#poly!fizzmodeus

It wasn't snooping if you were just organizing it, right? That was helpful. That was being a good houseguest.

You started sorting—bills in one pile, what looked like business correspondence in another, personal letters in a third. There was a surprising amount of fan mail addressed to Fizz, which you set aside carefully. Some of the envelopes had lipstick marks on them, some of them had other werid marks on them, which you tried very hard not to think about.

Once the mail was organized, you looked around the kitchen and lounge. Both spaces were already pretty clean—Ozzie had staff who maintained the palace—but there were small things. Dishes in the sink from breakfast. A coffee mug Fizz had left on the side table. Some of Precious's toys scattered across the floor.

Small things you could handle.

You washed the dishes, dried them, put them away. You gathered up the scattered toys and put them in the designated basket. You managed to wipe down the counters, with only minimal difficulties, straightened the couch cushions, and even attempted to organize the throw pillows in a way that looked intentional rather than chaotic.

It felt good to be useful. To contribute something, even if it was small. Ozzie and Fizz had been so kind to you, letting you stay here, taking you on trips, treating you like... like you mattered. The least you could do was help around the house.

You were just finishing up, feeling accomplished and maybe a little bit proud of yourself, when you noticed a newspaper on the coffee table that you'd somehow missed during your cleaning spree.

Lust Ring News the header proclaimed in bold, flashy letters.

Tabloids were trash, everyone knew that. But curiosity won out, and you picked it up, flipping through the pages.

The headline screamed across the third page in letters that seemed designed to be as sensational as possible:

"ASMODEUS'S NEWEST PLAYTHING: SIN OF LUST SEEN WITH MYSTERY DEMON IN WRATH!"

Below it were photos. Several of them. You and Ozzie at the restaurant, sitting across from each other. You on his shoulder at the carnival, your face partially visible under your red hood. Ozzie holding out his hand to you, the gesture looking far more intimate in freeze-frame than it had been in the moment.

Your hands started shaking as you read the article.

"Hell's hottest Sin was spotted with what witnesses are calling his latest toy in the Wrath, and let us tell you—things got FILTHY! The mysterious hooded woman—whose species remains unknown but whose purpose is VERY clear—was seen dining with Asmodeus at a local establishment before the pair took their debauchery to a family carnival. Yes, you read that right. A FAMILY carnival.

Because nothing says 'wholesome family fun' like the embodiment of Lust publicly pawing at his newest conquest, am I right?

Who is this mystery demon who's currently warming the Sin of Lust's bed? Witnesses describe them as 'small,' 'desperate for attention,' and 'literally crawling all over him.' The pair were seen engaging in what can only be described as public foreplay, with the hooded figure allowing Asmodeus to manhandle them in full view of children and families.

'It was disgusting,' said one anonymous source. 'They had no shame. The figure was sitting on his shoulder like some kind of trained pet, and Asmodeus couldn't keep his hands off them. There were CHILDREN present!'

So what species is this mystery figure ? Speculation is running wild. Some say succubus, others claim it's a shape-shifter who's taken on a form designed to appeal to the Sin's specific tastes. A few sources suggest it might be something more exotic—perhaps a crossbreed? Whatever they are, they're clearly willing to debase themselves publicly for a taste of power.

And speaking of debasement, sources close to the Sin report that this isn't the first time the hooded figure has been seen at Asmodeus's palace. 'A new figure has been seen living there for months,' claims our insider. 'Probably co-habitating with Asmodeus and the hottest Jester in hell'

Is this just another disposable toy for Hell's sluttiest Sin? Or has this mystery demon found a way to sink their claws in deeper? One thing's for certain—whoever they are, they're clearly willing to do ANYTHING to stay in Asmodeus's good graces. And we do mean anything.

When reached for comment, representatives for Asmodeus told us to—and we quote—'go fuck ourselves with a cactus.' How charming! Nothing says 'innocent outing' like that level of hostility, right?

Stay tuned, dear readers. We'll be keeping a very close eye on this developing story. And we're taking bets on how long this one lasts before Asmodeus gets bored and tosses them back to whatever gutter they crawled out of!"

The newspaper fell from your numb fingers.

They said you where desperate. A-A toy.

That you were debasing yourself. That you were willing to do "anything."

