager to learn."

"Still is, probably," Blitz said.

"Was." Stolas's voice broke. "Was curious. Past tense. Because she's not HERE anymore."

"She's not dead, Stols. She's just... somewhere else. Temporarily."

"She's with Andrealphus. With a father she never knew she had." Stolas's talons were shaking in the water. "She must be so frightened."

Blitz's jaw clenched, but he kept washing. "She's tougher than you think. She slammed a imp into a bar, Bared her fangs and everything."

"That's what worries me," Stolas whispered. "What if—what if she needs us and we're not THERE?"

"Then she'll figure it out. She's tough." But Blitz's voice was tight.

He finished washing Stolas, helped him out of the tub, dried him off with a towel that was too small for the job. Found some of clothes that would fit—sweatpants and a top from Loona that looked ridiculous on Stolas but were better than nothing.

"Food," Blitz announced. "Kitchen. Now."

Stolas followed like a ghost.

The kitchen was a disaster—Blitz wasn't exactly known for his housekeeping—but he managed to find some leftover takeout that wasn't growing anything suspicious. He heated it up and shoved the container at Stolas.

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't CARE. Eat anyway."

Stolas picked at the food mechanically, each bite seeming to take enormous effort. Blitz watched him like a hawk, making sure he actually swallowed.

"She sat here," Stolas said quietly, touching the edge of the table. "Right here."

They sat in silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on them like a physical thing.

When Stolas couldn't manage another bite, Blitz took the container away and guided him back to the living room.

"Couch," he said. "You need sleep."

"I can't—"

"You can. Lie down Stols."

Stolas lowered himself onto the couch—your couch—and immediately froze.

The blanket you'd used was still draped over the back, smelling like you—that particular scent of human and the new demonic undertone that had been developing.

It was like you'd just stepped away for a moment and would be right back.

But you wouldn't be, something in Stolas's chest cracked.

He pulled the blanket to his face, breathing in your scent, and the sob that tore from him was broken and raw and devastating.

"She was HERE," he choked out. "She was right HERE and I—I let them take her—"

"You didn't LET them do anything—"

"I should have FOUGHT harder! I should have—should have—" His words dissolved into sobs, his whole body shaking as he clutched the blanket like a lifeline.

Blitz sat on the floor next to the couch, his hand finding Stolas's there fingers interlacing.

"I've got you," he said quietly. "Just... let it out. I've got you."

And Stolas did. He broke apart completely, all the composure and dignity stripped away, leaving only grief and guilt and desperate, aching loss. He cried into the blanket that smelled like you until he had nothing left, until his eyes were swollen and his throat was raw and exhaustion finally dragged him under.

His breathing evened out into sleep—restless and troubled, but sleep nonetheless.

Blitz stayed on the floor next to him, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

Loona appeared in the doorway, silent.

"He gonna be okay?" she asked quietly.

"Eventually," Blitz said. "Maybe. I don't know."

"And you?"

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit."

Blitz's tail lashed once, sharply. "I'm—I dont know —FUCKING FUNCTIONING. That's all that matters right now."

Loona studied him for a long moment. "You know this isn't your fault either, right?"

"I know."

"Do you though?"

He didn't answer.

Loona sighed and disappeared back into her room, leaving Blitz alone with a sleeping Stolas and an apartment that was too quiet, too empty, too wrong without you in it.

He looked at Stolas—at the tear-stained face, the white-knuckled grip on your blanket, the exhaustion written in every line of his body.

"We're getting her back," Blitz said to the sleeping owl-prince. "I don't know how yet. I don't know when. But we're getting her back."

He paused, his voice dropping to barely a whisper.

The imp appeared in the doorway, looking agitated. His tail was lashing in that way it did when he was working through something he didn't want to think about.

"She still out?" Blitz asked, not quite meeting Stolas's eyes.

"Yes. She's still sleeping quite a bit. The trauma was significant." Stolas set his book aside, his eyes tracking over Blitz with interest. "How are you feeling? That bite mark Striker gave you seems to have healed nicely."

"Yeah, well, I heal fast. Comes with the territory." Blitz moved to the liquor cabinet, helping himself without asking. "Unlike her. Tits fucking bruises if you look at her wrong."

"Mmm, yes, human skin is remarkably delicate." Stolas's voice took on a purr. "So soft. So... easily marked."

"Don't start with your weird shit, Stolz."

"I'm simply making an observation, darling." Stolas stood, moving closer. "You know, it is the full moon tonight."

"No shit. Bird brain. " Blitz downed half his glass in one go. "You gonna get to the point or are we doing the whole foreplay conversation thing? Because I got better shit to do then re-harsh that FUCKERY."

"Actually, I had a rather delicious thought." Stolas moved behind Blitz, his voice dropping to that particular register that meant trouble. "Our little star is upstairs, sleeping soundly. You've been here for five days being an awfully dutifull bodyguard. The sexual tension has been absolutely exquisite."

"SATAN'S TAINT—How many times—There's no FUCKING tension! I'm just making sure she doesn't DIE!"

"Of course, darling, all those lingering looks are purely professional concern." Stolas's hand came to rest on Blitz's shoulder. "I was thinking... perhaps tonight we could make it a threesome?"

Blitz choked on his drink. "A WHAT?!"

"Oh, don't act so scandalized! You've been thinking about it!" Stolas's voice was thick with amusement and arousal. "I've seen how you look at her. How you position yourself between her and any perceived threat."

"That's—that's just—I was being NICE! You know, that thing people do sometimes?!"

"You're never nice without ulterior motives, Blitzy. We both know that." Stolas moved around to face him, all four eyes gleaming. "Admit it—you want to ravage her."

"So what if I do?! Half of Hell probably wants to fuck her! She's—she's—" Blitz gestured wildly, "—she's got that whole corruptible thing going on! SATAN'S FUCKING SPHINCTER its like catnip!"

"Mmm, yes, I'm quite aware. I've been fantasizing about ruining her myself for weeks now." Stolas's voice went heated. "Imagine it, Blitzy—her beneath us, those wide eyes looking up as we show her exactly what she's been missing. I could hold her while you make her unravel. Or perhaps you'd prefer to watch while I make her come undone with my tongue?"

"Christ on a stick, Stolz!" Blitz slammed his glass down. "Can you NOT be a horny bird for five fucking seconds?!"

"Why? The full moon makes me exceptionally eager, and the thought of adding our sweet little star to our activities has made me absolutely ravenous." He leaned in close. "Think about it—you, claiming that perfect mouth while I spread those lovely thighs. Or perhaps both of us at once we could even—"

"OKAY! Okay! I get the picture! You're horny! You want a threesome! Message received!" Blitz was pacing now, his tail lashing violently. "But you're assuming she'd even WANT that! She got fucking strangled a week ago!"

"Which is precisely why she needs to feel desired. Safe. Worshipped." Stolas's tone was almost reasonable, if you ignored the absolutely filthy content. "And who better to provide that than the two of us? You, with all that passionate intensity. Me, with my more refined appreciation for the female form."

"This is a terrible idea!"

"It's a MAGNIFICENT idea!" Stolas was getting excited now, his feathers ruffling. "I've been aching to touch her for days, Blitzy. To taste her. To feel her come apart under my hands. And you—you've been practically vibrating with repressed desire every time she's near you!"

"I am NOT—"

"You absolutely are! You watch her constantly! You tense every time she gets close to anyone else! You let her demand you stay here when you've never let anyone dictate your schedule before!" Stolas grabbed Blitz's shoulders. "You want her and I want her, unless I'm very much mistaken. So why are we standing here arguing when we could be upstairs making her feel incredible?"

Blitz shook him off. "Because it's the FULL MOON! We have a DEAL! This is supposed to be about YOU getting your rocks off so I can use your book! Not—not dragging her into our fucked up arrangement!"

"Why can't it be both?" Stolas's voice dropped to a purr again. "I get what I need. You get to finally act on whatever feelings you have—dont deny it again, we both know you do. And she gets to feel safe and desired after a traumatic experience. Everyone wins."

"I don't have FEELINGS! I just—" Blitz grabbed his glass and refilled it. "I just need to fuck her so I can get her out of my system! That's IT!"

"Oh, Blitzy." Stolas's expression was knowing, almost pitying. "That's not going to work."

