Chapter Text
Blitzø glared at the clock on the wall. Arms crossed tight over his chest, he took a long breath, shut his eyes, and tried not to snap from the incessant ticking.
Tick… tock… tick… tock…
His tail whipped the air behind him.
Tick…tock…tick…tock…
He started tapping his boot against the sterile floor, energy twitching through his body like a live wire. He really should’ve hit the gym before this. Or shot a couple of humans. Or jerked off. Either one would’ve helped.
Tick… tock… tick—
“For fuck’s sake. HOW MUCH LONGER ARE YOU GONNA KEEP ME WAITING?!” he finally shouted, springing out of the plastic chair and stomping over to the front desk. “What’s the fucking point of making an appointment if I still gotta sit here like a chump?!”
The receptionist, who looked like she got paid specifically to not care, didn’t even bother to raise her head all the way. “Mr. Buckzo, you were late to your appointment. Dr. Chandra is with another client right now. We are doing you a favor by not rescheduling you.”
Blitzø’s eye twitched so hard it might’ve popped out. He stared the Baphomet down, but she just blinked at him. Daring him.
He huffed through his nose. Fine. Yeah, he was late. Big whoop. Could you blame him? Getting to Sloth was a pain in the ass. And dragging himself out of bed this morning? Forget it. The only reason he was even here was… well…there were several reasons.
His personal life was an absolute shitshow. M&M had been pissed that Blitzø spied on them at Ozzie’s and nearly ruined their anniversary. Like, actually pissed. Even sweet, laid back Mills gave him the cold shoulder for a bit.
Then, a few weeks later, Barbie had made it crystal clear she wanted nothing more to do with him. Which fucking hurt, no matter how many jokes he cracked about it after.
And Stolas… yeah, that was a whole other mess and arguably the biggest reason he was here. Things had been stiff and tense and just… really fucking awkward between them since Ozzie’s. And then Striker had to go and kidnap the guy… nearly killed him too. And Blitzø? He wasn’t there. He didn’t save him or storm in like some badass hero from Stolas’ cheesy romcom novels. He didn’t even show up to the hospital. He didn’t check in or call. Fuck he didn’t even ask about it later. He couldn’t and didn’t know how. So he did what he always did and acted like nothing happened.
When they saw each other again on the next Full Moon night (because of course they stuck to their perfect little sex schedule), Blitzø didn’t say a word about it and pretended not to notice the scar on Stolas’ shoulder, that big gash where feathers would probably never grow back.
But he saw it.
Of fucking course he did.
He saw it when they undressed. He saw it when Stolas leaned back, all trusting, reaching for him like the idiot didn’t remember how Blitzø had let him down. And he definitely saw it while they fucked. His eyes kept drifting back to it, like it had its own goddamn gravity.
That scar wouldn’t let him forget. It screamed every failure he didn’t want to face.
Soooo… no, he wasn’t very rough with him that first full moon night after his kidnapping. He didn’t pin him down or bite at his throat like he usually did. Instead, he moved a little slower and gentler. And afterwards, he didn’t say anything. Just pulled his boxers back on, lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, and stared at the wall.
And if that wasn’t already enough to fuck him sideways, there was the whole shitshow with the Asmodean Crystal
Stolas had handed it to him and then immediately turned around and tossed him aside like yesterday’s garbage. Said some bullshit about how Blitzø wasn’t “tied” to him anymore. But Blitzø knew what that really meant. That was code for “I’m done playing with you.” As if he was just some toy Stolas got bored with.
And what did Blitzø do? Did he handle it like a grown-up or like a halfway decent person?
Nope.
He woke up the next morning mad as fuck and made everything worse. Instead of apologizing, instead of doing literally anything meaningful, he tried to talk Stolas into having sex with him. Because of course he did. Because that’s all he was good for, right? That was his role. The warm body. The distraction.
Then when he finally did want to apologize, when he was ready to look Stolas in his four eyes and own up to all the stupid, selfish shit he’d done… it was too late. Stolas had already moved on.
So… yeah. You get the fucking picture.
Anyway, since then, Blitzø hadn’t really been sleeping. He’d barely been eating unless it was processed, fried, and covered in frosting or hot sauce. He’d gone off on reckless kill jobs in the human world, trying to do something about the emptiness in his chest. Most days, he was running on fumes and maybe an hour of sleep, if he was lucky.
And what finally shoved him into a therapist’s office was... Well… that didn’t matter. He was here now, sitting in a way too bright waiting room and waiting for some shrink.
He rolled his eyes at the receptionist and dragged himself back to his seat, slumping hard. Let the other clients stare. What, have they never seen an imp raise his voice before?
