#and food puns??? fuck yeah

[chompe-diem]

shoutout to my discarded poll post for my followers asking whether or not i should watch crown of candy

#sigh bc on one hand theo is Really Intriguing To Me #and food puns??? fuck yeah #then on the other considerably larger hand #ive heard So Much about how Emotionally Taxing that season is. im p sure there was huge char discourse stuff amongst the fans as it aired #and girl imma be honest that shit sounds Stressful! #full disclosure it does not sound like something im looking for in my media consumption! #but also the fomo & the completionism (only IH szn i havent seen yet) and it does sound in a lot of ways like a genuinely compelling watch! #like it’s a lot of people’s favorite! the fact that it was such devastating watch implies that it resonated with viewers! #i think the only ih part/campaign i see talked abt as much as this one’s is f*h and arguably i might see less f*h posts #and i hear the lore is rlly good and the battle sets are fuckin awesome #like. it sounds like great content. #ive kind of been operating under the premise that i wont watch ac*oc ever and while Evidently i’m not unmovable on this concept #ive been sort of leaning very heavily that way since ive gotten drop*out #i backwatched all the ih campaigns in order and intentionally skipped it #ive been lightly back and forth on watching it bc again there are intriguing factors #but ultimately every time i consider it i end up deciding no it’s not worth it or at least no not today #however again the completionism and the fomo and also t*rw happening and general exposure over time to random tumblr posts w/ no context #but also it’s like. do i WANT to have context? do i want to have takes on this shit? do i want to submit myself to finally Knowing #at the cost of Also having very serious feelings on the very serious characters?

[revawake]

Lottie pre-crash eating her breakfast alone save for the maid who works for the Matthews, who is both Lottie's subject in a way (serving her) and her superior in a way (acting as an extension of her father's will, serving her medications she's not allowed to decline).

Lottie as an adult crafting herself a home where she can permanently banish the isolation and powerlessness of her childhood without losing its comforts. She's fixing it. She'll be what her father wasn't. Loving, not cruel. Liberating, not tyrannical.

She's a healer. She's a leader! She acts graciously when one of her servants followers serves her maca root instead of ashwaghanda. She makes it a rule that they can leave whenever they want!

Lottie in the wilderness hallucinating all her friends eating together, and look, even though she's died her disciple best friend Laura Lee is there and she already served got her some takeout! And Jackie isn't there there's one free seat just for Lottie!

Lottie's the good queen. Someone has to be! They can't all be unborn queens, she tells herself, or else she everyone would starve!

#lottie matthews #yellowjackets meta #hopefully this isn't kicking a hornet's nest (pun intended) but for real though. #why do we not feel like acknowledging that lottie likes being served and having subjects? #she's the antler queen not the antler comrade!!!!! for fucks sake!!!!! #this is not an anti lottie post btw i just get annoyed when she's so often characterized as purely compassionate and nurturing #as if she can't genuinely be those things AND manipulative and controlling #like there's so much more of this character to chew on (pun also intended) #stop shopping for purity at the cannibalism show etc etc #i want to do a longer post now comparing lottie being served food to lottie serving food because the latter is a WHOLE other can of worms #lottie killing the bear - lottie blessing the meals / let's collect its blessings (the starlings) #lottie feeding nat and travis her own blood - lottie serving jackie the hot cocoa of death making her a permanent subject of the underworld #^and freeing up the throne in the process. #oh yeah and lottie attempting to hunt / serve travis as food. that's a big one sorry i forgot flex!!!

[seven-oh-four]

splatumblr

🦑 give-inkbrush-crab-tank Follow

does anyone know how people do that hairstyle where they have suckers on the outside of their hair? i think it looks really cool and i wanna try it out

3 notes

🎣 grizzco-goobschnoozlers-deactivat Follow

um. guys have you read the. grizzco handbook. im beginning to think the salmonids might not be unfeeling unthinking monsters guys. are we the bad guys

🐡 toni-kensa-packer-deactivated1402 Follow

oh squit they fuckin killed op

28 notes

📱 krak-off-splat-roller Follow

anyone else find li'l judd a little creepy? :/

🐱 lil-judd-official Follow

Fuck you. Actually fucking kill yourself.

📱 krak-off-splat-roller Follow

HUH???????????????

1,704 notes

🍣 smallfry-deactivated140170721 Follow

ABOUT TO GO ON MY FIRST BIG RUN WISH ME LUCK!!

🍣 smallfry Follow

GOOD LUCK! WARGLARGLA!!

🍣 smallfry-deactivated140170721 Follow

THANK YOU MY BROTHER!! I WILL NOW GO INTO BATTLE!!

🍣 smallfry Follow

OP HAS FED THE SEA WITH ITS FLESH!! REJOICE!!

🍣 smallfry Follow

WARGLARGLA!!

🍣 smallfry Follow

WARGLARGLA!!

🍣 smallfry Follow

WARGLARGLA!!

🎏 flyfish Follow

DO NOT BE SO HASTY MY BROTHERS!! I HAVE SIMPLY BEEN PROMOTED TO FLYFISH!!

🍣 smallfry Follow

CONGRATULATIONS BROTHER!! WARGLAGLA!!

🍣 smallfry Follow

WARGLAGLA!!

🍣 smallfry Follow

WARGLAGLA!!

🍣 smallfry Follow

WARGLAGLA!!

108 notes

🐙 eight-8 Follow

About to go to the promised land!!! ^-^ Ahhh I'm so excited!!! >_<

8 notes

🍣 he-who-devoured-seven-inklings-under-the-full-moon Follow

JUST GOT MY OWN NAME

🍣 the-first-chum-to-earn-the-title-of-grandmaster-cook-as-well-as-the-victor-of-the-biannual-fishpaste-fortress-culinary-competition-and-the-right-hand-chef-of-the-salmonid-priestess-selenia-of-the-sixth-ring-who-provides-ritual-food-offerings Follow

HELL YEAH BROTHER

46 notes

🐻 grizzco-official Follow

This pride month we'd like to remind you that Grizzco is not in any way homophobic. We love bears.

80,744 notes

🦑 give-inkbrush-crab-tank Follow

IS CRUSTY SEAN'S NAME A FUCKING PUN

0 notes

🐙 eight-8 Follow

Wheare am i

0 notes

#fakeposting #splatoon

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

hey so i finally wrote more witch au!

enjoy, friends!! though it's significantly shorter than the first part

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,004 | rated: T

Mama thinks that Steve’s had a love spell on him this whole time.

“Since when?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know, my dear, maybe since before you were even born.”

“What?! How?! I thought you said there was no such thing as love spells!” He knows that’s not true.

“There are none that are worth the pain.” she repeats, trying to placate him.

“Yeah, well.” Steve huffs, dropping his hands to his hips and heaving a sigh.

“But there are some that are rumored to be true love spells, soulmate spells.” She continues on when she sees the look on his face. “Rumored, Steven, only ever rumors.”

“Okay, so what do the rumors have to say about them?”

“Every spell like that I’ve ever heard of of this nature is specific to each caster.”

“So I’ve had this spell on me for possibly my whole life, and there’s no way to know anything about it or about the caster.”

“...I’m sorry, honey.”

“Maybe there are clues in the words you have.” Robin cuts in, reaching for the notepad and sliding it in front of her.

Steve huffs, “I need to know the whole thing; there’s definitely words missing.”

“Should you eat more bread?” Robin asks, already sliding the previously abandoned plate of bread towards him.

“You shouldn’t overwhelm yourself.” Mama says, pushing the plate back. “We don’t know if there’s a trigger to the spell, or if you and the caster’s paths will just cross one day, maybe they don’t even know they cast it.”

Steve blinks at her. “So I have a true love and they might not even want me?”

“No!” Robin belts out immediately.

“No, of course not,” Mama says, continuing on. “The one known thing about any spell like this is that they only work on those who are receptive to it.”

“So some weirdo can’t put you under their spell?”

“Yes, exactly Robin; Steve, whatever this is, whoever this was, they love you with all that they are. And you them.”

“I don’t even know who it is! How can I?”

Mama doesn’t have an answer besides saying “Your soul must know them already.”; Their conversation was over soon after that.

Steve spends the next couple days silent and brooding. He can’t stop thinking about how he’s what, marked to love someone he doesn’t even know? How’s that fair?

It could be any random person on the street that thought he was hot, some weird old guy or a lovesick middle schooler..He only just turned 25 the day before the bread incident, but he’s saddled with this huge unknown that isn’t going to get better any time soon?

Okay, apparently not just some weirdo according to Mama, but still. Un-fucking fair all the same.

He’s also pissed that he can’t give anyone all the baked goods he’s made within that time. Each and every one of them ending up with a sour aftertaste. 

“Damn witch bullshit…” he grumbles to himself, only half serious, as he scrapes another batch of sour sugar cookies into the trash.

He’s salty, okay? Pun intended. If he hadn’t ever learned the truth about the powers over food his grandmother (and now him too, apparently) has, he could’ve just excused the batch after batch being off on bad butter, or old flour.. Something other than his mood being what’s ruining his cookies.

That’s what he’d done every other time something he’s made tasted off, now he knows it was him the whole time.

Mama comes in then, he doesn’t have to look up to know the look she’s giving him.

Steve leaves the bowl of leftover dough on the counter, mumbles out a “I gotta go.”, then tromps out the back door and into the woods behind his grandparents’ home. 

He supposes it’s good that they live just outside the city, really, having the trees to escape under like this has helped him before, and he’s hoping will help him now.

Meandering through the underbrush, he strolls along until he reaches the small clearing he’d claimed for himself when he was what, 8? 9? Doesn’t matter. It’s his spot to get away from anything he needs to.

He sits down against the big oak at the edge of the clearing and tips his head back toward the sun filtering down on him through a gap in the canopy above him. He breathes in the fresh air, focuses on the warmth hitting his face, and just exists there for a while, slipping in and out of a soft snooze.

Suddenly, he’s shocked out of his dozing by the sound of twigs snapping underfoot.

If it were coming from behind him, he’d expect it’d be Robin coming to find him here, but it’s not. It’s coming from ahead of him across the clearing.

Steve stands and presses back into the trunk of the tree, wondering if there’s bears in these woods when a person stumbles through the tree line.