"Yes it will! That's exactly how it works!" Blitz downed the drink. "I fuck someone, I get them out of my head, I move on! It's simple! It's what I DO!"

"Darling, you've been pining after her for months—"

"I'm not PINING! Pining is for sad assholes who write poetry! I just have a very persistent boner that needs addressing!"

"If you truly believe that a single night of sex will cure you of these feelings—"

"They're not FEELINGS! It's just Physical attraction! That's IT!" Blitz was getting more agitated. "Look, are we doing this or not?! Because if we are, we need to wake her up and I can fuck this weirdness out of my system and everything can go back to normal!"

Stolas regarded him with all four eyes, something soft and sad in his expression. "Very well, Blitzy. But I'm warning you—I don't think this is going to solve your problem the way you think it will."

"Yeah? Well we'll fucking see about that!" Blitz pulled away, grabbing his drink. "And for the record? If this goes sideways, I'm blaming you AND your fancy bird puss."

"Duily Noted." Stolas returned to his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Now, shall we discuss the evening's... agenda? I have some new restraints I've been dying to try, and I thought perhaps we could—"

"Oh for FUCK'S sake!" Blitz downed his drink in one go. This was going to be a long fucking night.

And in the back of his mind, that traitorous voice whispered Maybe if you just fuck her, you'll get her out of your system. That's all this is. Just attraction. Just regular horny thoughts. Fuck her, get it over with, and everything goes back to normal.

He ignored the part of him that knew it was a lie.

Upstairs, you woke slowly, the plush bedding of Stolas's guest room making it hard to fully surface into consciousness. The light filtering through the curtains was that perpetual red of Hell's sky, but softer somehow, like Stolas had the windows enchanted to be less harsh.

Your hand went to your throat automatically—a habit you'd developed over the past few days. The bruises were mostly gone now, just the faintest shadow where Striker's tail had dug in, wrapped around your neck and squeezed and squeezed and—

You sat up quickly, pushing the memory away. You were fine. You were safe. Striker was gone.

Your phone—the one Stolas had given you—was on the nightstand. You grabbed it, needing to hear a familiar voice, needing to confirm that everyone else was okay too.

You pulled up Loona's contact and hit call before you could second-guess yourself.

It rang three times before an irritated voice answered "What?"

"Loona! Heyyy! Are you—are you okay?"

"...it's three in the afternoon. Why wouldn't I be okay?" She sounded confused and annoyed in equal measure.

"I just—I wanted to check. Make sure you were safe. That nothing—that no one—"

"Oh, you're still freaking out about the festival thing?" Loona sighed heavily. "I'm FINE. I'm at Moxxie and Millie's eating their food and judging their FUCKASS décor. Everything's fine."

"Are you sure? Because if you need anything—"

"I'm SURE. Christ, you're worse than Blitz." But her tone had softened slightly. "Seriously, I'm fine. Moxxie's being his usual anxious self and Millie's trying to teach me some weird country recipe. It's annoying but ... seriously it's fine."

"Okay. Okay, good." You took a breath. "Can you put Moxxie on the phone?"

"Why?" Loona sounded suspicious now.

"Just—please? I need to talk to him."

A heavy sigh. "Fine. But you're being weird." There was rustling, then Loona's muffled voice "Hey, Moxxie! The human wants to talk to you!"

More rustling, then "Hello? Is everything alright?"

"Mox! Hi! Yes, I just—I wanted to check—are you guys okay? Is Millie okay? Have you seen anything suspicious? Has anyone tried to break in or—"

"Whoa, hey, slow down!" Moxxie's voice was gentle but concerned. "We're fine. Everything's fine. The apartment is secure, Millie's in the kitchen, Loona's on the couch being surly. Nothing suspicious has happened."

"Are you SURE? Because that cowboy guy could still be—"

"Striker is long gone," Moxxie said firmly. "Blitz—made very sure of that before we left the Wrath Ring. And even if he wasn't, we're prepared. I have weapons staged at every entrance and Millie sleeps with an axe under her pillow."

"An axe?!"

"Two axes, actually," Moxxie corrected. "She's very thorough about the ahhh home defenses."

Despite your anxiety, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. "Okay. Okay, that's... that's good."

"Are YOU okay?" Moxxie asked. "You sound stressed."

"I'm fine. I just—I needed to make sure everyone was safe. That he didn't—that nothing happened while I was—" Your voice cracked slightly.

"Hey, it's okay," Moxxie said gently. "What happened at the festival was terrifying. It's completely normal to be worried. But I promise you, we're all fine. We're taking precautions. And you're safe at the palace with Blitz and Stolas, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they're—Blitz has been ...himself, but in a good way. And Stolas keeps checking on me."

"Good. That's good." A pause. "You know, for what it's worth, you were very brave. Not many people would stay as calm as you did with a tail around their throat."

"I panicked," you whispered.

"You held your ground. That matters."

You didn't know what to say to that.

"Listen," Moxxie continued, "why don't you try to rest? Enjoy the palace. Let Blitz and Stolas take care of you for a bit. We've got everything handled here."

"You'll call if anything happens?"

"Immediately," he promised. "But nothing's going to happen. We're safe, you're safe, and Striker is probably halfway to another Ring by now trying to drink away the memory of ot all."

That got a small laugh out of you. "Okay. Thank you, Mox."

"Anytime. Now get some rest. And maybe eat something? Stolas's chef is apparently incredible."

"I will. Thanks."

"Take care of yourself," he said warmly, then called out "Loona! Your... she wants to say goodbye!"

"She's not—oh for fuck's sake—" Rustling, then Loona was back on the line. "You done freaking out now?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Whatever. Just... stop worrying so much. We're fine. You're fine. Everyone's fine." A pause. "And if you need anything, I guess you can call. Or whatever."

Coming from Loona, that was practically a declaration of affection.

"Thanks, Loona."

"Yeah, yeah. Now let me get back to judging the stupid throw pillows."

The line went dead.

You sat there for a moment, phone in hand, feeling marginally better. Everyone was safe. No one was hurt. Striker was gone.

You were okay.

Your stomach growled, reminding you that you'd slept through lunch. Time to venture downstairs and see what Stolas and Blitz were up to.

You had no idea you were walking into a full moon dinner with two demons who had very specific ideas about how the evening should end.

Dinner was served in what Stolas called "the intimate dining room," which was still larger than Blitz's entire apartment. The table was dark wood that gleamed in the candlelight, set with china so delicate you were afraid to touch it, and silverware that was probably actual silver. Crystal glasses caught the light from floating candles that drifted lazily overhead.

"This is beautiful," you said softly, taking your seat. Stolas had positioned you across from Blitz, with Stolas to your right at the head of the table.

"I'm so pleased you think so, little star." Stolas settled into his chair with grace. "I do try to maintain certain standards, though I fear Blitzy finds it all rather tedious."

"It's fucking pretentious is what it is," Blitz muttered, but he was eyeing the wine bottle with interest. "Who needs four forks?"

"People with class, darling." Stolas poured a small amount of wine into your glass with a practiced hand. "But I suppose we can't all be refined."

"I can be refined! I just choose not to be because it's boring as shit!"

You hid a smile behind your napkin as staff—staff in neat uniforms—began bringing out the first course. It was some kind of soup, pale purple and steaming, with edible flowers floating on top.

"What is this?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"Shadowbloom bisque," Stolas explained. "The flowers only grow in complete darkness. They're quite rare. I do hope you enjoy it."

You took a careful spoonful. It was... actually delicious. Rich and creamy with a subtle flavor you couldn't quite place, something between mushroom and something floral.

"This is really good," you said, surprised.

"My chef is exceptional." Stolas took a sip from his own bowl, then his eyes slid to Blitz. "Though I must say, Blitzy, the anticipation of dessert has me quite... eager."

Blitz nearly choked on his soup. "We're talking ACTUAL dessert, right? Not your weird euphemism bullshit?"

"Why not both?" Stolas's voice dropped lower, and he leaned slightly toward Blitz. "I've been thinking about what you said last time—"

"Stolz—" Blitz's voice was a warning. "You have a GUEST!"

"She's focused on her soup. Aren't you, dear?"

"Mmhmm," you said, not looking up. "This soup is delicious."

"See? Perfectly fine." Stolas took another spoonful of his own soup, then continued in that same casual tone, "I've also been practicing with the larger—"

"I'm gonna STRANGLE you with your own FUCKING feathers," Blitz threatened.