Your vision blurred with tears as you grabbed the paper again, looking at the photos with fresh horror. The one of you at the restaurant—the caption read "Mystery slut begs for attention." The one on Ozzie's shoulder—"Public display of ownership." The shot of you laughing during the balloon making—"New Toy performs for her master."

Every innocent moment, every happy memory from that day, twisted into something vile and crude and wrong.

And the speculation about you using him, about being disposable, about being thrown back to whatever gutter you crawled from—

You felt sick.

They didn't even know you were human. They assumed you were a demon, someone who knew what they were doing, someone who was choosing to debase themselves for power and shelter and—

But you weren't. You would never. Ozzie had been nothing but kind to you, and Fizz too, and the thought that anyone would think you were—that you were trading sex for security—that you'd ever consider interfering with the love Fizz and Ozzie shared.

The tears came harder now, hot and fast and unstoppable.

You'd ruined everything. By being seen with Ozzie, by accepting his kindness, by not thinking about how it would look to others—you'd created this. These disgusting articles that painted you as something dirty and shameful.

And Ozzie—god, Ozzie worked so hard to keep his relationship with Fizz private. You knew that, even if they'd never explicitly said it. You'd seen the way they were careful about public displays of affection, the way Ozzie's public persona was so different from who he was at home.

And now here you were, splashed across the tabloids as his "latest plaything," his "newest conquest," someone so desperate and debased that they'd sleep with someone so clearly in love—ugh, as if—Ozzie would never look at you like that—nir would Fizz, you knew they only had eyes for each other.

Ozzie was in a meeting, and he was absolutely not paying attention.

He should be. This was important—contract negotiations with one of the Lust Ring's major suppliers. But his mind kept wandering, kept drifting back to yesterday. To the Wrath Ring. To you.

The way you'd looked so delighted by everything—the food, the carnival, the families. The way you'd giggled during your ridiculous balloon sword making. The way you'd felt, so warm and trusting, perched on his shoulder.

The way you'd said "that's Fizz's spot" with such unconscious certainty, like the idea of sharing space with him and Fizz was anything other then natural, obvious, right, he and Froggie really had to talk to you ... and soon.

He found himself imagining what it might be like. The three of you, together. Not just coexisting in the same space, but actually together.

Lazy mornings with you tucked between him and Fizz in their massive bed, safe and warm. Your body fitting perfectly against both of them, skin against skin, the way you'd probably make these soft sleepy sounds when you first woke up. Fizz would tease you about being adorable, and you'd blush that pretty pink color and Ozzie would have to resist the urge to see what other activities might make you flush like that.

Watching you walk around the palace in the morning, maybe wearing one of Fizz's shirts because everything he owned was obviously far to big. The mental image made heat pool low in his stomach. You'd probably be completely unaware of how appealing you looked, would just smile at them over breakfast like you didn't drive them both crazy.

Taking showers together—he'd have to be so careful with you, so gentle, but the idea of washing your hair, of learning every knot in your body and how to undo it, of hearing what sounds you'd make if he was given the privilege of having his hands slide lower—

He shifted in his seat, trying to focus his attention back on the meeting.

But his mind had other ideas. His factory, where he designed and manufactured toys. He'd never made anything for someone like you before—never had a need to in lust—something for someone human and delicate. It would require careful consideration. Precise measurements. Multiple prototypes, probably, to ensure everything was sized correctly, that nothing would hurt you, that it would only bring pleasure.

He found himself mentally sketching designs. Something smooth, not too large—he'd have to make sure it wouldn't be overwhelming. Maybe something with adjustable settings, variable intensity. Perhaps even something custom-shaped, designed specifically for your body, for the way you'd respond.

The color should be blue. The thought of you using something he'd made, something that color, thinking of him while you—

His face flushed brightly enough that several people in the meeting looked at him with concern.

"Are you alright, Asmodeus?" someone asked.

"Fine," he said, his voice rougher than intended. "Please continue."