The man is thin, about Steve’s age if he were to guess, and covered in dirt, his light wash overalls and his boots are caked in it. His hair is long, pulled half-back away from his face and full of bracken from the forest.

He also seems to be in a daze, staring with dark eyes at Steve with an unfathomable expression. 

It shifts soon after, though, warming into a watery smile. “I’ve come home to you.” he says, clear as day, then collapses onto the grass.

“Oh, shit!” Steve rushes forward, kneeling down beside the man and quickly checking him over for injuries. 

Steve presses his fingers to the man's pulse confirm it's still there (it is) and there don’t seem to be any bruises or breaks in his limbs, so he goes to his head, feeling quickly under the tangles in his hair for any blood, any knots.

Nothing. There’s nothing apparently outwardly wrong with him.

“Hey, hey, wake up! You gotta stay with me, man.” he says, shaking him lightly. 

The other man’s head lolls to the side and his eyes open a crack, his lips quirking up into a smile. “M’love…”

“What is your name?” Steve insists in a slow, clear voice.

Instead of answering, the man raises his hand slowly to cup Steve’s cheek. “...v’wait’d so long..” he slurs, then goes limp again, his hand dropping to his chest.

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve gets his feet under him and gathers the man up into his arms in a bridal carry. His steps falter when he feels how light the man is in his arms, how much more thin he is than how he’d looked.

Steve adjusts his hold on him, making sure not to let his head hang backward over his forearm, and rushes back toward the house.

“Mama!” he shouts as soon as he clears the treeline into the yard.

She’s at the back sliding door as soon as he is. “Steve, honey, what—”

He pushes past her, hurrying to the spare room on the first floor with her on his heels. “I found him wandering the woods, I couldn’t just–I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Mama.”

She gestures him forward to the bed, “Put him there, on top the covers,”

He does, setting him down as if he’s made of glass.

As soon as the man is out of his arms, Mama takes his place. “Nothing seems broken, but he’s so light, he needs food, he needs water, should I call 911? I don’t even know his na—” he rambles on, not even realizing he’d started to pace until his grandma stops him in his tracks.

“Steve, listen to me.” she says, pulling at his wrists gently, removing his hands from his hair. “He will be fine. Now, go get a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and come straight back here.”

He nods dazedly, stumbling backward out the doorway and spinning to the kitchen.

Steve slides to a stop on the tile floor in front of the kitchen sink at the same time Robin gets home from her classes that day.

“I have a date!”

Wait, he needs the bowl first. He scrambles to the opposite counter for the large mixing bowl Mama uses for her damn bread and fishes it out with a clatter of everything that that had been in front of it on the shelf tumbling out to the floor.

“Steve?”

Should he put soap in it?

“Steve!”

No, Mama just said ‘warm water’, not ‘warm soapy water’. He nods to himself and turns on the tap, reaching under the sink next for a washcloth.

“Steven Otis Harrington.”

“Oh, hey Robin, you’re home.” The bowl’s almost full.

“Steve.” She spins him to face her, holding tightly to his shoulders.

He tries to twist back around futilely, “The bowl–”

“Steve. What. Is. Happening.”

He blinks at her a couple times. “Robin!” He pulls her to him in a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe–”

“Steve, the bowl?”

“Shit,” It’s nearly full when he shuts off the tap, so he dumps a bit out and picks it up with both hands, “C’mon, he’s this way.”

“He? Who’s he?”

“Dunno, I found him in the woods.”

“Aw, Steve, you can’t just take in any ol’ stray dog you happen to find out in the wood—-” Robin cuts herself off as they get to the bedroom door. “Ohhkay…so..not a dog.”

“He looks to be dehydrated, but I don’t think he has any injuries.” Mama says in lieu of a greeting when they return. Steve sits down on the opposite edge of the bed that she is, and carefully passes over the bowl of water without looking at her.

The stranger immediately takes in his attention. His soft features, dark brows…Steve starts to pull the bits of brush out of the man’s hair, untangling twigs, leaves, and he can already see one of those pesky prickle things twisted into the hair next to his ear.

Mama sets the bowl on the sidetable, and gets to work immediately, wiping the dirt and grime from the man’s face and arms. “Robin dear, can you grab one of those sports drinks Pa loves so much outta the fridge? And a bottle of water.”

“Of course!” she says, darting back into the kitchen.

“We’ll need to get some food in him too,”

“We should make him scones.” Steve states apropos of nothing. “With chocolate chunks.”

“Maybe after he’s a bit better, sweetie.” Mama scoffs, wringing out the washcloth. “He needs healthy fats first, butter, oatmeal, avocado, things like that.”

“I can do that!” Steve says, jumping up excitedly. His former task forgotten, he rushes out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, nearly bowling Robin over in the process.

He gets to work on simple eggs and toast for their houseguest, avoiding Mama’s lucky bread in favor of his own store-bought stuff for now, he can make him his own later. 

As he scrambles the eggs, he focuses everything in him on the stranger, on getting him better, making him healthy again. He’s not exactly quite sure how to do what Mama does, but the sour cookie dough says he’ll do it without thinking about it…kinda.

Whatever. 

All he knows is that he’s telling the fuck outta these eggs to make his love better. Make him whole again.. Make him—

Wait..

Did he just refer to the random man laid up in the other room as his love?

Is…

The fugue state he’d been in since first laying eyes on the man crackles away just long enough for him to think.

What did he say before he collapsed? "I've come home to you."?

That..sounds right....why is that so famili—

Steve's eyes leave the pan of eggs in front of him and snap immediately to the scrap of paper he'd scrambled for a few nights ago.

Is he…?

And of course, as if the words weren't already plastered permanently onto his grey matter, there they are, plain as day.

tagging those that were interested on the last part!!! @mugloversonly @kittydeadbones @maybequizas @queenie-ofthe-void @newtstabber @angeldreamsoffanfic @eyesofshinigami @sunflower-trashbaby @perseus-notjackson @kaspurrcat @quinns-shadowy-arts

also, idk if this counts for it, but one of february's songs for @steddiesongfics is work song! which is what this fic is based on! 😊😊

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #witch!eddie #witch!steve #work song #hozier #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #st #robin buckley #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve has good grandparents #steveddie #eddeve #witch au #noelle writes

[stevesbipanic]

It was supposed to be a one time thing.

Steve had always been in charge of feeding the kids, a self appointed position that didn't do anything to stop the mom jokes but Steve liked making sure his kids were happy and fed. He knew what it was like to come home from school and have to fend for yourself in terms of food, he didn't want that for the kids.

He had taught himself to cook and bake as he grew up, quickly getting tired of heating up spaghetti-os or TV dinners. His parents always left the house well stocked with ingredients even though they weren't there so he had to make do.

Steve liked baking things for the kids, he knew everyone's favourite cookie and cupcake flavour and made sure he made them if he heard one of them had had a bad day.

Max had been the one to ask him originally. The high school was having a bake sale and Max's mum wasn't around enough to give her the flyer and Max had asked him if he'd make those caramel brownies that she loves. He agrees as long as she learns to make them with him which she had happily agreed to.

To Steve's suprise his brownies had been a hit at the bake sale. There were a few stink eyes from some of the moms there but mostly there were big smiles and punched cheeks and "aren't you just the sweetest boy" from everyone there. The kids had nagged him for cash for the sale which they mainly used to get his brownies even though he'd told them he made extra at home.

After that, it just became a thing. Whenever there was a bake sale one or more of the kids came to ask him to make something for them, some half baked (excuse the pun) excuse as to why their own parents couldn't do it.

"Mum always burns her cupcakes."

"Dad says he only knows how to grill."

"I swear she put salt in them last time."

"Do you want to give the school food poisoning?"

"Yours are just better." Steve liked that one.

Soon the kids didn't even have to ask him, he had moms putting the flyer in his mailbox. Once he opened it to ten of the bright pink papers shoved in there. It wasn't even just bake sales. The PTA moms had practically adopted him and wanted him at all the school events, sports carnivals, school musicals, pep rallies. Everyone wanted Steve's baked goods.

"I swear you're at the school more than I was in all my senior years, Stevie."

"You're just jealous that the moms love me."

"I've always thought you're sweet, sweetheart."

Steve had even started experiment with his recipes. Robin and Eddie were more than happy to be his guinea pigs.

"Steve if I liked dudes I would marry you to eat this cupcake everyday."

"Fuck you Buckley I'M marrying him AND I'm getting to eat this brownie til I die!"

"You don't need to marry me for me to bake for you two."

"Yeah but then I'd get to brag to all the PTA moms that I have Stevie Harrington's sweet goods and sweet cheeks."

"EDDIE!"

Steve had been struggling with what he wanted to do with his life, he didn't go to college, he worked minimum wage and his parents had practically cut him off. It was at the last bake sale before spring break that one of the moms Steve had gotten close to approached him.

"Steve, honey?"

"Hey Mary, what can I do for ya?"

"Well, you know I'm in real estate and there's this sweet lil storefront down on Maple that recently flooded but it's got good bones just needs a lil love and I'm rambling but I saw it and I knew it would be perfect for you."

"Perfect for what ma'am?"

"For your bakery, hun!"

"Oh ma'am I'm not opening a bakery."

"Why not honey? Everyone loves your sweet treats and with the flooding the place is basically being given away, I didn't wanna sell it til I talked to you first, so what do you say?"

"Can I give you an answer first thing tomorrow."

"Sure hun, but don't wait too long, things like this don't come around often."

Steve had been pacing the apartment by the time Eddie got home from the shop.

"Stevie, baby what's wrong?"

Steve stopped pacing and turned towards his boyfriend.

"If you were really good at something and every said you were really good at something and someone gave you the opportunity to do that thing every day would you do it?"

"Um probably, do what you love and everything right?"

"Mary stopped me today and says there's this store that needs work but could be worth it and I could open my own bakery there Eds, mine, all me doing something for me, but money would be tight for a little while and I don't want to do anything rash and if you think it's not a good id—"

"STEVIE! Sweetheart breathe. Does baking make you happy?" Eddie had put his hands on Steve's shoulders trying to calm him.

Steve nods.

"Then do it baby. Sure money might be tight for a bit, but we have some savings, and I've got my job pretty stable now, so fuck it if it makes you happy of course I want you to do it."