"Oh, I do hope so." Stolas sounded absolutely delighted. "You know how I adore your hands around my throat."

The second course was some kind of meat—you didn't ask what kind—with roasted vegetables that glowed faintly and a sauce that tasted like nothing you'd ever experienced. It was all delicious, presented beautifully, and you could tell that Stolas genuinely enjoyed good food. This wasn't pretentious for show; this was just how he lived.

"So, little star," Stolas said, cutting his meat with precise movements, "how are you feeling? The bruises from your... encounter are practically gone."

Your hand went unconsciously to your throat, where the marks had been. "Much better. They don't hurt anymore."

"Good. I'm glad." Stolas's expression was genuinely warm. "That was quite a terrifying experience. You were very brave."

"I wasn't brave," you said quietly. "I was scared."

"You almost shot that ASSCLOWN in the face," Blitz said gruffly. "That's pretty FUCKING brave for someone who'd doesn't kill people for a living."

"I didn't though," you said. "I missed."

"Yeah, well, missing is muchhh better than accidentally shooting ME, which is what could've happened if you hadn't missed." Blitz took a long drink of wine. "So, you know, thanks for that."

It was probably the closest to a compliment you'd had from him, and it made you smile.

Stolas was watching the exchange with visible interest, his eyes moving between you and Blitz with an expression you couldn't quite read.

Then he leaned toward Blitz again, his voice dropping. "You know, I've been imagining what you might do to me later. Those claws of yours digging into my thighs while you—"

"Can we NOT?" Blitz cut in, but his voice was rougher than before.

"I'm simply making conversation, darling." Stolas's smile was wicked. "Surely you don't mind me discussing how much I'm looking forward to you absolutely ruining me tonight?"

When you looked down to cut your meat, you heard Blitz's voice drop to that dangerous growl "Keep talking and I'm gonna make you regret every word."

"Promise?" Stolas breathed.

"You're not gonna be able to WALK tomorrow."

"Oh Blitzy, you always know exactly what to say."

You cleared your throat loudly, and they both had the grace to look slightly sheepish.

The meal continued in that vein—dessert was some kind of chocolate confection that was so rich you could only eat half.

"Now then," Stolas said as staff cleared the dessert plates, "I thought perhaps we could retire to my chambers. I have a rather extensive collection of texts on interdimensional magic that might prove useful for our little star's situation."

"Your chambers," Blitz said flatly. "Not the library? The actual library that you have?"

"Well, my personal collection is much more comprehensive. And comfortable. The library chairs are dreadfully stiff." Stolas stood, smoothing his jacket. "Unless you'd prefer the formal library? Though it is quite cold this time of evening..."

You stood as well, the little bit of wine making you pleasantly warm. "I'd love to see your books. Thank you for offering."

Blitz shot Stolas a look that very clearly said 'I know what you're doing,' but stood anyway. "Yeah, sure, let's go look at books. That's definitely what's happening."

Stolas's chambers were accessed through a private hallway lined with more portraits and tapestries. The doors were tall and carved with intricate patterns of owls and moons, opening into a suite that was somehow both opulent and comfortable.

The bedroom itself was enormous, dominated by a massive four-poster bed with curtains of deep blue velvet. But what caught your attention was the wall of bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with leather-bound volumes of every size and color.

"Oh wow," you breathed, moving toward them immediately. "This is incredible."

"You know how I enjoy my reading," Stolas said, following you over. "Let's see... interdimensional magic would be... ah, yes, here."

He reached past you, pulling down a tome that was nearly as big as your torso. His hand brushed your shoulder as he did, and you felt the warmth of him at your back.

"This one is particularly comprehensive," he murmured, his voice much closer than you expected. "Covers everything from basic portal theory to complex dimensional anchoring."

You turned slightly to take the book, and found yourself nearly pressed against him, his height meaning you had to crane your neck to look up. All four of his eyes were focused on you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"I—thank you," you managed.

"Of course, little star." His hands settled on your shoulders, gentle but firm, and slowly turned you back toward the bookshelf. "Let me show you a few more that might be relevant..."

You were acutely aware of three things, Stolas's hands on your shoulders, his chest warm against your back, and Blitz across the room, watching with an expression you couldn't quite read.

"So," Blitz said, his voice cutting through the moment, "we doing this or what?"

Your head whipped around. "Doing what?"

Stolas's hands tightened very slightly on your shoulders. "Blitzy, subtlety—"

"Fuck subtlety! We've been dancing around this shit all night!" Blitz moved closer, his tail swishing in agitation. "Look, Tits, here's the deal. You're cute ... maybe even hot ... if human is what gets you going. We wanna see if you're interested in... expanding your Hell education."

Your brain short-circuited. "I—my what?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake—" Blitz ran a hand over his horns. "You want me to spell it out? Fine! We wanna stick our tounges down your throat! More than that you if you're into it! There, clear enough?"

"Blitzy, you have all the romantic grace of a brick through a window," Stolas sighed, but he didn't move away from you.

"She appreciates HONESTY!" Blitz protested. "Don't you?"

You nodded mutely, still trying to process.

"See? Honesty!" Blitz took another step closer. "So here's some more honesty, you're hot as fuck Tits, and I've been thinking about kissing that shocked look off your face since you fell on me. Stolas has actually been thinking about worse shit, the fucking creep."

"I prefer 'admirer,'" Stolas murmured above you.

"And—" Blitz continued, now close enough that you could see the exact pattern of his yellow-and-red eyes, "—I do NOT disappoint. Just so we're clear. I'm fucking EXCELLENT at this shit."

"Blitzy, perhaps we should—"

"Let her make her own decision, bird brain!" Blitz's eyes were fixed on yours. "So what do you say? You interested, or should we actually just look at these boring-ass books?"

Your heart was hammering. Your face felt like it was on fire. Stolas's hands on your shoulders were warm and solid, and Blitz was looking at you like he wanted to devour you, and your brain was just screaming static.

"I—" you started, your voice barely working. "I don't—this is—"

"Overwhelming?" Stolas suggested gently. "We can slow down, dear. There's no pressure."

But Blitz, apparently, disagreed with the concept of slowing down. "Or we could speed up. Just saying, the faster we get to the good stuff, the faster you figure out just how much of what HORNY shit your into."

"That's not how seduction works—"

"Who said anything about seduction? I'm being EFFICIENT here!"

Despite the chaos of your thoughts, you laughed. It came out slightly hysterical, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Both of them stopped, looking at you.

"You're both insane," you said, still laughing. "This is insane. I'm in Hell, at a palace, being propositioned by—I mean your both—and I'm just—"

You stopped, looking between them. Blitz, all sharp edges and crude confidence. Stolas, elegant and patient and wanting. You thought about all the stress and the chaos, the stupid fucking fall and how close that fucking cowboy got to actually—

"Fuck it," you whispered.

And you grabbed Blitz's coat, pulled him in by the lapels, and kissed him.

For a moment, Blitz was completely still, like he hadn't expected you to actually do it. Then he made a low noise in his throat and kissed you back with a enthusiasm that made your knees weak.

His mouth was hot—literally hot, warmer than human—and he tasted like wine and something spicy. One hand came up to cup the back of your head, the other wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. He kissed like he did everything else, aggressively, confidently, and with complete commitment.

When he pulled back, you were breathing hard.

"Christ on a stick," he said, eyes wide. "You actually—"

You didn't let him finish, kissing him again. His hands tightened on you, and you heard him growl—actually growl—against your mouth. The sound sent heat straight through you.

"How delightful," Stolas murmured from behind you, and you felt his presence there, warm and solid. You broke away from Blitz, turning to find Stolas watching with all four eyes, his expression somewhere between pleased and hungry.

"May I?" he asked softly, one hand reaching toward you.

You nodded, and he tilted your chin up with one gentle finger. His kiss was different from Blitz's—slower, more deliberate. His beak was surprisingly soft against your lips, the edges smooth and warm. Where Blitz was fire and demand, Stolas was warmth and persuasion, coaxing rather than taking.

He kissed like he had all the time in the world, like every second was meant to be savored. His hand cupped your face with such gentleness it made your chest ache, thumb stroking along your cheekbone. The kiss deepened gradually, carefully, his other hand coming to rest at the small of your back.