About 20 minutes later, someone finally called his name. Blitzø got up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and followed some hellhound assistant down the hallway. They led him into an office that looked more like a wannabe living room. There was a dark red couch, a velvet armchair, too many plants, and big windows that overlooked Sloth.
The therapist, Dr. Chandra, another Baphomet, closed the door behind them and gave him a smile that made his skin crawl. Clipboard in hand, she gestured to the couch. “Hello, Blitzø. I’m Dr. Chandra. Would you like a glass of water?”
He dropped onto the couch with a grunt, arms folded across his chest. His tail curled tightly around his leg. He didn’t want to be here. He really didn’t want to fucking be here. “I’ll have a beer, thanks.”
Dr. Chandra smiled like she heard that one all the time. She poured him a glass of water anyway, set it on the table, and sat down in her fancy armchair. “This is your first ever therapy session, right?”
Blitzø gave a noncommittal shrug and kept his eyes on the untouched glass.
“Are you comfortable?” she asked.
He shrugged again.
Dr. Chandra leaned back slightly, legs crossed. “Do you want to tell me why you decided to seek out therapy?”
“Next question,” Blitzø sighed, looking out the window.
“You don’t want to tell me?”
Blitzø didn’t want to talk. Not about his parents, not about M&M, not about Barbie, and definitely not about Stolas. If he started saying it all out loud, that meant it was real. That meant someone else would hear and see what kind of fucked up person he really was. And Blitzø wasn’t about to strip himself bare like that for some stranger with a clipboard.
So he defaulted to what he did best: pushing people away.
“All of this is fucking fake anyway,” he scoffed.
Dr. Chandra tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
He waved a hand around the room. “You don’t give a shit. None of you ever do. You just want the paycheck. You dress this place up all cozy to trick people into letting their guard down. But it’s all a trap. Just fake, calculated bullshit.”
Dr. Chandra smiled again, and for some reason, that smile made Blitzø’s skin itch. “You’re smart,” she said and scribbled something down.
Blitzø’s eye twitched. He didn’t like that. Was she mocking him? Being sarcastic? What the fuck was she writing? His muscles tensed.
“So… let’s try this one more time. Why are you here, Blitzø Buckzo?”
He dragged a hand down his face, exasperated. Christ on a stick, this was hell. Literal, actual hell. He glanced up at the clock and saw he still had 55 fucking minutes left of this nightmare.
Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe he should’ve told Loona straight up he wasn’t cut out for this self-help bullshit. Therapy. Growth. Healing.
What a fucking joke.
He wasn’t built for that. He was chaos. He was damaged. He was the guy who ruined everything he touched.
He was a destructive motherfucker, and maybe that was all he was ever gonna be.
“I don’t wanna fucking talk about it. It wasn’t even my decision to come here,” Blitzø grumbled, arms crossed so tight his shoulders ached.
Dr. Chandra didn’t flinch and changed the subject. “I’ve seen your commercials. You run your own business, don’t you? You don’t hear that about imps a lot.”
“Oh, fucking fantastic. So you’re racist too now? Don’t think imps can be successful?” Blitzø shot back, narrowing his eyes.
“No,” she replied smoothly. “What I was going to say is, you’re not just smart, you’re skilled. You’ve got drive and determination.”
Blitzø blinked, then scoffed. “Wow. So this is therapy, huh? You buttering me up so I’ll spill my guts?” He raised a brow at her, finally meeting her eyes. “What’s next, you wanna suck my dick or what? ‘Cause I’m not interested.”
Dr. Chandra didn’t miss a beat. “Oh? Why aren’t you interested? Is it my looks?”
Blitzø’s jaw dropped a little. “Are you allowed to ask that?! I have a fucking boyfriend, that’s why!” The second it left his mouth, he stiffened. He sat up straighter, like he could somehow rewind the moment just by fixing his posture.
Dr. Chandra’s grin was smug as hell, as if she knew he’d let something slip eventually. “No… Not… not boyfriend,” Blitzø muttered, suddenly very interested in staring at the glass of water. “But… I’m not looking either.”
“Then why’d you say boyfriend?”
Blitzø winced, his tail giving an irritated flick. “Because he’s… we… I’m… it’s complicated, okay?”
“I’ve heard that one before,” she said with a chuckle, leaning in. “So why is it complicated?”
Blitzø sighed and looked out the window again. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. And we don’t even really have a label. Or whatever. Honestly, he’s the reason why it’s fucking complicated. He’s just so fucking hard to read, like… half the time I don’t know what the hell he even wants from me.”