Steve pulled Eddie into a hug whispering a soft thank you.

The following day Steve signed the deed for the shop on Maple St and Eddie and the party and Hopper and Wayne and the girls and everyone helped him him clean out the debris and put up new walls and paint until two weeks later it was finished.

Steve's Sweets was finally open. Robin had been hired to work the coffee to go with Steve's treats and the kids got part time jobs after school and on weekends working the register. Robin and Eddie still helped try out new recipes and soon the whole town knew about Steve's new store.

Steve still baked things for the school's bake sale but now he got to feed his friends and family and the whole town everyday and he was never happier.

#fluff #stranger things #stranger things s4 #steve harrington #st4 #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things season 4 #pta mum steve #mama steve #the party #baker steve #ficlet #steddie ficlet

[loveinhawkins]

Steve gets the idea from Dustin and Robin, in a roundabout way: Robin insists on buying a camping stove from The War Zone, which Dustin pounces upon with glee as soon as he notices it.

“Oh, we’re cooking with gas now,” he says, which is the worst pun Steve has heard thus far.

Eddie snorts, almost but not quite hidden underneath the sound of the engine. Steve smiles.

“Y’know there’s a stove right here?” he asks in benign exasperation, gestures behind him to the little kitchen area of the RV.

“Steve,” Robin says, “that’s not as fun.”

“Yeah, come on, Steve! It’ll be like at Camp Know Where—”

“Know Nothing,” Steve mutters automatically.

“—we oft dined al fresco.”

“Oft,” Eddie parrots, and Steve can faintly feel the movement of him laughing, from where he’s pressed up against the back of the driver’s seat. “Al fresco. Henderson, what lab did they make you in?”

“Eddie, either shut up or back me up, I wanna get a culturally enriching experience outta this.”

“Oh, excuse me, didn’t realise this was a field trip.”

“You’re excused.”

“Okay,” Steve cuts in, “have fun playing at camping, Henderson, but don’t come crying to me if you, like, blow yourself up.”

Robin chuckles. “Such a happy camper.”

“Boo,” Steve says flatly.

He parks the RV a little bit away from a store just off the main road—heads in alone as it’ll draw less attention. Out loud, he says it’s so he can focus without hearing whining pleas to buy junk food, whether Dustin-approved or not, but he already knows he’ll cater to each and every one of the group’s demands.

Eddie, surprisingly, doesn’t put in a request, says he’s happy to just go along with whatever everyone else wants—a far cry from when Nancy had relayed, with more amusement than frustration, “He said he wants a six-pack.”

Steve figures that the whole being wanted for murder thing would kill anyone’s appetite, but it still makes his stomach sink, that the most substantial meal Eddie’s gotten a chance to eat has been lukewarm Spaghettios.

They set up ‘camp’ in a field, and Robin’s the first to rush outside, shortly followed by Dustin, both intent on using the stove she’s bought.

Steve leaves them all to it, kind of enjoys the temporary peace of just messing about in the RV on his own—it gives him enough time to find where some crockery is kept, anyway.

He’s heating up chicken noodle soup on the stove when Eddie comes back in and tells him, “They got it working, no explosions yet.”

“Oh, miracles can happen. Good timing, by the way.” Steve switches the burner off, pours the soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table—where he’s already laid out a spoon. “Yours is ready.”

At first he doesn’t think the silence is all that unusual. He’s not really looking either, focusing on rinsing out the pan he’d used. But when he does glance up, it’s to see Eddie just standing there, looking at the bowl of soup and blinking rapidly.

It’s almost like… almost like he’s—

“Woah, hey,” Steve says, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Eddie says, even though he’s still quite clearly tearing up. “Absolutely nothing. Jesus Christ.” He groans, presses a couple of fingers to the inner corner of his eyes. “This is fucking mortifying, just pretend you didn’t—ugh.”

In barely a blink, he shuts himself away in the bathroom.

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “Hate soup that much, huh?”

A watery laugh from behind the door. “No.”

There’s a silence. Steve dries the pan and puts it away before calling, “It’s gonna get cold!”

It won’t for a while yet; he can still see tendrils of steam rising from the bowl.

There’s a long, drawn out sigh, and then Eddie opens the door, sidles in to take a seat at the table.

For a moment, Steve thinks he isn’t going to acknowledge it, which is fine. But as Eddie picks up the spoon he says, head down, “It’s just. That was, uh. Really—really nice.”

Steve’s concern abates a little; he can’t help giving a slight smirk. “Would it help if I was mean instead?”

Eddie laughs again, no tears in it this time. He shrugs with a grin. “Do whatever you want, man.”

He’s eating slowly, his spoon dragging through the soup. His eyes seem distant.

“It’s just… I miss—” His voice threatens to break, but doesn’t quite get there. “I miss… home.”

Before Steve can think of a reasonable reply, Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. He drops the spoon with a clatter. “God, that sounds so—”

“It doesn’t,” Steve interrupts.

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie picks up the spoon again, keeps scraping it against the bottom of the bowl.

“Dude, what did I tell you? You’ve gotta give yourself a break.”

Steve pauses, stuck on what to say next.

He can’t even relate, honestly. Home has long become something he couldn’t… Something he couldn’t really miss, exactly.

It’s ever-changing: the luxury of eating a late breakfast in History; the crunch of leaves underfoot as he walked the railroad tracks with Dustin; the chill of the freezer in Scoops Ahoy, Robin’s snorting laugh bouncing off the walls.

Now it’s his car radio playing as he gives rides on busy school mornings. A high school basketball game. A goddamn video store.

“I think you have this thing,” Steve says slowly.

“A promising start,” Eddie says, lips twitching.

He’s finished the soup. The sight spurs Steve on.

“I think you have this thing,” he repeats, more confidently, “where you think that, like, we’re seasoned monster-killers, and you’re—”

“Uh, speaking objectively, Harrington, that’s kinda what you are.”

“My point is,” Steve says, “that you don’t need to—shit, I don’t know, man. Just. You don’t need to apologise or whatever. You’re doing fine.”

Eddie blinks. He’s cupping the empty bowl with his hands, breathing a little deeper, like the residual warmth is calming.

And that Steve can relate to: in the days after Starcourt, when Robin pretty much dragged him to her house, empty thanks to her folks visiting extended family. They both pretended that they just wanted to stay up late because they could, because they were just teenagers enjoying the summer, and Robin had made shitty hot chocolate from a powder, heating up milk on the stove; when Steve complained that he could hardly enjoy it through a busted lip, she’d said, still jittery, “I just thought—it’s just nice to hold, y’know?”

She was right.

One of Eddie’s fingers starts tapping against the bowl, the underside of his ring making a series of restless clinks. Steve wants to still his hand, gently press it further into the warmth. Settle him.

Eddie stands up with the bowl.

“I can—”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Eddie says, already at the sink. He turns on the faucet, smiles. “Thanks, by the way.”

It’s so simple, so domestic, and all of a sudden, Steve’s struck with a thought: oh, I want this.

“No problem. I’ll get you something better, after… um, everything.”

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, Jesus, I think I actually would kill for some fries.”

Steve clicks his fingers. “So we’ll make it happen.”

“We?”

“Yeah, I hate to break it to you, man, but as soon as they hear about free fries—” Steve jerks his head towards the chatter outside, “—they’re gonna demand to come with, they’re like piranhas.”

He expects Eddie to play up the joke, to groan and complain.

But while he does laugh, Eddie just sighs before saying in earnest, “That sounds fucking fantastic.”

And his eyes are warm and fond, like maybe he’s found another home in all of them, too.

#another ‘throwaway’ line from a previous ficlet wouldn’t let me go #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve and robin #steve and the party #eddie and the party #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve and dustin #eddie and dustin

[thisfanisgonesorry]

HIII ! CAN YOU DO HOBIE X FEM!READER. 😍

So basically they Reader is having a shower and Hobie appears in her window and hears that she is in the shower , then he joins her and like fingers her & eats her out 😘

( srry if this is toooo much to ask 😖)

ty!! dw, its never too much of an ask <3, sorry it took me a little bit mwah x

tags: god i love puns, smut, estab, vaginal fingering, pussy eating, shower sex, clothed sex, the gloves stay on, light temp play, women and their scalding hot showers smh, light pov switch. light mentions of poc hair care yaa

🕷

He slinked in through the apartment window, his eyes scanning and noticing that there wasn’t a sign of life anywhere. He closed the window behind him, his ears perking up at the sound of an active shower and he moved slowly towards it.

He removed his mask, placing it on the kitchen counter as well as a bag of what he intended to be a thoughtful act. He carefully opened the bathroom door and sighed softly at the sight, is it really peeping if it’s your girlfriend? The door shut behind him with a quiet click and he squinted his eyes at the light layer of steam that filled the room. 

He finally stepped into the shower, turning the cold water tap and resting his chin on the shoulder of his unsuspecting victim lover.

I arched away from the suddenly colder water, “Hobie!” I hissed, trying to pull out from underneath it completely but his strong body held me in place as his arms found their home wrapped around my waist, holding me flush against him.

“Darlin’.” He spoke sweetly, he smiled at the contrast of our greetings and started pressing soft kisses into my skin, nuzzling the wet hair out of his way. “Lookin’ lovely, as usual.”

My fingers reached to adjust the temperature again and he quickly caught the hand, bringing it to his mouth and pressing kisses on it.

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes.

“What? ‘M not sayin’ that ‘cuz y’re naked.” He pressed a strong kiss on the base of my neck, feeling me melt under the contact and planning to leave a hickey. “Well.. I am but not ‘cuz only that. Y’re beautiful. With clothes ‘n’ everythin’.” The grin on his face was a large, cheesy one, he knew how corny he sounded and it was completely intentional.

“Mhm, that’s sweet, and this has nothing to do with you joining me fully clothed?”

“Don’t got a lotta time. Jus’.. Swung by for a visit.” His kisses got more ‘passionate’ as he mumbled into my neck. “Got you food, gonna be back later.. We’ll, uh, watch a movie or somethin’. Pro’ly cuddle.”

“Not have sex?”