There was something almost reverent about it, the way he explored your mouth with patient thoroughness, the way his talons trembled slightly against your skin. When he finally pulled back, you were dizzy with it, your lips tingling.

"Exquisite," he breathed, all four eyes half-lidded as he looked at you. "Absolutely exquisite, little star."

When you turned back to Blitz, his pupils were blown wide, eyes dark with want. "Okay, that was hot as fuck," he muttered, and then he was pulling you back to him, kissing you harder this time.

His hands were everywhere—your waist, your back, tangling in your hair. You made a small noise against his mouth, and he groaned in response, the sound vibrating through you.

"You like that?" he murmured against your lips. "You make the cutest fucking sounds. I wanna hear more of them."

Your back hit something soft—the bed, you realized distantly. When had you moved to the bed? Blitz followed you down, one hand braced beside your head, the other still on your waist. He kissed down your jaw, finding that spot just below your ear that made you gasp.

"There it is," he said, sounding satisfied. "Found the spot." He focused there, kissing and sucking until you were squirming beneath him.

"Blitzy, you're being greedy," Stolas said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw him settle onto the bed beside you, propped up on one elbow, watching with clear appreciation.

"Damn right I'm greedy," Blitz said against your neck. "She tastes fucking amazing and I'm not sharing right now."

He worked his way back up to your mouth, and this kiss was deeper, more demanding. His tongue slid against yours, and the heat of it made you gasp. His hand on your waist started moving in slow circles, the touch burning through the fabric of your clothes.

"You good?" he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, hungry, but there was a question there too.

"Yeah, yea" you breathed. "I'm good."

"Good." He kissed you again, his claws on your side started moving higher, just brushing the curve of your ribs. "Because I meant what I said. I don't fucking disappoint."

He was kissing down your neck again, finding new sensitive spots that made you arch into him. His other hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a gesture that was almost tender—a stark contrast to the way his teeth were grazing your collarbone.

"So fucking soft," he muttered against your skin. "How are you this soft? Shit's not FUCKING fair."

You couldn't answer—could barely think—as he worked his way back up to your mouth. You felt yourself melting into it. Your hands found his horns, and when you touched them experimentally, he made a sound that was almost a whine.

"Oh fuck yea, do that again," he demanded, his voice rough.

You did, running your fingers along the base of his spikes at the back of his head, and he shuddered against you, his grip on you tightening. "Shit, that's—fuckkk—"

His hand on your side was still moving in those maddening circles, gradually working higher. You were so focused on his mouth, on the sensation of his body against yours, on the solid weight of him above you.

Movement caught your eye, and you turned your head slightly to find Stolas watching, all four of his eyes glowing softly in the dim light. There was something hypnotic about that glow, the way it pulsed gently like a heartbeat. His hand reached out, gently turning your face more toward him, and you found yourself staring into those luminous eyes.

The effect was immediate and strange—your racing heart began to slow, the nervous energy in your chest easing. The glow seemed to pulse in rhythm with your breathing, drawing you in, calming you.

"The fuck are you doing?" Blitz's voice cut through the haze, sharp and suspicious. "That better not be some creepy consent-bypassing magic shit, bird brain!"

"Blitzy, really," Stolas said, though he didn't look away from you. "I would never. I'm merely helping our little star relax. She was getting rather worked up." His voice was soft, soothing. "I can stop if you'd prefer, little star."

You shook your head slightly. The calming effect of his gaze was actually helping, the nervousness that had been building easing back.

"Just checking," Blitz muttered. "Can't be too careful with you and your freaky bird magic."

"I assure you, all I'm doing is providing a calming presence." Stolas's eyes continued to glow gently. "Nothing more."

Blitz made a dismissive noise but seemed satisfied. He returned his attention to you, kissing along your jaw. "Where were we? Oh yeah—making you fall apart."

His mouth found yours again, and between Blitz's insistent kisses and Stolas's calming presence, you felt yourself relaxing into it, into them. Blitz's hand continued its exploration, moving higher, and you didn't stop him.

He kissed down your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you heard yourself make a sound that should have embarrassed you. Instead, it just made him grin against your skin.

"That's it," he murmured. "Now where getting somewhere."

His hand slid under your shirt, palm hot against your skin, and you arched into the touch. He made an approving sound, fingers spreading across your ribs.

"Fuck, you're so responsive," he said, pulling back to look at you. Your lips were swollen from his kisses, your breathing ragged, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the only thing in hell that mattered. "So fucking perfect."

His hand on your ribs moved higher, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your bra, your nipples pebbling painfully the sensation made you gasp into his mouth.

"Blitzy," Stolas murmured, his voice a gentle warning. "Slow down."

"She's fine," Blitz said without pulling away. "Aren't you?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and he grinned. "See? She's fine. She'd tell me if she wasn't."

He returned to your mouth, kissing you breathless, his hand still exploring. You were so focused on the sensations, on the heat of him, on the way he was making you feel things you'd never felt before.

And then he bit you.

Not a gentle nip like before, but a full bite, all of his sharp teeth sinking into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Pain exploded through you, white-hot and shocking.

"FUCK!" The word tore out of you before you could stop it, your hands coming up to shove at his chest. "OW! What the—that HURT!"

Blitz pulled back immediately, his eyes wide. "Shit—"

You pressed your hand to your neck and it came away with blood. Actual blood. He'd broken the skin with those sharp teeth, and it fucking hurt.

"Oh, Blitzy, what did you do?!" Stolas was immediately moving, all pretense of calm observation gone. "Little star, let me see—"

"You fucking bit me!" you said, your voice shaking somewhere between pain and shock and anger. "That wasn't—what the fuck was that for!"

"Aw FUCK me, I didn't mean to—" Blitz started, but Stolas cut him off.

"Out of the way!" The command in Stolas's voice was absolute. Blitz moved without argument, and Stolas was there, gently taking your hand away from your neck to examine the wound. "Oh dear. Oh, this is quite deep."

"Is she okay? I didn't mean to—fuck me, there's a lot of blood—" Blitz sounded genuinely panicked.

"Stay there," Stolas ordered, standing and moving swiftly to what must have been a bathroom. He returned moments later with a warm, damp cloth and bandages. "Little star, this may sting a bit."

He pressed the warm cloth to your neck with infinite gentleness, dabbing away the blood. His touch was so careful, so tender, that it almost made you want to cry.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he murmured. "Blitzy sometimes forgets his own strength. And the sharpness of his teeth."

"I said I was FUCKING sorry!" Blitz protested from where he was standing by the bed, his own tail wrapped pitifully around his ankles, looking miserable.

"Sorry doesn't fix a bite wound!" Stolas said sharply, still focused on cleaning you up. "You know better than to bite that hard, especially on a human! Their skin is far more delicate than ours!"

"I know! I just—Ughhh—"

Stolas finished cleaning the wound and began carefully applying a bandage, his long fingers deft and gentle. "There we are, little star. All patched up. How do you feel?"

"It hurts," you admitted, your voice small. The shock was wearing off, leaving behind a throbbing ache and the sting of betrayal. You'd been trusting him, letting him touch you, and he'd hurt you.

"I know, darling. I'm so sorry." Stolas finished securing the bandage, then cupped your face gently. "Are you alright otherwise? Do you need anything else?"

You shook your head, then looked past him to Blitz, who was staring at his hands like they'd betrayed him.

"I didn't mean to," he said quietly. "I got too into it and I forgot you're not—that you can't—"

"That I'm human," you finished for him.

"Yeah." He looked up at you, and there was genuine regret in his eyes. "I'm really—fuck, tits—I'm fucking sorry."

The adrenaline was crashing now, leaving you shaky and overwhelmed. The pain in your neck, the blood, the reminder that these weren't human men who knew how to be gentle with human bodies—it was all too much.

"I think we should stop," you said quietly.

"Of course," Stolas said immediately. "Of course, little star. Would you like to rest?"

You nodded, suddenly exhausted.

"I think," Stolas said carefully, "It's been quite an eventful evening, and you need time to process."

"I'll be fine—"

"Yes but you're not fine right now, dear. You're shaking, and you've been bitten, and that's perfectly alright to admit." His voice was kind, patient. "Why don't you lie down? Blitzy and I will be just outside if you need anything."

"I don't want to kick you out of your own bed—"

"You're not kicking anyone out. I have several beds, and more importantly, I have a very comfortable balcony." Stolas moved toward the balcony doors. "Come along, Blitzy."