“In what way?”
“It’s just… the way he talks,” Blitzø said, frustration bubbling into his voice again. “All fancy and mysterious and shit. Always speaking in these mega… meteor… metafo… you know what the fuck I mean!”
“Metaphors.”
“Yes, that,” he snapped, flustered. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what he wants if I can’t even understand half the shit he says?”
He realized too late how much he’d already let slip. Five fucking minutes in, and she already had him talking about Stolas. Just like that. What the hell.
But it was true. Blitzø didn’t know what the guy wanted from him half the time. One moment, he’d talk to him like they were some kind of soulmates, and the next he’d talk down to him, act like he was better, like Blitzø was just some toy he could pick up and toss aside whenever he wanted. And every time that happened, Blitzø felt like a fucking idiot for even thinking they could ever be more than just glorified fuckbuddies.
Because there would always be this giant, gaping power imbalance between them.
And yeah, it didn’t help that Blitzø was just some broke imp from nothing, with a busted education and dyslexia, while Stolas... He lived for books, for words, for pretty speeches and overcomplicated phrasing and long-winded declarations. They weren’t built the same.
“Does this happen often?” Dr. Chandra asked, gently. “You not understanding him?”
Blitzø bit his bottom lip. He could tell she was nudging him, trying to get more. And he could either sit here in awkward silence for the rest of the hour, or actually use this time to rant and to vent. Because he couldn’t do it with M&M or Loonie anymore—they either judged him or gave the wrong advice like this whole thing was just easy. Like he could just call up Stolas and say, “Hey, I'm actually in love with you, surprise!”
Would Dr. Chandra judge him? Probably. That was her job, right? Judge, assess, scribble notes.
But… she surely heard crazier shit than this.
“It… yeah. Happens a lot,” Blitzø admitted. “I mean, just recently, he… we.. I don’t know what the fuck he wants from me. We were fuckbuddies. That was the deal. Clear and simple. But then all of a sudden he didn’t want to fuck anymore. And then he went and kissed someone else and I...” Blitzø threw his hands up. “I don’t fucking get it. I don’t get him.”
“Have you ever told him you have a hard time understanding him?” Dr. Chandra asked.
Blitzø slumped further into the couch. “Kinda. Yeah. Like 8 months ago. I was… pretty fucking mean about it though.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked, with a little wink. “I promise I won't judge.”
Blitzø sighed and grabbed his spade, holding it in his lap. He needed something to do with his hands.
“…Fine.”
“Good evening, darling! You are awfully late. I was beginning to think the stars had denied me this night with you.”
Blitzø rolled his eyes as he peeled off his coat and let it drop to the floor. “For Christ’s sake, Stolas. Just say hello.” He tossed the Grimoire onto the bed. “There was a fuck ton of traffic. Some guy killed himself on the highway, that’s why I’m late. Now spread those pretty thighs for me so I can make it up to you, bitch.”
Stolas squawked in excitement and instantly did as he was told.
Three orgasms and one creampie later, Blitzø slumped beside Stolas on the satin-draped bed, smoking a cigarette he’d just lit. The smoke curled into the air as he stared up at the bed canopy, thinking about the real reason he was late to their monthly fuck sesh. It wasn’t the traffic, and it sure as shit wasn’t some suicidal bastard throwing himself onto the freeway (though that did happen pretty much daily, so it wouldn’t have been a shock). No, this time, shit had really hit the fan.
Today’s mission had gone sideways from the jump. Blitzø got separated from M&M in the human world, then smashed his phone while running from a pack of wolves in Alaskan woods. He barely escaped by climbing a damn tree, and it took forever to find M&M, who’d gotten themselves hurt chasing the target, who was apparently a fucking sharpshooter. Millie got shot right in the leg.
Long story short, they lost the target, nearly died, and Millie almost bled out in the office because Blitzø, in his usual brilliant fashion, forgot to stock up on first aid kits.
Shit. He really hoped Millie was okay. Moxxie had patched her up quickly with strips of fabric that were way too thin to stop a bullet wound, but did the job for now, and Loonie had opened a portal to the hospital for them. Blitzø hadn’t even had time to get a new phone before hauling ass over here, knowing full well that Stolas would lose his mind if he kept him waiting too long. So now Blitzø was stuck not knowing if Millie was still breathing and couldn’t even check in with her or Moxxie to find out.
It took Blitzø a moment to realize that Stolas was rambling to him about… something. Again. The owl was sitting right beside him, tracing lazy circles on Blitzø’s stomach and unable to stop staring at him. For some goddamn reason, Stolas always got so fucking chatty right after sex, when Blitzø wanted nothing more than to shut his brain off and relax after another shitty day. It was fucking impossible to tire the guy out. If it were up to him, they’d go another ten rounds.