“Love, we’re shaggin’ right now.” He joked softly as his hand dipped lower, feeling his way to the part he loved most. “Needed y’so bad.” He sighed. “Couldn’t focus on shit.”

I tried to move us further away from under the water, but stilled when his fingers pressed between the lips, pressing against the warmth with a low groan.

“I’d ask ‘how’s work’ but I think this is a good answer.”

“Tells you all you need to know.” He agreed. “Need to fuck this cunt s’fuckin’ bad. Almost got hard on the job.” He laughed softly, his hands moved slowly back and forth between the lips and he stifled a whine into the flesh of my neck.

“This is one way to greet me then.”

“Y’were undressed, all pretty f’me, what was I meant to do?”

He retracted his fingers before I could reply with something snarky and pushed me against the shower wall, my back flinching against the coldness.

“You just won’t let me have a hot shower.” I cursed.

He let out a low chuckle, silencing me with a kiss on the lips before going downwards, leaving a trail from my throat to my belly button. His hands rested firmly on my hips to the point where if he wasn’t wearing gloves, you could pinpoint the crescent shapes his fingernails would leave by digging in so harshly.

He pressed a kiss on the ‘mons pubis’, looking up with his large brown eyes. He had a dumb grin on his face as he glanced down to eye up his prize after a long day.

“Hobie, your hair.” I chimed in with realisation as the water continued to drizzle over us lightly.

“Couldn’t care less.” He mumbled, lifting one leg over his shoulder and holding onto my thighs tightly, making sure I wouldn’t slip. He pressed a kiss on my clit, closing his eyes as he basked in it.

“Hobie—”

“I don’t care.” He growled again, feeling the water drench his side and knowing that I’d mention it. “I’ll deal with it later, right now, need you.” He groaned, as he dipped his fingers into the warmth, his gloves creating a rough texture that dragged against the walls.

His desperation took the floor as he did all that he could, his fingers pressed all the right spots against the squishy walls, knowing just where to go to blur my senses. He needed this; he needed to taste me on his tongue to get him through the last few hours of the day, and it was evident in the way he desperately sucked and lapped at what he could.

“Come on.” He pleaded. “Love how y’taste s’good.”

I took a handful of his already wet hair, tugging on it to make him work where I needed him to; he’d already have to fix his hair later so I wasn’t hesitant to manhandle him, knowing I couldn’t make it worse.

He started to grind my hips against his face, moaning pornographically at the harsh grip I had at his hair. “Like that.” He mumbled into the flesh, letting the slickness coat his face.

“Like that.” I mirrored with a breathy moan, throwing my head back despite the overwhelming need to watch him devour me.

“Want y’to cum on m’face.”

“Gonna, fuck, keep going.”

He knew the perfect ways to use his hands (obviously), and he knew exactly how to get me right to the edge on his own whim. 

“Y’gotta make it quick before the city realises ‘m gone.”

“Hobes, baby.” I moaned loudly before biting my lips. “Mhm, it’s gonna be quick.” He groaned in response to my words, digging his face closer, letting me feel the vibration against my skin.

“Love you.” He mumbled to himself, trying his earnest to keep as much of it in his mouth as possible, inwardly punishing himself for wasting a single drop.

I let out a loud cry, covering my mouth with a stifled moan. “Neighbours’ll hate us. It’s barely 6 pm.” I joked knowing if he ate with any more vigour, he’d probably eat me alive. 

“Let them. Close?”

I pushed my hips forward, moving where his fingers hit until my legs almost collapsed beneath me. I held onto his luscious hair tightly. “Yeah.” I breathed out.

“Love it.” He mumbled into the flesh. “Love when y’grab me, tell me what to do ‘nd make me fuck y’jus’ right.”

“Shit.” I cursed out, feeling the way his mindless praise went in one ear and straight down to my stomach. I was slowly gaining in volume as his actions continued meticulously, working me towards finish. 

“Can feel it. Y’right there.”

I grabbed harshly onto his hair, tugging him as I felt it right about to hit me like a wave I could drown in. He let out a whiney moan, his eyes closing in bliss as the vibrations rattled through me.

“Y’can do it.” He praised, feeling the helpless clenching around his fingers as I tensed up beneath his touch. “Want.. Need to taste y’r cum.”

“Ah! Fuck! Shit, Hobie—”

My cries fell on deaf ears as he didn’t let up his actions, seemingly unaware of my warning as he continued to (practically) abuse the sensitive spot inside my walls. I tried to bite back as much as I could, though my volume would peak past any form of muffling, making it all futile. 

I arched myself into him, crying out as he looked up at me with intense longing; he basked in every detail of my face as I took all he’d give me, riding out the wave. I saw white and slumped against the wall weakly, relaxing around him and he retracted his fingers slowly.

He hesitantly moved his mouth away after a moment of making sure he collected everything he could, placing the fingers in his mouth, trying to get the slickness off the fabric of his suit.

“Jesus Christ.” I huffed. Parts of his face still glistened with my own spend, and after a moment, he wiped his face away from the excess, though he wasn’t pleased with himself for wasting any.

“That’s what I needed.” He panted with a grin, pulling away completely and standing up from his knees. He pressed a chaste kiss onto my lips. “You gonna be alright on your own?” He hummed, holding my hips and moving me back under the water.

“Mhm, course.” I nodded

He turned the hot water up, and I flinched at the sudden change, though relaxed quickly as the warmth washed over me. “I’ll see you later tonight.” He spoke, kissing me again quickly before carefully leaving the shower, trying to not get water through the entire apartment.

We both pretended to ignore the tent in his suit pants which would hopefully disappear within the next few minutes or else the tabloids would probably have a field day. 

“Enjoy the rest of your shower.” He spoke, letting the bathroom mat soak up as much of the wetness from his feet as possible. 

“Enjoy the rest of your ‘shift’.”

He gave a weak two-finger salute before quickly leaving the bathroom. Briefly, I could hear his damp feed padding around on the wood floors before he was leaving the apartment and going back to his duty.

#asks #marvel #hobie brown #smut #spiderverse #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown x reader one shot #hobie brown x you #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #hobart brown #hobie x reader #atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk #atsv hobie #hobie brown fluff #spiderpunk x you #hobie brown fanfic

[tired-and-ticklish]

Rough Day

Summary: Angel Dust's had a rough and long day at work, no pun intended. Niffty helps him unexpectedly relax.

TW: Tickling, Mentions of Valentino, Mentions of Angel's job, Swearing, Mentions of safewords being ignored.

I couldn't get this idea out of my mind after seeing this scene from the show.

Part Two

“Oh fuuuuuuuck!” Angel groaned as he entered the hotel, cracking his back as he did.

Today had not been a good day for him. First, Valentino wanted some ‘quality time’ with him, which always put Angel in a terrible mood and headspace. Then, that fucking moth had him work for what felt like an eternity. No rest, no food breaks, nothing. Everything felt sore, and the spider was just happy there was a shower at the studio. Otherwise, he’d have to wait till he got to the hotel to clean up.

He just wanted to face plant into the first soft object he found and pass out for the rest of the day.

“You look messy!” Nifty said, startling Angel as she hopped out of a potted plant. “What happened to you?”

“More like ‘who happened to me?’ and the answer? Everyone. Twice.” Angel groaned, beginning to head for the couch. “Val had me working sixteen hours on a fucking limb! The absolute dick-”

The spider demon’s rant was cut off, biting his lip slightly. He hadn’t noticed Niffty jump onto his back, until he felt her dusting him off, tickling him and causing him to freeze. Angel quickly reached his lower arms around and tried to pull her off before anyone could notice.

“I appreciate the help.” He told the maid “But I don’t need dusting.”

“But, you’re messy.” Niffty repeated, and as if to emphasize her point, trying to reach up to fix Angel’s hair.

“Yeah well, I’m not some piece of fucking furn-Ack!”

The maid was ignoring him, as Angel felt the feather duster now on his neck. This was bad, he realized as he bit his lip. Sure, he was the taller demon, but Niffty was faster, already out of range of his hands and back on his back. He needed to stay composed, as he noticed Husk, Charlie, and Vaggie watching him from the sidelines.

“N-Nihihihihift, c-come on, I think I’m c-clehehheeean now.” Angel tried to plead, a few giggles escaping as the duster left his neck and headed for his worst spot, his armpits. Having six arms was both a blessing, and curse, especially since the spider had kept his worst spots from when he was alive. There was no way he’d be able to keep it in if she got there.

“You’re clean when I say you’re clean.” The cyclops told him, and before Angel could attempt to plead any further, the feathers made contact.

He clamped his upper set of arms down as a small squeal came out of him. The spider demon felt an unintentional smile begin to form on his face, and despite his clamped arms, the duster was still moving.

“N-Nihihihihfty plehehehehease!” He couldn’t help it anymore, laughter was starting to pour out of him.

“Angel… Are you…Ticklish?” Charlie asked, and Angel could practically hear the smile in her voice. Though, considering the Princess of Hell, that was an easy thing to listen for.

“N-Noohohohoh, fuhuhuhuhck ohohohohoff!”

“Oh my Satan, he actually is.” Vaggie said, clearly enjoying the show as she chuckled.

“Niihihihihihffty plehehehehease!” Angel covered his face with one of his hands, trying to hide his smile.

It wasn’t that Angel hated being tickled, or wasn’t used to it. He hated when Valentino did it, or any of the clients Val gave him did it. ‘Safewords’ and ‘boundaries’ were not words in the Overlord’s vocabulary, and oftentimes, he and the clients would be too rough, making the spider demon cry out in pain more than pleasure. They made fun of him, and touched places he hated, especially his feet, especially when Valentino was in a bad mood.

But the gentle tickles of the feather duster? Niffty not staying in one spot too long as he felt her move it to his ribs? That was the kind of tickling Angel enjoyed, the softer side of it, and it was embarrassing. He was a pornstar, for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t enjoy something like this! Or at least, if he did, it should have been in the kinky sense. 

And yet, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the non-sexual aspect of it, how freeing it felt to just laugh and let himself go. Angel Dust liked being tickled, and the idea of his hotel companions finding out embarrassed him even more. Even so, Angel couldn’t find it in himself to throw the smaller sinner off him. Sometimes, Niffty reminded him of Molly in a way, and that tugged at the part of him that still cared about people.