Blitz looked like he wanted to argue, his tail unfurling from his ankles, he looked like he wanted to do more say more. But he followed Stolas toward the balcony. At the threshold, he looked back at you, and his expression was hard to read—concern, frustration, guilt, something that might have been self-loathing.

"You good?" he asked.

You nodded, even though you weren't sure if it was entirely true.

"Alright. Yell if you need anything. Or, you know, don't yell. Just... we'll be right outside." He paused, then added more quietly, "I really am sorry. I fucked up."

The balcony doors closed behind them, leaving you alone in the enormous bed, one hand pressed gently to the bandage on your neck. You could see their silhouettes through the glass, talking, and tried not to think about what they might be saying about you.

You'd kissed them. Both of them. And it had been good—really, really fucking good—until Blitz had bitten too hard and pain had ruined everything.

Carefully, you lay down, pulling the blanket up. The bed was absurdly comfortable, the pillows soft as clouds, and despite everything, exhaustion was starting to creep in. The wine, the rich food, the emotional whiplash of the evening, the pain in your neck—it was all catching up to you.

You could still feel the ghost of Blitz's hands on your skin, the pressure of his mouth on yours. Could still see Stolas's glowing eyes, hypnotic and calming.

Your eyes drifted closed, and the last thing you were aware of was the murmur of voices from the balcony, too low to make out words, before sleep pulled you under.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

The balcony overlooked the gardens, and the night air was warm and still. Blitz had immediately pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a snap of his lighter and taking a long drag.

Stolas conjured a cigarette of his own with a small spell, leaning against the railing. "Well. That escalated quickly."

"I fucked up," Blitz said flatly, smoke curling from his mouth. "I fucking BIT her. Made her bleed. Great job, FUCKING idiot."

"You did get rather... enthusiastic," Stolas said carefully.

"Enthusiastic?! I hurt her, Stolas! She was into it and I fucking RUINED it!" Blitz took another aggressive drag. "This is why I shouldn't—why this was a bad idea—"

"Blitzy—"

"Don't 'Blitzy' me! I know what I did! I got carried away and forgot she's not—she can't handle that shit!" He was pacing now, tail lashing. "She's HUMAN. Already freaked out by that fucking SHITSTAIN cowboy. She's still fragile and I HURT her!"

"You stopped the moment she said something," Stolas pointed out. "And you apologized. That counts for something."

"Does it? Does it really?" Blitz laughed bitterly. "She was scared, Stolas. Of ME. Just like she was scared of that psycho cowboy FUCK"

"She was hurt and startled, not scared of you specifically." Stolas took a delicate puff of his cigarette. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" Blitz slumped against the railing next to him. "Because from where I was sitting, it looked pretty fucking similar to the last time she was scared."

They were quiet for a moment, just smoking and staring at the gardens below.

"She kissed you first," Stolas said finally. "That means something, Blitzy. She wanted this."

"Yeah, and then I bit her too hard and made her bleed! Real sexy! Really smooth!" He took another drag. "This is exactly why I don't give a FLYING FUCK about people. I always fuck it up somehow."

"You care about her," Stolas said softly.

It wasn't a question.

"That's not the point!" Blitz gestured wildly with his cigarette. "The point is she was sweet and curious and treats me like I matter, and then I go and BITE her like a fucking animal!"

"You got caught up in the moment. It happens."

"It SHOULDN'T happen! Not with her!" His voice cracked slightly. "She's—she's different. And I'm gonna fuck it up because that's what I DO. I fuck things up."

Stolas was quiet for a long moment, watching Blitz with an unreadable expression. "You know," he said finally, "You're rather distraught about this."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'm simply observing—"

"Well STOP observing and start—I don't know—telling me how to fix this!"

"You can't fix it tonight," Stolas said gently. "She needs rest. Tomorrow, you apapologize properly. You make sure she knows you didn't mean to hurt her. And you give her space to decide if she wants more of ... whatever this is."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then you respect that decision." Stolas finished his cigarette, vanishing it with a snap. "But I don't think that's what will happen."

"How the fuck would you know?"

"Because I saw the way she looks at you, Blitzy. Before the unfortunate biting incident." Stolas smiled slightly. "She wasn't just curious. She was... smitten."

"Don't use words like 'smitten' Stolz. It makes you sound like one of those MOUTH BREATHERS... fucking creepy."

"I'll use whatever words I like in my own palace, thank you." Stolas turned to face him fully. "The point is, she cares about you. One accident isn't going to change that. Though perhaps in the future, we should remember that she is rather more delicate than we're accustomed to."

"Yeah, no shit." Blitz dropped his cigarette butt, grinding it out with his boot. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Probably not," Stolas agreed cheerfully. "I plan to remind you about proper bite pressure for at least a decade or so."

"Fuck you."

"Later, perhaps. After we've ensured our little star is properly recovered." Stolas moved toward the balcony door. "Come. Let's check on her."

"She's probably asleep."

"Then we'll check on her quietly." Stolas's voice softened. "And then perhaps we should rest as well. It's been quite an evening."

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

Blitz followed him back inside, his eyes immediately going to the bed where you lay sleeping, curled on your side with one hand near the bandage on your neck.

"She looks so small," he muttered.

"She is small," Stolas agreed. "And human. And trusting. Which is why we must be more careful with her."

"I know."

"Do you?" Stolas looked at him. "Because you have a tendency to sabotage things that matter to you, Blitzy. Don't do that with her."

"I'm not—"

"You are. I can see you spiraling already, convincing yourself that you're going to ruin everything so why bother trying." Stolas's voice was firm. "Stop it. For once in your life, don't run from something that might actually be good for you."

Blitz opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He looked at you again, at your peaceful sleeping face, at the bandage he'd necessitated.

"What if I hurt her again?"

"Then you apologize and do better next time," Stolas said simply. "That's how caring for someone works, darling. It's messy and complicated and you make mistakes. But you keep trying."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It is." Stolas smiled. "But it's also rather wonderful, when you let it be."

They stood there for a moment, watching you sleep. Then Stolas moved to the other side of the bed, removing his cape.

"What are you doing?" Blitz asked.

"Getting ready for bed. It's late, I'm tired, and this is my bedroom." Stolas raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd prefer to sleep elsewhere?"

Blitz looked at the bed, at you sleeping in the middle, at the space on either side.

"Fuck it," he muttered, moving to the near side and toeing off his boots. "But if she wakes up screaming, that's on you."

"If she wakes up screaming, I suspect it will be because of your snoring," Stolas said mildly.

"I don't snore!"

"You absolutely do."

They settled into the bed on either side of you, careful not to wake you. You shifted slightly in your sleep, unconsciously moving toward Blitz's warmth.

Blitz held his breath, not daring to move. Slowly, carefully, he let his hand rest near yours—not touching, just close.

Close enough to be there if you reached for him.

From the other side, Stolas's hand came to rest on your back, gentle and protective.

"We'll make it up to her, tomorrow Blitzy" Stolas whispered into the darkness, "we'll do better."

"Pfft, please! This is a FUCKING milk run! In and out, quick assassination, maybe some light torture if we're lucky!" He waved dismissively. "We'll be back tomorrow, day after at the latest."

You turned in your seat to face him properly. "Be careful anyway."

"I'm ALWAYS careful!"

"You got shot last week."

"That was STRATEGIC! I needed to get close to the target!"

"You got shot in the ass, Blitz."

"A strategic ASS SHOOTING, christ on a stick, Tits!" But he was grinning now. "Look, I'll be fine. You just... try not to let Stolas turn you into a boring aristocrat while I'm gone, okay?"

You leaned over and hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck. There was barely a pause before his arms came around you, returning the embrace without hesitation. His hand came up to the back of your head, and he held you there for a moment.

"Be careful," you said again, quieter this time.

"Yeah, yeah, I will." He pulled back just enough to look at you, then grabbed your jaw and kissed you—rough and possessive, tasting like the coffee he'd chugged on the drive over. When he pulled away, he was smirking. "That'll give you something to think about while you're cozying up in silk sheets."

"You're terrible."

"You love it." He released you, giving you a light shove toward the door. "Now get out before I get all mushy and ruin the moment. Go be fancy with our fancy bird."