“And then, in the second stanza,” Stolas continued yapping, “the poet compares love to a dying star, burning brilliantly before it collapses into itself. Isn’t that rather tragic, Blitzø?”
Blitzø let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing for once the universe would grant him thirty seconds of silence. “Sure. Mainly tragic that you’re still fucking talking.”
For a moment, Stolas’ smile slipped. “Well, I… I thought you might like it.”
“I don’t fucking know what a stanza is, Stolas,” Blitzø groaned. “Satan, do you only shut up when there’s a dick or a gag in your mouth?”
He didn’t even register the way Stolas’ eyes glassed over a little, or the way he swallowed. Being mean was Blitzø’s second nature. It was easier than talking about what was actually gnawing at him.
Truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about Millie’s injury. Blitzø would obviously never say it out loud, because he was the cool boss, right?. But Millie wasn’t just an employee. Millie was… well, fuck, maybe his best friend. Even if it was a one-sided friendship, Blitzø really didn’t want to see her hurt.
“You seem troubled tonight, my dear,” Stolas tried again, “As though the constellations are misaligned within you. Would you like to talk about it?”
Blitzø blew out another puff of smoke and frowned in confusion, shooting him a glare. “The fuck does that even mean?”
Stolas chuckled nervously. “It’s just a way of asking how you are.”
“Well, maybe just fucking say that then,” Blitzø muttered, hugging a knee to his chest. “Every time you talk, I can’t fucking figure out what you’re saying.”
Stolas removed his hand from Blitzø’s stomach and tilted his head, hurt flashing behind his heart-shaped face. “O-Oh. Right. I… I didn’t mean to confuse you.”
Blitzø laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. “You never mean to, huh?”
“I only speak the way I was taught. The way I’ve always spoken,” Stolas said gently.
Blitzø finished his cigarette and suddenly pushed himself up from the bed, pacing the room with quick, agitated steps. His tail whipped behind him. “Yeah, and compared to you, I basically grew up in a fucking alley eating garbage. Nobody taught me how to speak! I’m just a college dropout circus clown, right?!”
Stolas watched him, eyes following every angry move. “That’s not… no, Blitzø. Of course not. I didn’t say any of that,” he said quietly. “Did I do something to upset you? Because you are quite clearly angry with me, I can tell.”
Blitzø stopped and faced him. “Yes, Stolas, I’m fucking angry. Because every time we talk, it feels like I’m failing some test you won’t even tell me the rules to!” His voice rose without meaning to. He knew it wasn’t fair to dump all his anger on Stolas, but he was the closest target. “I fucking hate the way you talk! It makes me feel like I’m always two steps behind. Like I’ll never fucking belong in your world.”
There was a long pause before Stolas swallowed hard. “You do belong in my world, Blitzø.”
Blitzø let out a bitter breath. Wow. What a fat fucking lie. While Blitzø’s attempts at hurting others' feelings were loud, Stolas’ were quiet and covered in lies. Which almost hurt even more than getting yelled at.
He knew he’d never be enough for Stolas and never fit into his world. And Stolas sure as fuck didn’t belong in his. And the worst part was, it had nothing to do with how they talked. It was everything else. Everything they couldn’t say.
“Whatever. I’m heading out for tonight,” Blitzø muttered. He had to swing by the hospital to check on Millie, then pick up a new phone. He grabbed his discarded pants from the floor, shaking out the wrinkles, then hunted around for his boots. Stolas watched him, talons still resting on the velvet sheets where Blitzø had been sitting seconds ago.
“Oh… are you sure? We can… we could…” Stolas started, words tripping over themselves, which wasn’t like him at all. Usually, the bird had enough words to last a lifetime. Blitzø didn’t even look at him,he just yanked his shirt over his horns. Stolas’ beak clicked shut at the sight. He let his hand fall to his lap, shoulders drooping ever so slightly “Very well,” he eventually said, almost to himself.
“I’ll come by for the Grimoire tomorrow,” Blitzø announced, before finally putting on his coat. “See ya.”
He stepped out onto the balcony, and for a moment, he hesitated and wondered if he should look back. Stolas was probably still sitting there on the edge of the bed, looking all sad and shit to watch him go.
But Blitzø just.. couldn’t deal with that look. So he swung a leg over the railing and climbed down.