“W-Waahahahait wahahahait shhihihit!” Angel’s knees buckled, him sliding to the floor as the maid continued dusting him off, though he heard her let out a small giggle, obviously knowing what she was doing.

“Just a few more spots, then you’re done!” She assured him, letting out another mischievous laugh as Angel squealed.

“P-Plehehehehease Iihihhihi cahahahaan’t tahhaahake- NOHOHOHOT THEHHRHERE!”

His lower set of armpits was attacked, for some reason, those ones were much worse than his upper arms. It was like the further down you went, the more sensitive Angel’s body became. And yet, he still wasn’t feeling any actual distress. Hell, the weirdest part about all of this was that it was helping him relax.

“NHIHIHIHIHIFFTY!”

As soon as it started, it was all over, Angel feeling the feathers being removed. He caught his breath, hugging himself in an attempt to get those phantom tickles away. Looking up, he spotted Husk, who had lifted Niffty off the spider demon.

“Hey, I think I saw some roaches on the other side of the hotel-” The cat demon began, and, as the mention of any sort of bug, the cyclops maid took off like a bullet. Husk shook his head a bit, before offering a hand to Angel. “You still alive, legs?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Angel said, waving one of his hands while another accepted Husk’s. The spider was pulled to his feet.

“How are you feeling?” Charlie asked, Angel’s cheeks turning a shade of pink as he realized they had all seen him lose it.

“I-I mean, it wasn’t… awful.” Angel said as casually as he could muster, trying not to let them know he enjoyed it. The Princess of Hell let out a small squeak, sparkles in her eyes.

“We could do that for trust exercises!”

“Do… what?”

“Tickling!”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea!” All four of them were suddenly startled by Alastor’s presence, the Radio Demon apparently having been watching from wherever he had been. “After all, you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

“Well that sounds like a big fucking riot, but I’m going to pass.” Husk said, already starting to back away despite how calm his voice sounded.

“I-I think Niffty got me enough for the day.” Angel began, also backing away.

Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor were looking at them with mischievous smiles, coming closer toward the spider and cat. Husk tried to remain casual, like he wasn’t trying to run up to his room, while Angel held up all four of his hands pleadingly, a nervous smile already stretching onto his face.

“Ten~” The Radio Demon began.

Both Angel and Husk took off like two bats out of Hell, hearing Charlie’s excited giggles and Vaggie’s threatening teases as they ran. Soon enough, Alastor’s countdown was finished, both girls running after their targets. The Radio Demon twirled his microphone cane, before casually following along.

‘What an interesting venture this hotel is turning out to be.’ Alastor thought with a chuckle.

#tickle fic #hazbin hotel tickle #lee!angel dust #ler!niffty #sorry it's a bit short #or if some characters seem out of character

[oh-stars]

Unspoken Habits

Love Is Silently Passing Them A Pickle Because You Know It’s Their Favorite.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 733 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

It’s been forever since they all got together. Steve’s got an arm slung over Robin’s shoulders and is leaning toward Max to talk shit about Mike, while Eddie’s squished between Dustin and Nancy on the opposite side. The rest of the party surround the table, laughing and talking so loudly he’s not even sure if you could call it that anymore. 

As nice as it is, Eddie feels a little bad for how rowdy they are in the middle of a restaurant. Thankfully, it doesn’t last too terribly long once the food comes out. 

“Okay,” their waiter says as he brings out two others with big trays of food, “help me out here.” 

It’s an ordeal to get everyone’s orders where they need to go, but once it’s settled, they all start to tuck in. 

Eddie’s squirting ketchup all over his fries when he looks up to see Steve’s plate has a pickle on it. His chicken fingers didn’t come with a pickle. Dammit. 

Steve’s not even looking, still listening to Lucas’ story about the game he had the other day. He just picks up his plate and holds it out for Eddie. 

Fuck yeah! Eddie plucks the pickle off Steve’s plate and takes a big bite, then sets the rest down on the edge of his basket. 

“Can we please talk about the new player’s handbook that came out?” Dustin says, muffled around his straw. 

“I haven’t picked it up yet,” Eddie admits. 

Dustin groans, then launches into a full comparison of the last version and this new edition. Which brings Mike and Will into the conversation, too, and soon they’re all debating about the merits of all of the editions, which one is superior and the best in both the standard and advanced games. 

He’s so lost in the topic that he nearly misses Robin handing Steve her pickle. 

Eddie’s got a mouthful, chewing faster so he can correct her mistake because Steve doesn’t like pickles. He doesn’t like a lot of things, he’s almost always handing Eddie something at every meal, whether it's olives or pickles or green skittles. 

But then Steve stops him in his tracks and takes the biggest bite out of the pickle. 

What the fuck is this?

Eddie turns away from the nerd talk to lean forward, mouth finally free to talk. “What was that?” 

Steve raises an eyebrow and puts the pickle down on his plate, hanging off the edge so it doesn’t touch his remaining fries. “What was what?” 

“That!” Eddie points to the pickle.

Robin looks like he’s lost his mind and she may have a point, but the input isn’t necessary. “Is he not allowed to eat? Jesus, Munson.” 

“Not pickles, he’s not,” Eddie says. “You hate pickles.” 

Steve’s cheeks go pink as he shakes his head, fringe bouncing on his forehead. He’s bashful when he meets Eddie’s eye. “No, I don’t,” he says softly. 

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks. It’s like the world has turned upside down (no pun intended) and he’s left marooned on an island of imposters. The fuck is this?

He shrugs and leans forward a little, mirroring Eddie’s posture as they rest their crossed arms on the table and try to get a little closer despite the distance. “I like pickles, Eds. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Eddie says half-heartedly. “Since when?” 

“Always?” Robin interjects. “You guys have been together for almost a decade! How do you not know that he loves pickles?” 

Steve’s face gets even redder. 

Eddie feels like he’s been shot, the ultimate betrayal playing out before him. He clutches at his chest. “Stevie?” he squeaks out. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, reaching a hand across the table. 

“Then why do you…” 

Steve just smiles. “You love them.” 

“That’s it?” 

“That’s all that matters,” Steve says softly. 

“Can you two stop being all sappy for like two seconds? Some of us are trying to eat,” Max says, nearly snarling with disgust (even though her eyes are all gooey so it doesn’t land the way she’s hoping for). 

Steve laughs and takes his hand back. He winks at Eddie from across the table before turning back to Robin to talk in their weird twin language. 

Dammit, he really loves this man. With his stupid winks and silly sacrifices. If that’s not true love, Eddie doesn’t know what is.

--

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddielovemonth #whatislovedailyprompts #ohstars posting challenge

[joels-shitty-puns]

Jingle My Bells

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Reader

Summary: You and Dieter surprise each other with Christmas presents, and then earn your places on the naughty list.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!! (MDNI). Smut. P in V sex (protected). 69 (oral m and f). Face sitting. Kissing. Cussing. Terribly dirty holiday puns. Food mentions. Descriptions of genitals and arousal. Mentions of Christmas, but not religion.

Other: Reader is AFAB, but few descriptions otherwise. Established relationship. Celebrating Christmas.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, Dieter was stirring, ready to tear off your blouse…

“Dieter! For fuck’s sake. Let me just finish these cookies for tomorrow and you can have my undivided attention,” you turned your head from the mixing bowl to kiss him. He hummed, practically a whine, as he pinched you on the ass.

“Did you finish decorating the tree?” you asked, trying to give him an activity.

“Yes…” he sucked on your neck.

“Did you use all the glass Christmas balls?”

“Mmmm, baby, I got all the Christmas balls you need right here,” he thrusted his hips against your behind. “They're gonna be blue pretty soon though..”

“Dieter!” You giggled. “Get outta here. Are the lights up?”

“Yes,” he growled, nibbling your ear. “But there's something else that’s up, too.”

“Yes, yes, I get it. You’re horny. But we have things to do before tomorrow.” 

“You're the only thing I wanna do before tomorrow... Everyone else can stay home,” he kissed your shoulder, hands scooping around the cheeks of your ass.

“These will be ready in maybe 30 minutes. Why don't you go watch the Grinch or something?” You kissed his nose.

“Well I do love that green curmudgeon and his heart. But I've got something else growing 3x its normal size,” he winked. 

“DIETER!!! Don't ruin the Grinch for me. Now keep it up and I won't give you any attention later. You'll have to take matters into your own hands.”

He gave a dramatic gasp. “You wouldn't! Don't you wanna have sex with me?” He asked, similar to the way he asked to have sex not long after first meeting each other. Along with everyone else in the vicinity…

“Yes, I do. But I have. To get. This dooooone,” you grumbled, punctuating each part of your sentence. “Here. Lick the beater. That'll make you happy.”

“Mmmm I do love cookie dough… but the only thing I wanna lick right now is-”

“DIETER!!!” You laughed.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, making eye contact with you as he ran his tongue slowly up one of the metal lines of the beater, swirling it at the top where they meet. Your eyes drift to his lips. That tongue. The magic in which he knows how to use it. You sigh, deep in the memories of prior rendezvous. He smirks, deeming his beater-licking seduction as successful.

“Maybe after you finish baking, we can eat those cookies while you milk me,” he winked, scurrying out of the kitchen.

You shake your head, loading up a pan with cookie dough.

You were just finishing cleaning the dishes while the cookies baked, wondering where Dieter ended up. It was too quiet.

Walking into the living room, you found him, his usual green robe over his body, surrounding his shirtless belly and a pair of red plaid boxers. A Santa hat was slung haphazardly over his mess of curly hair.

You could see him fiddling with something above the fireplace and you walked over to see what he was doing. “Really, babe?” You laughed, noticing that he had arranged the block letters of “let it snow” to say “le tits now.” 

“You're such a child, D,” you giggled and kissed him, tasting the chocolate from the cookie dough on his lips.

“Come on, that meme is hilarious, and you should have expected I'd do this when you bought these,” he smirked.

“Yeah, yeah..” you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him deeper. He licked the inside of your mouth, making you moan into the kiss. Kissing down your neck, he squeezed your breast with one of his hands, letting his thumb play with your nipple through your shirt. “Dieter…” you whined breathlessly, “I'm still waiting on the cookies.” 