"He's not that fa—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you gotta tell yourself!" He was already revving the engine. "Have fun with the FEATHER DUSTER! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

You climbed out, shouldering your bag, and watched as he drove away with a honk and a middle finger out the window to Stolas—his version of a fond farewell.

Stolas stood there looking absolutely delighted. "Little star!" He swept forward, pulling you into an embrace that lifted you slightly off your feet. "Oh, I'm so pleased you're here! I've been counting the hours!"

"It's only been a few days since I saw you," you said, but you were smiling against his chest.

"A single day without you is one too many!" He set you down but immediately took your hand, his talons threading through your fingers as he pulled you inside. "You look lovely. Did you have a pleasant journey?"

"Blitz's van is held together by duct tape and good will, so 'pleasant' is relative."

"That vehicle is a hazard. I should purchase his little company a new one."

"He'd never accept it."

"I know." Stolas sighed, but he was stroking his thumb across your knuckles as he led you through the entrance hall. "Stubborn Imp. Come, I've had the staff prepare lunch for us. I hope you're hungry."

He kept finding reasons to touch you as you walked—his hand on the small of your back, our brushing your shoulder, his talons squeezing yours gently.

Lunch was, as always with Stolas, elaborate to the point of absurdity.

The dining room—the smaller, "intimate" one that was still larger than Blitz's entire apartment—had been set with fine china and crystal glasses. The table held at least eight different dishes, each more ornate than the last.

"I wasn't sure what you'd be in the mood for," Stolas said, pulling out your chair with one hand while the other rested on your shoulder, "so I had the staff prepare a variety."

"This isn't a variety Stolas" You stared at the spread. "This is enough to feed an army."

"Well, I wanted options!" He settled into his own chair, immediately reaching across the table to take your hand. "Try the soufflé—it's made with essence of nightshade. Completely safe for consumption, I assure you."

While you'd gotten more used to Hell's food, the terror of "what if this kills me" had never really faded in its entirety. The soufflé was actually delicious though—light and airy with a flavor you couldn't quite place but definitely enjoyed.

"This is really good," you said after your third bite.

Stolas beamed, his thumb stroking across your lip where you had a crumb stuck. "I'm so glad! I was worried it might be too rich for your delicate palate. Some of our cuisine can be overwhelming for those not raised with it."

Throughout the meal, he found excuses to touch you—reaching over to brush your cheek, refilling your glass while his other arm curled around the back of your chair, his foot finding yours under the table.

The meal continued with Stolas telling you about his week—research he'd been doing, books he'd acquired, a tedious meeting with other Goetia nobility that had tested his patience.

"They're all so concerned with maintaining tradition," he said, waving a dismissive hand while the other still held yours. "As if change itself is a cardinal sin. It's exhausting."

"What kind of changes ?" you asked, genuinely curious.

His eyes lit up. "Oh, so many things! The way we interact with the other rings, our approach to education, the ridiculous social hierarchies—" He caught himself, laughing. "Forgive me, I could go on for hours. Words as you know are rather a passion of mine, much to my father's dismay."

"I like hearing you talk about things," you said. "Your voice is soothing."

The look he gave you was so soft it made your chest tight. He brought your joined hands to his beak, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

By the time dinner rolled around, you'd made a decision.

"I want to cook tonight," you announced.

Stolas blinked all four eyes in surprise. "You... want to cook? Here?"

"Yes. For you." You stood, determined. "You're always having your staff make elaborate meals. Let me make you something home-cooked."

"Little star, you don't have to—" He was already standing, moving around the table to you.

"I want to." You took his hand. "Please? Let me do this? Youve done so much for me and Blitz, let me take care of you."

He looked at your joined hands, then back at your face, and melted. "How could I possibly refuse such a request? Very well. The kitchen is yours." He brought your hand to his beak again, another soft kiss. "Though I reserve the right to observe."

The palace kitchen was enormous and intimidating, full of equipment you didn't recognize and ingredients that looked potentially lethal. But the basics were there—stove, pans, knives that were actually normal-sized.

"What would you like?" you asked, surveying the ingredients.

"Surprise me," Stolas said, settling onto a stool at the kitchen island with his body extending to lay over it like he couldn't bear the distance. "I trust your judgment implicitly."

You decided on pasta—something you actually knew how to make, simple and comforting. As you worked, gathering ingredients and starting the sauce, you felt Stolas's eyes on you, warm and attentive.

"This is fascinating," he murmured.

"It's just pasta."

"No, no—watching YOU cook. The way you move, the concentration on your face, how you taste the sauce and adjust the seasoning." He'd acquired a glass of wine from somewhere, cradling it in his talons. "It's utterly mesmerizing."

You felt your face heat as you stirred the sauce. "It's really not that interesting."

"I disagree completely." He stood, moving behind you, his presence warm at your back. His hands settled on your waist, gentle and reverent. "Everything you do is fascinating to me, little star."

His beak pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, then your cheek, careful not to disturb your work but clearly unable to keep his hands—or beak—to himself.

"Stolas," you said, trying to sound stern but failing as he nuzzled against your hair. "You're distracting me."

"Am I?" Another kiss, this one to the spot just below your ear that made you shiver. "My apologies. Please, continue. I'll simply... observe."

He did observe, but his version of observing involved frequent interruptions to kiss your temple, your cheek, the curve of your neck. His talons would occasionally ghost over your waist or shoulders, never interfering with your cooking but always touching, as if he physically couldn't stop himself from holding you. At one point, he simply wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his beak on top of your head with a contented hoot.

"Your clingy... you really miss us don't you ?" you said, but you were smiling.

"I'm affectionate," he corrected, pressing another kiss to your hair. "There's a difference. And you're both simply too tempting to resist."

The pasta turned out well—nothing fancy, just a simple hell-tomato sauce with herbs and garlic, but Stolas ate it like it was the finest cuisine he'd ever tasted, holding your hand between bites.

"This is wonderful," he said, genuine pleasure in his voice. "So much better than anything my kitchen staff produces."

"That's not true—"

"It absolutely is. This has something their food lacks." He reached across the table with his other hand, now holding both of yours. "It has care. Intention. You made this specifically for me, with thought and attention. That's something no amount of culinary skill can replicate."

You had no response to that, so you just squeezed his hands and tried not to let the warmth in your chest overwhelm you.

Later, in his chambers, Stolas produced another silk shirt—this one deep midnight blue with silver embroidery along the collar. It would swallow you completely, but that was clearly the point.

"I had this made rather recently," he said, holding it up. "I believe color would suit you."

"You had a shirt custom made, and you want me to wear it to sleep in ?"

"There's several, actually. In various colors. I find I quite like seeing you in my clothes." His eyes were warm. "May I?"

You nodded, and he approached with the shirt, helping you out of your day clothes with gentle talons. His touch was reverent, careful, treating you like something precious.

"Arms up, darling," he murmured, and you obeyed.

The silk slid over your skin like water, cool and impossibly soft. Stolas's talons worked the buttons with practiced ease. He took his time dressing you, his four crimson eyes stayed soft and focused on you the entire time, a small, affectionate smile curving his beak.

“There we are, my little star,” he murmured, voice warm and poetic as he unfastened the topmost button. “You look absolutely radiant. Like a piece of the night sky decided to wear my shirt. So small and precious inside all this silk… it makes my heart flutter just to see you in it.”

You couldn’t help the happy little shiver that ran through you at his words and the gentle way his talons brushed your skin while he adjusted the collar so it draped softly over your shoulders.

Stolas leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Perfect."

His hands moved to your hair next, carefully threading it back from your face with a gentleness that belied his sharp talons.

"Come," he said softly. "Sit with me."

He guided you to the bed, settling against the headboard and pulling you against his chest. You felt his heartbeat—slower than a human's, steady and strong—as his talons continued to card through your hair.

"Look at me, little star," he murmured.

You tilted your head back, meeting his gaze. All four eyes focused on you with safe protective intensity.

His eyes began to glow softly, a gentle pulsing that matched his heartbeat. You felt yourself relaxing, tension bleeding from your muscles as you stared into his luminous eyes.

"That's it," he whispered. "Just relax. Let go."

Something in his gaze was coaxing you toward sleep, you realized distantly it felt so safe. So warm.

Your eyes drifted closed, and you felt him shift, carefully laying you down and pulling the covers up.

"Sleep well, my darling," his voice said from somewhere above. "I'll be here when you wake."