Once Blitzø finished spilling his guts about the whole outburst, he realized he’d been staring at his untouched glass of water the entire time. Looking at Dr. Chandra felt impossible. Shame had him by the throat, the same shame that always showed up right after he opened his big fucking mouth and ruined everything. His hand was still strangling his own tail, squeezing so hard the spade had gone numb.
He forced himself to unclench, letting his tail flop onto the couch.
“Well, thank you for telling me,” Dr. Chandra finally said. And for once, she wasn’t wearing that plastic therapist smile that made him wanna claw his own eyes out.
“So, how you gon’ therapize me now?” Blitzø shot back.
“Let’s start with the obvious: do you regret what you said to him?” she asked.
Blitzø let out a sigh, picking at a tear in the couch cushion. “Of fucking course I do. Why even ask!?”
“It’s important you say it out loud,” she pressed. “What else do you regret about that night?”
“Huh?” Blitzø frowned and finally looked up at her.
“Well, I imagine you’ve thought about that night a lot. There must be things you wish you hadn’t said,” Dr. Chandra said, pen scratching across her clipboard. And damn it, she was right. Of course, he’d thought about it. Nights where Stolas’ stupid voice replayed in his head, mixed with regret, shame and a whole big fucking mountain of pathetic longing.
“I mean… yeah,” he muttered. “I regret lashing out. Wasn’t even mad at him, y’know? And the way he talks… I don’t care about that shit. Not anymore. Sure, half the time I don’t even know what the fuck he means, but he makes things sound… not so bad. But that night… fuck, I mean, I told you already. I had a shitty night and was worried about Millie.”
“I see,” she hummed, scribbling something down once more. Which made Blitzø’s blood boil, because, again, what the fuck was she writing? Probably “Subject is a fucking idiot”.
“And you mentioned you haven’t seen him in several months?”
“Yeah. Well. Uh… sorta.” Blitzø’s jaw clenched. “We had a fight last month. Pretty fucking nasty. Not the fun, sexy kind of nasty either. And he moved on from me, which is… fuck, it’s fine. It’s fucking fine,” he added quickly, biting down on his lower lip.
“Hm. Perhaps it was your lack of mutual understanding that caused the rift between you two.”
“Nope,” Blitzø snapped back instantly. “I’m the one who never fucking knows what he’s talking about. He understands me just fine.”
“Does he?” Dr. Chandra raised an eyebrow, pen pausing mid-scribble.
Blitzø lifted a finger, mouth opening… but nothing came out. Fuck. He thought he’d always been clear with Stolas, right? He said what he meant and used normal ass words.
Except… he knew that was bullshit. Deep down, he knew. He wasn’t direct with Stolas at all. He danced around every real feeling, and all Stolas ever got from him were half truths and mean spirited quips. Now that they weren’t seeing each other anymore, Stolas was probably only left with memories of Blitzø insulting him.
Meanwhile, Blitzø remembered every flowery poem and story Stolas ever told him. Even if Blitzø didn’t always understand them, Stolas treated him like… well, not always an equal, but closer than Blitzø had any right to be. Stolas tried, Blitzø didn’t.
Dr. Chandra continued speaking when Blitzø didn’t respond right away. “So what are ways you think you could improve your communication? It’s a two way street, after all.”
Blitzø stiffened right away. Wait, wait, wait. Was she trying to say that it was his fault things sucked between him and Stolas?!
Yeah, he was an asshole, he’d never denied that, BUT Stolas was the one who'd always kept coming back anyway. If Stolas didn’t want to get hurt, then maybe he shouldn’t have tied the Grimoire deal to something so fucking intimate. That wasn’t on Blitzø, right?!
“He was the one who made shit personal! If anything, he should improve shit,” Blitzø glared at Dr. Chandra. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better, and not worse?! Do your fucking job!”
But Dr. Chandra just stood and nodded toward the clock. “Perhaps next week.”
Next week…?
Oh. Right. Their hour was up.
“Yeaaah, uh… don’t think I’ll be coming back,” Blitzø said with a mean scoff.
He pushed himself up from the couch, flicking his tail against the glass of water and causing it to spill all over the table. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye when he stomped past Dr. Chandra. And as he walked past the receptionist, he flipped her off on principle, because fuck it, why not, he wasn’t coming back here anyway. Then he shoved the door open and stepped out onto the pink sidewalks of Sloth.
Bigger picture, his ass. What the fuck was the point of all this anyway? He paid good money to sit there for an hour, rant about Stolas, feel like Hell’s biggest asshole about it, and get absolutely zero answers on how to unfuck himself.
Therapy was a spectacular fucking waste of time and money.
And there was no fucking way he’d be back.