He groaned. “Fuck the cookies… I just want you.” He massaged your breast again, nipping at your chin. “Let me dick your halls,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “How many of these dirty Christmas jokes do you have? Did you buy a joke book or something?”

“These are alllll me, baby.” He smacked your ass. “And I'm just getting started.”

The oven beeped, interrupting your make-out session. “FINALLY!!!” Dieter yelled, throwing back his head. 

He followed you into the kitchen and stood by as you pulled the trays out of the oven. Grabby hands reached for a cookie. “Careful, it's hot,” you warned.

“Mmmm, not as hot as you,” he bit into a cookie, chewing and huffing with his mouth open, trying to not burn his mouth.

As you scooped the last cookie onto the cooling tray, he grabbed your hand and threw the spatula on the counter. “Finally! I've been waiting all night… I have a surprise for you.”

“Do you!? Well it just so happens I have one for you as well,” you winked.

The two of you walked to your respective hiding spots before ducking away to separate bathrooms. Walking out in your red satin robe, you sat on the bed as he came out in his usual green robe, completely tied and wrapped around his body.

“Well…” he gave a come hither motion with his fingers. “Unwrap your gift, baby.”

Standing up and walking over to him, you began to untie his robe, him doing the same to yours.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” you gasped.

Dieter was laughing, the biggest grin on his face. Apparently the two of you had the same idea.

Under your satin robe, you wore a set of lingerie, Christmas themed. The bottoms had a mistletoe over the crotch, and on each nipple, a mistletoe dangled as well.

Under Dieter's robe, he wore basically just a string around his waist, with mistletoe dangling at the belt above his dick.

“Well… I guess we think alike,” you laughed, walking towards him to stroke below his mistletoe.

“You know what the rules of mistletoe are, baby..” he kissed your neck. “We can't have you ending up on the naughty list. You might end up with something rock hard in your stockings.”

“Oh don't worry. You know I'm a good girl,” you ran your palm over his cheek, still stroking his cock, now fully hard. “Let me suck your candy cane,” you ran your tongue across his lip. “Besides, according to mistletoe tradition, you've got some kissing to do too, baby,” you purred.

“Oh I intend to. Santa won't be the only one coming tonight,” he nibbled your ear, fingers swiping through your folds to gather some of your arousal before rubbing circles over your clit.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the bed and having him lay on his back at the head of the bed. “69 me, baby” Dieter groaned, pulling you by your waist towards his face. “Gonna pay a visit to little saint dick?” he asked as you arranged your body to hover over him, mouth towards his cock.

“Nothing about you is little, D,” you cooed, licking him from base to tip and swirling around his slit. His hips jerked as he pulled you down over his mouth. “Sit on my face. I need to taste you better,” he pleaded.

Giving a wiggle in front of his line of sight, you sat down fully, resulting in a moan from you both, and a fresh drop of arousal directly to his lips.

“Fuuuuck, Dieter, that's so good,” you moaned, dick in your mouth as he swirled his tongue around your clit, occasionally pumping two fingers in your hole. You were getting close. Leaning in to ride his face, he pulled you down, mumbling under your cunt. “Yeah baby, ride me. Ride my face. Ride it like a sleigh,” his hips thrust, causing you to drool over his cock, mixing with a pool of precum on his balls.

“Dieter, I'm gonna-” the grinding of your hips was getting more and more sloppy.

“Come for me, baby. Come on my face.” He angled his fingers a little bit more, hitting that spot that drove you absolutely wild.

“FUCK, fuckfuckfuck, Dieter!!!!” He kept thrusting his fingers, licking your clit and sucking, occasionally removing his fingers to use his tongue. You came with a shudder, squirting on his face and losing all control as he guided your hips with his arms, still using his tongue to work you through it. “Fuck, baby, that was so good.”

You stopped grinding and crawled off his face, him quickly turning you around and kissing your lips.

You could taste yourself in his mouth. You both pulled away breathlessly. “Fuck. That was so fucking hot. You taste amazing.” He grabbed your ass cheeks, spreading them ever so slightly with a squeeze, letting the cool air graze your hole, causing you to whimper.

“Need you inside me,” you kissed him, desperate for more.

He pulled you into his lap, the head of his cock resting against your clit, causing you to hiss and unintentionally jerk your hips forward, resulting in a moan from him.

“Condom?” You ask, pointing to the night stand.

“You don't want me to fill you up? Have some cookies and milf next year?” He smirked, cocky, his tongue poking in the side of his mouth. “Maybe let it snow on your tits?” he asked, giving your breasts a squeeze and angling his head down to suck on each nipple.

“No, D,” you laughed. “Tonight I want my present wrapped.”

He laughed, rolling on the condom before gesturing to his festive penis. “Where on earth did you find a green and red one?” you laughed.

“Never underestimate my sexual prowess, baby,” he flipped you over so that he was on top.

“I wouldn't dare,” you kissed, sucking his lip and spreading your legs as he slid into you. At the feeling of him bottoming out against you, you both sighed, him giving you a second to fully adjust before he began to thrust. In and out. In. And out.

You scratched his back as he pulled your thighs up higher, hitting a deeper angle inside of you. “Treat me like your little ho, ho, ho,” you moan, nipping at his ear.

“Fuck,” he groans, panting. “You're so fucking sexy baby. Taking me so well. Fuck, just like that. Right there.” He thrust. In, out, in, out. “Fuck, squeezing me so nicely. I'm gonna cum, baby. Give me one more.”

He angled his cock towards your g-spot once again, hitting it over, and over, and over again. Your stomach was tightening and you could feel yourself getting closer, the coil ready to snap. “Come on, baby, I know you're almost there. Cum for me.” He thrust harder, hitting that spot again and reached between you to draw quick circles around your clit with the rhythm of his cock. 

“There you go,” he pulled you closer, “just like that. Let it all go.” You shook, liquid pooling from your cunt, spent and feeling so, so good and warm. With a few more shaky strokes, he thrust hard into you and you felt him twitching inside as he filled the condom up. Both of you coming down from your highs, he collapsed on top of you, kissing your neck, your jaw, and your ear, before meeting your lips in a frenzy.

“Horny Holidays, baby.”

“Happy hornydays, Dieter,” you laughed.

“We need some post-sex cookies,” he growled, rolling you over above him only to smack your ass, before rolling back on top and climbing out of bed, not bothering to get dressed. You watched his cock swing and his butt jiggle as he scampered to the kitchen, coming back with a heaping plate full of cookies.

“D, that's practically all the cookies,” you laughed, taking one off the plate.

“Guess we'll have to make some more.” He winked, taking a bite. “I wouldn't mind repeating what followed, either. I'd love to really stuff your stocking,” he added with a grin.

“You're insatiable!” You smacked his arm.

“Only for my Santa baby,” he kissed, pulling you to sit on his lap while you indulged in treats.

“I love you Dieter,” you ran your hands through his curls.

“I love you too, babe,” he pulled you closer to punctuate the statement with a deep kiss, both of you sighing and pulling away to eat more cookies until you eventually both dozed off.

The end! Happy holidays 😂 let me know what you think :) reblogs are apprectiated

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #a! wrote a fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x afab!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fic #the bubble #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #dieter x reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x female reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x AFAB!reader

[reptilian-angel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Normal P.O.V.

When Blitzø woke up, he was automatically confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fudge.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Says who?” He asked.

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

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

“What’s what?”

“Whatcha just said – Know what it means?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They do. Sometimes."

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

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

Fuck him twice.

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

And the tallest, Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked at her. “The ‘bad’ word?”

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

Blitzø watched them quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The owl blinked. “What ‘o’?”

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

“Oh dear, hangover not quite remedied yet?”

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

The owl blinked again. “I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not bad thinking, Blitzø had to admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A smile filled with nothing but understanding and warmth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . Probably just being a Moxxie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stuck the fork in his mouth -

And his mind was BLOWN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blitzø internally growled. What an ASS.

. . . A pretty ass, but still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stolas blinked. “Uhm, ‘M&M’?”

Via blinked too. “Like the candy?”

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

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

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

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

“. . . . Alright then.”

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

Small blessings.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. That was twist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, that’s a pity.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Meaning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you’re just grasping, dear.”

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

“Mister Blitzø.”

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

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

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

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

“Mister Blitzø -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bosses sucked that bad, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just let me fuckin’ pay you.”

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

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

“And you are an equally stubborn spendthrift.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not without dinner, if you please.”

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

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

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

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

“Or you being a dickhead.”

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

Oh, this smug bitch.

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

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

If anything, Blitzø felt even more tired.

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

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

“I think we have perfectly established that.”

“So we got a problem.”

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

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

“So I’ve gathered.”

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

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

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

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

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

“All the same, you needn’t pay me.”

And just like that it was gone.

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say what now?”

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

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

Stolas nodded. “Very much so.”

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

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

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

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

Blitzø grunted. “Asshats.”

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

“Fuckin’ asshats.”

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

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

“Of course.”

“Bullshit.”

“Good gracious, and you call me stubborn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It sucked balls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fizz?

He was never wanted.

He was never missed.

He was never asked to come back.

Not for a visit.

Not for a drink.

Never just to hang and shoot the shit.

He was always tossed away as soon as necessary.

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

Forgotten.

Dead for all those concerned.

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

No one ever missed him.

No one ever wanted him back.

Nobody.

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

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

He halfway expected to be asked to repeat himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck him if he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blitzø gave a chuffing laugh at that.

Well, fuck.

What was he supposed to do with that?

What could he do with that?

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

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

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

. . . . Right.

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

Stolas blinked at him like the owl he was.

Heh. Cute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before everything suddenly wasn’t.

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

Damn, this bird was so cute it was unfair.

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

This couldn’t actually work, could it?

. . . Could it?

. . . . . . Maybe. Just maybe.

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

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

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

“I’d be happy to, darling.”

To be continued . . .

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

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

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

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

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

#helluva boss #stolitz #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva boss fanfic #my fanfic #cafe' au #Based on Pink Lomito's original AU art #Cooking #Kid Octavia #Blitz & Via Bonding #Mega Omelet #Included recipe #Chef! Stolas #SOME angst #Hangovers and remedies #blitzø #blitzo #blitz helluva boss #stolas goetia #stolas #prince stolas #stolas helluva boss #octavia #octavia goetia #octavia helluva boss

[beanghostprincess]

I just saw a post about Buggy and Galdino being a rare pair despite the chemistry and had the wildest concept ever to formulate in my teeny lil peanut brain.