The last thing you felt was a gentle kiss pressed to your forehead, and then sleep claimed you. Stolas pulled you close against his warm feathers, one arm draped protectively over your waist as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Soft, contented hoots and quiet sighs filled the quiet room until sleep claimed you both, warm and safe in the palace.

Sometime in the night you woke to find the bed empty beside you. Your hand reached out instinctively across the sheets, searching for Stolas’s familiar warmth, but found only cool fabric. You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, rubbing at your eyes as you scanned the dimly lit bedroom.

The balcony doors were open, letting in cool night air, but Stolas wasn't there either.

A light caught your attention—coming from his desk across the room. He was there, bent over books and papers, his feathers slightly ruffled with concentration, one taloned finger tracing lines of ancient text while the other held a delicate quill. His four eyes were focused intently on the page, though there was a faint furrow in his brow that suggested whatever he was reading was troubling him.

The silk shirt you wore had slipped off one shoulder in your sleep, the oversized fabric pooling around you like a luxurious blanket. You sat there for a moment, watching him in the quiet glow, the faint scratch of quill on parchment the only sound in the room.

Stolas hadn’t noticed you were awake yet. He murmured something softly to himself—too quiet to make out—before turning another page with a small, concerned click of his beak.

"Stolas?" you called softly.

His head snapped up, and his expression immediately softened, the faint furrow in his brow melting away as a warm, adoring smile curved his beak.. "Little star! I'm so sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, I just... you weren't here." You climbed out of bed, padding over to him in bare feet and his silk shirt.

"I couldn't sleep," he admitted. "My mind was too active, so I thought I'd do some more research." He set down his quill, looking at you with concern, as his hands framed your face studying you intently. "Are you alright darling? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine. Just missed you." The words came out before you could stop them.

The look on his face—all four eyes going soft and warm—made your heart skip. He closed the ancient tome with a quiet snap, setting both book and quill aside without a second glance.

"Oh, my wonderous little star." He stood, moving around the desk to cup your face in earnest. "I missed you too. Even with you right here, nestled like a little owlet in my bed."

He kissed you, soft and sweet, then pulled back with a sudden gleam in his eyes.

"I just had the most wonderful idea," he said, practically vibrating with excitement. "Come with me!"

Before you could ask where, he'd scooped you up and was carrying you out of the bedroom, down the familiar hallways toward the observatory stairs.

"Stolas, what—"

"You'll see! Oh, you'll love this, I promise!"

He shouldered open the observatory doors, and you gasped.

The room had been transformed. Blankets were spread across the floor in a nest-like arrangement, surrounded by candles that cast dancing shadows on the walls. A bottle of wine sat chilling in an ornate ice bucket, with two glasses beside it.

"When did you do all this?" you asked as he set you down carefully on the blankets.

"Earlier today. I was hoping to bring you here, but you fell asleep and looked so peaceful I didn't want to disturb you." He settled beside you, pulling you against his side. "But now you're awake, and the stars are particularly beautiful tonight."

You looked up through the glass dome. Hell's sky was its usual red, but the stars—the stars were different than you remembered. They moved in patterns, swirled in colors that didn't exist on Earth.

"That constellation there," Stolas said, pointing with one talon, "is called the Wailing Crown. Named for a queen who lost her throne to treachery. See how the stars form her circlet?"

He continued, pointing out constellation after constellation, telling their stories with the enthusiasm of someone sharing their greatest passion. His voice was warm and animated, his free hand gesturing as he spoke.

"And that one—the Dancing Flames—oh, that one has the most romantic story. Two lovers, forbidden from being together in life, were transformed into eternal flames that forever chase each other across the sky. Never touching, but never out of each others gaze."

"That's beautiful," you said softly. "Tragic, but beautiful."

"Mmm, I've always thought so." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Though I prefer entirely different stories."

"Like what?"

"Like this one." He turned you in his arms so you were facing him. "A soul falls into Hell, expecting damnation. Instead, she finds..." He cupped your face. "Well. What does she find, little star?"

"You," you whispered. "And Blitz."

"And infinite affections," he said, his voice going soft and reverent. "Against all odds, in the last place anyone would expect—she finds not only herself but infinite unyielding affections."

He kissed you then, deep and passionate, his talons gentle on your face. When you gasped against his mouth, he deepened the kiss, laying you back against the blankets.

"Beautiful," he murmured against your lips. "So enchanting."

His beak trailed down your neck, pressing kisses to your pulse point, your collarbone. His hands mapped your body through the silk shirt with reverent touches.

"Stolas," you breathed, your fingers finding his feathers.

"I know, darling. I know." He kissed you again, then pulled back just enough to look at you, his talons found your waist. With that same gentle reverence, he guided you up and over him until you were straddling his hips, the oversized silk shirt pooling around your thighs. His four eyes gazed up at you with pure adoration, glowing softly in the starlight.

You were framed by blankets and candlelight, the stars visible through the dome above casting their otherworldly light across your features. Your hair was mussed and back-lit around you, your lips kiss-swollen, your eyes dark with want.

"You look like a constellation yourself," Stolas breathed, his voice filled with wonder. "Framed by stars, glowing with their light. My own personal celestial body."

"That's so cheesy," you said, but you were smiling.

"It's romantic!" He settled beneath you, pulling you against his chest. "And it's true. You outshine every star in this sky."

One taloned hand cradled the back of your head while the other explored you with feather-light touches, sliding beneath the silk shirt to trace the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, and the soft skin of your hips. Every caress was reverent, as if he were mapping constellations across your body.

“You are breathtaking like this,” he murmured between kisses, voice husky and poetic. “Draped in silk, bathed in the light of Hell’s own stars… I am blessed to hold you darling. Every sigh you make is like being witness to a new galaxy forming.”

You melted further into him, lost in the unbearable gentleness of his touch and the intimate slide between your bodies, every sigh and whimper encouraged by his soft, poetic praise. It was slow and tender, entirely different from the passionate intensity with Blitz present but no less perfect.

Afterward, he held you close, pointing out more constellations, telling more stories. His talons traced idle patterns on your skin, and he'd pause occasionally to press kisses to your temple, your shoulder, wherever he could reach your bare skin.

Stolas wrapped his arms around you with a soft, satisfied hoot. He reached for his deep crimson cape that had been discarded nearby and draped it gently over your body, the heavy silk and velvet enveloping you like a second blanket.

The fabric still carried his warm, faintly starry scent. “Come, little star,” he murmured against your temple, voice low and melodic. “Let us return to bed. You are growing sleepy, and I wish to hold you properly.”

With effortless grace, he scooped you up into his arms once more, cradling you securely against his feathered chest. The his cape cocooned you completely as he carried you down the winding observatory stairs. His talons were impossibly gentle as they traced slow, soothing patterns along the side of your face—brushing your cheek, stroking your jaw, and lightly grazing your lips.

You yawned widely in his arms, eyes half-lidded and heavy with contentment, feeling utterly safe and warm wrapped in silk, velvet, and Stolas’s embrace. A small, happy sigh escaped you as you nuzzled closer to his neck.

Stolas’s expression softened further, a fond little smile curving his beak. “There it is… that precious sound. My darling you look so peaceful like this. I could carry you through every corridor in Hell and never tire of it.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead as he navigated the familiar halls back toward his chambers, talons never stopping their gentle exploration of exposed skin.

Once inside the bedroom, Stolas’s gaze flicked briefly toward his desk where the old leather-bound book still lay under the lamplight. A shadow of concern passed over his four eyes for half a moment before he looked away again.

He carefully lowered you onto the massive bed, tucking the blankets securely around your sleepy form. Only after you were settled did he pick up his phone, talons tapping quickly across the screen as he sent a short message

🥰 My Blitzy ❤️: Blitzy, when you return from your mission we must speak. It concerns our little star’s bloodline. Some rather important information has come to light due to my work with the blood sample.

Stolas set the phone aside, then climbed into bed beside you, immediately pulling you back into his arms. His feathers surrounded you once more as he nuzzled into your hair with a soft, contented sigh.

“Sleep now, my sweet constellation,” he whispered. “We will face tomorrow when it arrives. For tonight… you are safe with me.”

"How does ANYONE do this?!" you muttered, grabbing a tissue to try and fix it. Which only made it worse, creating a grey smear instead of removing anything.