Buggy and Shanks? Yeah, it's complicated, but the answer to if they're together is neither yes nor no, just dreamy sighs (Shanks) and frantically cursing, blushing and rage (Buggy)

Buggy and Gaimon? Long distance situationship built on mutual respect, growing adoration, relatively chaste, all things considered.

Buggy and Galdino became an incidental ship during the Impel Down fiasco. They both would have eagerly and happily sold one another out for a corn chip, but eventually they build a really solid foundation and Buggy falls first buy Gal falls harder. Alvida is sipping her margarita, watching them sass-flirt each other and making disgusting goo-goo eyes. She's debating locking them in a room for them to either get right with their hearts or at the very least, give her a break.

Cross Guild happens, and Buggy is hurt by Galdino flocking back to Crocodile, yeah, but somehow he isn't surprised (self fulfilling destruction his beloved).

Hawkeye is the first to really look at Buggy - he's had to listen to Shanks wax poetic so often that he is still struggling to reconcile the Buggy-As-Described-By-Shanks with this Buggy before him. The math isn't mathing and he's wondering WHY. In doing so, he eventually starts clocking all these little things - Buggy dropping random, highly insightful and sharp comments that would solve a problem at hand succinctly and easily. Buggy is cautious, perhaps in some ways too much so, but he is also alarmingly good at resolving conflicts without... well, conflict. He's capable of manipulation tactics that most would find impossible without conquerors. Conquerors Haki which the clown most definitely does not have. He may... be understanding of where Shanks is coming from.

Crocodile and Daz, meanwhile, are slower to come around. Daz is stoic, uninterested, he does not care. Crocodile becomes... tolerant of Buggy, finding the idiot to be less of a nuisance than originally accounted for. Okay. Sure. Whatever. Then the boss man Notices some things. Galdino specifically. Mr 3 has always been rather mouthy, though much less to him than to his peers. But something about the ways Gal is interacting with the others speaks of more than idle proximity and general surliness. There's familiarity, a spark there, a thoughtlessness to the ways Galdino turns his back to them, trusting of all things. Then he catches a glimpse of Galdino and Buggy after dark, both tired and closer than most would be in that situation, curled together on a couch while Gal tries to convince Buggy to eat, and "no, baby blue, coffee does not count as food - no, I don't care about how many calories it has, you need something not-liquid, okay, damn-"

Buggy is... quiet when he's tired, Crocodile realizes. He takes away many thoughts and realization from viewing that interaction, but that is something that sticks out to him. The clown is so emotive and bombastic, pun unintended, but he... can be quiet.

He's... pretty, when he's quiet.

He swears he will take that thought to his grave.

Upon realizing though, suddenly it's like either the subtle PDA has skyrocketed or he's just hyperaware of it for what it is now. He sees the way Galdino's hand lingers on Buggy's shoulder; the way Buggy fiddles with his fingers before a wax-formed fidget toy is shuffled into his hands. He sees the smiles Gal shoot to Buggy, the quick flashes the clown shoots back in turn; he sees so much, and it's... not bad? But certainly not good.

Then he sees Mihawk slowly falling into the orbit as well. What? No, seriously, what the fuck?? Of all things, that is what sets his nerves on EDGE.

Daz, attuned to his boss as he always is, always will be, notices. He then turns to the source. Romance is not his thing, he is unapologetic about that. It serves no purpose and he himself is certain he is incapable of such feelings. He can identify it in others, obviously, a skill which he has honed in order to identify threats, allegiances, etc. He can see the veritable solar system this clown has amassed. He too can see how his employer is ferociously resisting the pull of it himself.

Daz doesn't get it, not really.

Daz does however get that the clown can, in fact, be rather cute and funny and witty. He also smells like vanilla, lavender, and the afterimage of the circus he so seems to adore. It shouldn't work. It works.

A blade man and an uncuttable man - truly the things they could get up to would be entertaining at the very least.

Crocodile and Mihawk, upon realizing DAZ HIT THAT BEFORE EITHER OF THEM (Croc's in denial still and Mihawk was going for the wine and dine gentlemanly thing with a strict schedule of expectation to allude to on his end for Optimal Performance), are absolutely FLABBERGASTED. Poor Galdino just has to awkwardly debate between patting their shoulders and trembling at the idea of initiating contact with two upset powerhouses. He settles for awkwardly going, "he... does this, sometimes? But he's insatiable, so really you'd be doing all of us a favor if you wanted to do anything too.... maybe.... pleasedon'tkillme-"

Just. Silly awkward hypersexual clown with his polycule having to trade off and also the sillies of Buggy attracting the most emotionally constipated men in the fucking Seas, nobody is straight or neurotypical, it should NOT work out and yet by the power of carnivals, balloon animals and the audacity of a koala on every drug imaginable, they make it work.

The government is having twelve attacks of a variety of natures with every tip about the clown having a new beau. "is he collecting them??? Making a harem armada????? How does that even work, there's so many - wait I don't wanna know-"

I think this might be the best thing I've ever read because ohmygod- Buggy just pulls literally every possible man. Can you even imagine the gossip nights he has with Alvida? That girl is so done with him and yet they still do these things together because he's the most fun around. Alvida doesn't even know how the hell he does these things. He doesn't even know either. You forgot to mention that he might pull literally everyone but he's the biggest failguy ever and if you ask him about his flirting tactics he won't know what to say.

And I agree completely tbh Buggy and Gal should be more of a popular ship. Despite all the scenes they have together I'm still amazed that they don't have many shippers (me included, I mean, you literally just opened my eyes right now).

This clown has the biggest and some-fucking-how most stable polycule in all seas. Everyone just keeps falling for him when they hated his guts at first and he doesn't even realize until they directly tell him because he just assumes everybody wants to kill him or use him or whatever- But suddenly he has a whole harem and he can't even believe it. You know who can't believe it? Alvida. Biggest Buggy supporter but also the biggest Buggy hater. MLM/WLW solidarity but she won't hesitate to also talk shit about him. How beautiful.

I think the marines have a bet going on tbh. Like a Bingo for Buggy's polycule. They just keep asking themselves who's gonna be next. That's what they do on their breaks.

#this is extremely hilarious but also #i absolutely love giving buggy partners everywhere #it's SO good #i just think he deserves it as a little treat for going through so much #buggy the clown #galdino one piece #cross guild #not tagging everybody here i'm too sleepy for this #one piece

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Martyn’s rant about homophobia in chat, transcript under the cut

Martyn: big big thank you to my mods tonight, for, um, keeping chat clear. Anybody who's been coming in this evening, if they're still lurking or whatever else, you've been coming in and being like, "ugh blah blah blah—“ just saying like, random homophobic shit, you're a fucking loser. Like, honest to god, like...(laughs) and I say that, sincerely. Like, you need that bluntness, and that harshness to give you a wakeup call, but, you are lacking compassion, currently. You are lacking compassion and understanding and love. You are wasting your finite moments on this planet by being horrible. And like, as much as I, like, wanna say that you're awful, I do sympathize that people are products of their environments for the most part, but you can change, and you should change. 

So, if you can—you don't even have to take time to like, read, or learn, or do any of that sort of stuff in relation to these topics. Just. Don't say anything. You know what I mean? Like, you just don't need to go and spoute horribleness. Nobody's out to get you, nobody's out to convert you, nobody's out to do x, y, and z, people just wanna love who they love, and they wanna live their lives, and, they wanna enjoy the same minecraft event that you do. They wanna go and see the same films as you do, they wanna watch sports, they wanna cook food, they wanna do paintings, all of it, like. It’s literally what they like to do, behind closed doors or even out in public, it genuinely shouldn't concern you. 

Like, it shouldn't take some kind of world shaking or near death experience for you to have this epiphany, thats all I'm trying to say, like. You really need to understand that—you know, you could be doing something so much more productive. You know what, even if you aren't like, a mega sweat, instead of spending time coming into someone's live stream chat and saying x, y, z, why don't you go get good at the game?

Why don't you go get good at something, like, develop a skill, or a talent, or...you know what I mean? If you wanna be heard, you wanna be seen, and whatever else, if you're doing it purely for attention, make people pay attention, but for the right reasons. That's my take on it. It's just not necessary, it really isn't. So...there you go.

Yeah, develop a personality. At the moment you are genuinely reducing yourself—unfairly so!—to being just a toxic soundboard, that's not saying anything different to all of the other people that are...devoid of their unique traits and personality. You don't want your mark on this earth to be just like other people. Be unique, but for good reasons. Be unique by contributing something. Something that will last not even to the whole world--not everybody has to remember you, but make sure that the people that are around you remember you for really lovely reasons! Really good reasons. That's all you can do.

So...there you go. "You can be funny without being discrimintory," Hundred percent, yeah. Hundred percent you can. I'm just funny with doing stupid puns and breaking the fourth wall every so often. That's my niche.

#inthelittlewood #Mcc #martyn #video

[mlmxreader]

The Things We’ll Miss | John Price x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Hi!  I'm requesting the "If I give you half my cigarette, will you shut up?" prompt for Captain Price? Price lets the reader take a hit of one of his cigars. Thank you and I love reading your pieces!

summary: you and Price get a chance to sit down and be with one another while you wait to be shipped out 

tws: smoking, swearing

‘Theatre Of Blood’ was playing on the television as Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Perveen, Pahwa, Cohen and Bashar crowded around it while they struggled to sit comfortably on the harsh tiled flooring; blankets around their shoulders as bowls and plates of snack foods and cans of everything from San Miguel to Red Bull were dotted between them all. In three days, you were all expected to be shipped off to some territory far away, a mutual effort between task force one four one and the RAF was far from a common occurrence, but whenever it was needed, your squadron would always hunker down with them while at base, as not only did it boost morale and not only did it allow for the bond between the task force and the squadron to strengthen, but it also gave you an excuse to be with your boyfriend for a while. It had been going on for so long now that it felt less like a way to make things easier and less of a way to keep high command off of your backs, and more like a tradition; more like sitting around and staying with family for someone’s birthday party, more like spending time with brothers and cousins and nephews and uncles. You looked upon the lads with great fondness for a moment, up until Price beckoned you to sit with him. 

He had been sat towards the back of the room, sitting at an old oak table with old wooden chairs, a glass ashtray resting beside a cup of black coffee; he smiled when you decided to sit on his lap, resting against him as you lit up a cigarette and hummed quietly. He didn’t need to say anything, putting an arm around you as he fiddled to get his phone out of his pocket; immediately checking the score from Liverpool’s latest match. He preferred it when it was like this anyway, when things were quiet except the playful bickering between the joint forces, no need to worry about gunfire and anti-aircraft weapons; he could relax properly, he could actually enjoy the time that he was spending with you and the others - not quite one big happy family, but almost certainly something close to it without a doubt. You tugged the ashtray a little closer, and used it as an excuse to steal a swig from his drink before ashing your cigarette. Price couldn’t help but to smile, dipping his hand under your shirt so that he could feel your skin against his own, so that he could be reminded that you were really right there with him, that for the next few days, you could actually be together without a single issue or a single worry or anything of the sort. 

“I’m gonna miss this,” he admitted quietly, taking your cigarette and stealing a drag as he shook his head. “All us lot, sat here an’ watching shit telly.”

You nodded in agreement, taking another quick look at the boys all sprawled out on the floor, bickering and making the absolute worst puns and jokes as they watched the film; but then you felt Price’s thumb gently graze your skin, and you were reminded of what you were going to really miss when you were finally shipped out. “Won’t lie, I’m gonna miss sitting with you more than anything else, John.”

Price hummed, resting his chin on your shoulder as he cleared his throat, watching as you stubbed your cigarette out in the ashtray and stole another swig of his coffee; it was such a small and stupid thing, but if he was honest, he would miss only ever drinking half a cup. “Now, Flight Lieutenant, don’t think about that - we’ll still see each other when we’re out there, you know that.”

“Yeah, but it won’t be the same,” you pointed out. “It’s never the same when we can hardly fucking hear each other because some stupid cunt has set off an RPG right as we’re sitting down for dinner.”

He didn’t want you to think too much about it, didn’t want you to stress yourself out like you did the last time, so he pulled a cigar from his pocket, and he swallowed thickly before he dared to light it, using the clipper lighter he had bought you ages ago, the one with the Union Jack on it. “If I give you half of my cigar, will you shut up?”

“No,” you chuckled, taking it from him and stealing a few drags before you passed it back. “Ta.”

“Only half, mind,” Price warned you softly. “I paid good money for these, you can’t nick the whole lot.”

“Now, John,” you whined playfully. “Do you think so little of me?”

“Yes, Flight Lieutenant,” he grinned, daring to gently kiss your neck. “I think that little of you, because I know what you’re like… you’re a crafty bugger when you know you can get away with it.”

You scoffed, pretending to be offended as you moved so that you were straddling his waist, your hands on his chest as he kept his arm firmly around you, sniffling as he cleared his throat; he leaned back a little, the light catching his facial hair and bringing out the slowly increasing grey speckles that hid amongst the dark brown. He never looked so fucking handsome as he did in that moment. “Then maybe you shouldn’t let me get away with it all the time.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Price hummed, chewing at the inside of his lip for a moment. “Maybe I oughta start making sure that you don’t get to be so fuckin’ crafty all the time, eh?”

“I’d like that,” you told him, a certain glint in your eye and a teasing tone to your voice that made him clench his jaw as he held the cigar for you, waiting for you to take it and to steal another part of your share. “Thank you, Captain.”

He was glad that you were no longer thinking of the things that you would miss, that you were no longer thinking of the worst case scenarios and that you weren’t worrying about things far beyond your control; he was glad that he could take your mind off of those things, even just for a little while.

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don’t wanna reblog, then you’ll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM.

#mlem writes #john price x reader #john price x you #john price imagine #john price fic #john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain price x y/n #captain price imagine #captain price fic #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price imagine #captain john price fic #captain john price #cod price #price cod #call of duty price #price call of duty #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod imagine #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod fic #cod mw x reader #cod mw2 x reader

[ohanny]

a very self-indulgent omega kim going into heat after being kidnapped kentakim hc because why not

so the basic premise is kenta and kim connected before the unfortunate basement throwing incident at tony's house. like kenta had to deal with red racing and kim was a flirt. it wasn't anything serious but it had the potential to be. there was always something between them but kenta kept drawing back and kim thought they’d have all the time in the world.

but then the kimnapping happens.

and kim is MEGA pissed, okay? kenta visits him in his dungeon room of doom all "fuck, i am so sorry, i warned you, i told you to stay away" and kim is like "oh fuck off" and kenta is all kicked puppy swearing he will help get kim out. and he does. he gets kim out of there but kim is still very much "bitch grow a fucking spine if you want to talk to me ever again. you're a coward. you know what you're doing is wrong and you are not doing enough. be better."

kim is shipped to alans and moves in and he just... keeps feeling like shit. he can't explain it until he realizes he's going into heat and fuck if it isn't a whole ass mess - pun intended - because he hasn't had one in a medically inadvisable time and he thought he was still in the clear, swallowing a fistful of suppressants the first chance he got after his kimnapping.

and it hurts. the entire pack is freaking out because a) kim is an omega???? and b) yeah nah that is not a normal heat. kim is feverish and doubled over in pain and yes he smells sickly sweet but emphasis on sickly. it's the sweetness of rotting fruit and not like oh yeah, slick and slide, and people are worried.

alan: someone needs to do something

sonic: i literally offered to knot him

alan: and?

sonic: he threw a glass at me.

north and jeff build him a nest like see, pack is here, but kim keeps hissing at them and saying it's all wrong and after a long weekend they are all this close to calling an ambulance and having him shipped into a heat clinic against his will.

but then there is a knock on the door.

it's kenta, looking agitated and stressed as fuck and alan goes full "oh hell no, not the time" but kenta physically forces his way through the door, nostrils flaring like a blood hound, and everyone is like "uh oh spaghettios" and babe is squaring up like bitch, he is ready to fight

and then kim stumbles down the stairs looking like absolute death and kenta might elbow someone in the face to break free and before anyone can interrupt, kim collapses against kenta and buries his face in kenta's throat with a whine and he's all "i really tried but i need -" and kenta's all "it's okay, you're okay. and you were right. about me. about everything" and he will just full on garfield scoop kim up.

the pack stands there like "um excuse me, what the fuck?" and kenta pretends this is all fine and normal and asks where the bathroom is and if someone could prepare them some food. babe is still ready to deck the bastard because fuck him but then his nose scrunches because oh. okay. that's less rotting fruit and more like burnt sugar all of a sudden and alan is like "OOOOOKKKAAAAAAY" and sonic's like "bathroom's upstairs, third door on the right, i'll make you a fruit bowl?"

north: dude. that's kenta.

sonic: you wanna try pry kim off of him?

north: good point.

and then north smiles and says “you know what kenta, i'll show you where everything is” except when north gets close to them, kim peeks out of kentas neck and bares his teeth at north because excuse me, his alpha, how dare you.

kenta carries kim upstairs to first draw him a cold bath to get his fever down and makes him drink a glass of water and in the midst of it kim has a moment of clarity.

kim: fuck. i didn't meant to call you. you can go.

kenta: you really think i could leave you alone like this?

kim: but what about -

kenta: he doesn't know where i am. i’ll figure it out after.

kim knows he should fight this but he has no energy to do so anymore. he’s in pain and exhausted and can't do this alone and having kenta here, touching him, is such a relief. it’s much easier to just give in. kim drifts in a pleasant haze as kenta washes the smell of sickness away, towels him off and bundles him into a bathrobe to carry to his nest.

when sonic brings over his fruit bowl, kim is splayed out on the sheets, flushed and staring at kenta with these dazed eyes, already pretty far gone. it's a bit awkward as another alpha but he hands over the fruit and backs away. he lingers in the doorway long enough to see kenta very gently coax kim to eat something from his fingers before quietly closing the door and going back downstairs. and that's how sonic becomes the number one kenta advocate because he's a sucker for a good love story and obviously this is something that's been going on for a while and it would be criminal to separate them now.

he tells the rest of the pack that everything’s going well and they need to make a plan because kenta sure as shit will need them to have one ready by the time kim and him re-emerge.

#pit babe the series #kentakim #kimkenta

[desceros]

Mikey and reader baking Christmas cookies together and turtle of choice watches feeling all soft and warm seeing their significant other being close with their family

Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, Leo watches you with what he knows has to be just the dumbest, sappiest face in the world.

"Oh, god," you say, looking down at your clothes where you're covered in flour. Stupidly, you look up at Mikey, who does a double-take when he sees you and starts dying of laughter, hands on his knees and bent in half. "Mikey! I have a date later!"

"Well, at least Leo can thank you for the, uh, flour," Mikey says, making you groan and roll your eyes.

"The lamest pun I've ever heard. Literally. Zero out of ten. And I'm dating Leonardo."

Hell yeah, you are, he thinks fondly, lips quirked into an adoring smile as he watches you pluck your sweater away from your torso with despair. You're so fucking cute, and the pout you send Mikey when he starts giggling again has his stomach twisting with delight.

He's known, always, that you were special. But this—seeing you with his little brother, seeing you give up looking perfect and roll your sleeves up to help him mix the cookie icing, seeing you burst out laughing when the mixer explodes a bit and this time Mikey's the one who gets covered in confectionery...

God. He loves you. He loves you.

He's said it before. Casually, after a quick kiss, before hanging up the phone, when you giggle into his mouth as a greeting. But this—this immense, impossible thing swelling inside of his chest as he watches you grab a handful of cookie dough and shape it into the ugliest lump he's ever seen in his entire life, even with Mikey's careful instructions over your shoulder—is so, so much. He wonders, a little, how he's still able to breathe when his heart has surely taken all the room in his chest for how full it feels.

...And then, with his eyes slowly drifting to your bare left hand, watching you smear some food coloring onto Mikey's shell with a snorting laugh, he makes a mental note and smiles.

#OKAY LAST ONE #thank you everyone this was v helpful omg #ask tag #fragment tag #leonardo/reader