"You're doing it wrong," Loona's voice came from the doorway.

You turned to find her leaning against the frame, phone in one hand, looking utterly unimpressed with your struggle. She was already dressed for the night out—crop top, shorts, and her usual choker, looking effortlessly put together.

"I know I'm doing it wrong," you said, gesturing helplessly at your face. "That's the PROBLEM."

"Yeah, I can see that." She pushed off the doorframe and moved closer, examining the carnage. "Fuck, it looks like you got in a fight and lost."

"Not helping!"

"Wasn't trying to help. Was making an observation." But she was already grabbing the makeup remover from the counter. "Here, start over. You're using way too much pressure."

You watched as she demonstrated on her own face—quick, confident strokes that left a perfect line despite the fact that she was working around fur.

"How do you even do that with fur?" you asked. "Doesn't it get caught or clumpy or something?"

"You gotta work with it, not against it." She handed you the eyeliner back. "Light pressure. Small strokes. Don't try to do the whole line at once."

You tried again, following her advice. It went better—not perfect, but better.

"There, see? You're not completely hopeless." She went back to her phone, but stayed in the doorway. "Though why you're bothering with all this for a nightclub, I don't know. It's gonna be dark and sweaty and gross."

"Because I want to look nice?"

"For who? Blitz and Stolas have already seen you naked. Pretty sure they don't care about your eyeliner game."

Your face heated. "LOONA!"

"What? It's true!" She smirked. "Might as well own it!"

You wanted to die. Just sink through the floor and cease to exist.

Before you could formulate a response, the bathroom door opened wider and Stolas ducked inside—which was impressive given his height and the very normal-sized doorframe.

"How are we progressing, ladies?" he asked cheerfully, then his eyes landed on you. All four of them lit up with interest. "Oh, little star, you look lovely."

"I look like a mess," you protested.

"A beautiful mess." He moved closer, and you were suddenly very aware of how small the bathroom was with three people in it. His talons gently tilted your chin up, examining your face. "The eyeliner is a touch smudged, but I think it suits you. Very... edgy."

"That's not what I was going for."

"Nevertheless." His thumb brushed your cheekbone, and his voice dropped lower. "You're absolutely ravishing. I've been thinking about you all day."

"Stolas—"

"About how lovely you look in my bed. How sweet you sound when you gasped my name." His beak was very close to your face now, his breath warm. "How much I want to hear those delightful sounds again darling."

"Stolas, Loona is righ—"

But he was already kissing you, a quick press of his beak against your lips that was surprisingly soft. Then another. And another. Each one gentle but unmistakably affectionate.

You found yourself leaning into it despite your protests, your hands coming up to rest on his chest.

When he pulled back slightly, his eyes were dark with desire. "I do hope you're prepared for tonight, darling. Because I have such plans for you and Blitzy later—"

He leaned in to deepen the kiss, and you put your hand over his beak.

"Loona," you said firmly, nodding toward the doorway. "Is right there."

Stolas blinked, then seemed to remember where he was. He turned to look at Loona, who was pointedly staring at her phone with an expression that screamed 'I am witnessing things I never wanted to witness.'

"Ah. Yes. My apologies, Loona." He straightened up, trying to look dignified and failing. "I got rather... carried away."

"Uh-huh," Loona said flatly. "Can we go now? Before this gets any more uncomfortable?"

"Yes, quite right." But Stolas's hand lingered on your waist for a moment, giving it a squeeze that promised things for later.

You finished up your makeup as quickly as possible—good enough would have to do—and headed out to the living room.

Blitz was pacing in front of the couch, dressed in his usual outfit but notably clean. Like, actually clean. No mysterious stains, no visible wear. He'd even—had he polished his horns ? Was that a thing ?

And he smelled good. Really good. Like he'd actually used cologne instead of just masking the scent of gunpowder and violence.

"FINALLY!" he shouted when he saw you. "I've been waiting for HOURS!"

"It's been ten minutes," Loona said flatly.

"Ten minutes TOO LONG! We're gonna miss—we're gonna—I don't know what we're gonna miss but we're gonna MISS IT!"

You walked over and threw yourself down on the couch next to him, deliberately invading his space. "You smell nice."

He froze mid-rant. "I—what?"

"You smell nice," you repeated, leaning closer. "Did you shower? With actual soap?"

"I ALWAYS shower with soap!"

"Do you though?" Loona asked.

"YES! I'm very HYGIENIC... for SATAN'S SAKE!"

"You literally ate off the floor yesterday."

"That was a CLEAN floor!"

You laughed, tucking yourself against his side. His arm came around your shoulders automatically.

"You look good too," he muttered. "The whole... thing. You look good."

"The 'whole thing'?" you teased.

"You KNOW what I mean! The dress! The makeup! The... YOU!" He gestured vaguely. "All of it! It's HOT!"

"Smooth, Blitz. Real smooth," Loona said.

"Oh, and you're such an expert on compliments?!"

"I'm better than THAT!"

"Can we PLEASE go now?" Stolas interjected, looking amused. "Before you two actually start fighting?"

"FINE! Everyone in the van! NOW! MOVE MOVE MOVE!" Blitz was on his feet, pulling you up with him. "We're going! We're FUCKING leaving! The night awaits!"

"You're so dramatic," you said.

"I'M PASSIONATE! There's a DIFFERENCE!"

The nightclub was called "The Horny Hornet," and it was exactly as chaotic as you'd expected a Hell nightclub to be.

The music was so loud you could feel it in your chest, the bass a physical presence that made your bones vibrate. Lights strobed in colors that didn't exist on Earth, and the dance floor was a writhing mass of demons of every variety.

"This is AWESOME!" Blitz shouted over the music, already moving toward the bar.

You grabbed his hand before he could disappear into the crowd, and he turned back with a grin.

"Dance with me!" you shouted.

"I don't dance, tits!"

"LIAR! I've seen you dance!"

"That was DIFFERENT!"

But he let you pull him toward the dance floor anyway, Stolas and Loona following behind.

The dancing was... intense. Grinding, aggressive movements that were more violence than dance, bodies pressed too close together in ways that would have gotten you kicked out of any Earth club.

You tried to mimic the movements around you, feeling self-conscious and out of place until Blitz's hands found your hips and pulled you back against him.

"Just move!" he shouted in your ear. "Stop thinking!"

So you did. You let the music take over, let your body move without overthinking it, let Blitz guide you through movements that were probably completely inappropriate for public.

"There you go!" His voice was approving, his hands hot on your hips. "You got it!"

The song changed, something even louder and more aggressive, and Blitz spun you around to face him. His grin was wild, his eyes bright, and he looked absolutely in his element.

You lost track of time, of how many songs played, just moving with him until you were both laughing and breathless.

Then elegant hands replaced Blitz's rougher grip, and you were pulled against a taller, feathered form.

"May I cut in?" Stolas purred in your ear.

Dancing with Stolas was completely different. Where Blitz was aggressive and chaotic, Stolas was smooth and controlled, guiding you through movements that felt almost choreographed. His hands were respectful but possessive, keeping you close but not overwhelming.

"You're a vision like this," he said, loud enough for you to hear over the music. "Absolutely incandescent."

You laughed, feeling giddy and free and maybe a little bit drunk on the atmosphere even though you hadn't had an actual drink yet.

Speaking of which—"BEER PONG!" Loona's voice cut through, and you turned to see her pointing at a table in the corner. "I call dibs on the racoon with shitty eyeliner!"

"Hey!" you protested as she dragged you over. "Loonie, I'm terrible at beer pong!"

"That's why you're not drinking! I am!" She grinned, showing all her teeth. "You throw, I drink. It's the perfect system!"

"Your what ... the designated drinker?" you said, unable to help smiling at the ridiculousness.

"Exactly! Now let's kick some ass!"

You were, in fact, terrible at beer pong. But Loona didn't seem to mind, drinking every time you missed, which was often and cheering when you occasionally made a shot.

"YES! That's my Racoon!" she shouted when you finally sank one.

"I'm not YOUR Racoon, im not even a Racoon!"

"You are tonight! We're a TEAM!"

By the time you finished—losing spectacularly but having fun doing it—you were exhausted and happy and desperately needed to sit down.

You found Stolas in a booth toward the back, away from the worst of the noise. He smiled when he saw you approaching, his eyes lighting up with affection.