But his mind was already spiraling further. Teaching you how to use it. Watching you discover what you liked, what felt good. Maybe he and Fizz would be there, guiding you, showing you, their hands joining yours until you were trembling and gasping and—

He imagined the three of you in bed together properly. Not just sleeping, but actually together. You'd probably be nervous at first, Ozzie knew how overwhelming he could be, they'd take their time. Fizz would make you laugh even in the bedroom, his Froggie could ease your nerves with his humor before things got anywhere near heated. And Ozzie would be careful, so careful, mindful of the size difference, making sure every touch brought you nothing but enthusiastic pleasure.

The sounds you'd make. The way you'd look at them with trust even in such vulnerable moments. How your body would feel against his much larger one, the challenge and the reward of finding positions that worked, that felt good for all of you.

Fizz was more your size—he could take the lead in certain activities while Ozzie watched, touched, participated in other ways. The mental image of the two of you together while Ozzie's hands roamed over both of you, the contrast in sizes, the way you'd both fit against him—

"Asmodeus, your thoughts on the proposed terms?"

Ozzie blinked, pulled abruptly back to reality. He realized his expressions were probably making him look predatory rather than professional right now.

"I—yes. The terms are acceptable. Proceed with the contract."

He had no idea what terms he'd just agreed to. He'd figure it out later.

His mind was already drifting again, coming home to you after long days. You greeting them at the door, maybe on your tiptoes trying to reach up for a kiss. Eventually learning that you didn't have to ask permission, that you could touch him whenever you wanted, however you wanted.

Dates. Real dates, all three of you. Taking you to nice restaurants, Fizzy making you laugh, Ozzie watching you both with possessive satisfaction. Bringing you back home and showing you exactly how much he'd enjoyed watching you both smile all evening.

The factory designs continued to evolve in his mind. Multiple toys, actually. Perhaps a whole collection. Different sizes, different functions. Some for when you were alone, some for when you were together. Remote-controlled options so he or Fizz could tease you even from across the room.

His phone buzzed. A reminder about another meeting in thirty minutes.

Ozzie stood abruptly. "Excuse me. Something urgent has come up."

He needed a cold shower. Or a very long break. Or maybe just to go home and see you, confirm that you were real and not just a fantasy his mind had constructed to mess with both him and Froggie.

But the images lingered. You in his arms. You safe and happy, wanting for nothing.

Soon, maybe. If he was lucky enough. If you wanted them too.

If he could just work up the courage to tell you how he felt.

Fizz was supposed to be rehearsing a new routine.

Instead, he was sprawled in the stage rigging, staring at the stage below him, thinking about you.

Specifically, thinking about you in ways that would definitely make you blush that adorable shade of pink that you turned whenever either he or Ozzie said something even mildly flirtatious.

He couldn't help it. You were so sweet, so completely unaware of the effect you had on both of them. The way you'd looked at him during his performance yesterday, like he'd hung the moon. The way you'd waved so enthusiastically when you spotted him, no self-consciousness, just pure happiness.

And god, the mental image of you on Ozzie's shoulder, small and trusting and theirs—Well, potentially theirs.

The thing was, you were roughly his size. Not exactly—you still had a good few inches on him, and his build was different—but close enough that certain activities wouldn't require the same level of careful calibration that they would with Ozzie.

Fizz let himself imagine it properly. You in his arms, safe and warm between him and Oz, pressed against him with—If he got really lucky maybe even with no clothing between you. Your skin against his—against his scars.

The fantasy stuttered there, caught on an old fear.

His scars were extensive. Covered most of his body, really, hidden under his performer's outfit and his jester makeup. You'd never seen them. Never seen what he really looked like under all the bells and whistles and carefully maintained image.

Would you want him if you did? Would you look at him with soft, sweet affection, or would you flinch away?

He pushed the thought aside. Not helpful. Not now.

Back to the fantasy. You in his arms, and you weren't flinching, weren't pulling away. You were touching him, exploring, your hands mapping the planes of his body with curiosity. Maybe you'd trace the scars, ask about them, and he'd tell you because, like Ozzie one look and he'd never been able to hide anything from you.

And then you'd kiss him—really kiss him, not the innocent pecks he'd imagined before—and your body would be pressed against his, soft and warm and perfect. You'd fit against him so perfectly, your height just right for him to pull you close, to bury his face in your neck, to hear every little sound you made.

The bedroom. His and Ozzie's bedroom, with you in their bed. Learning what made you gasp, what made you arch into his touch, what made you make cute little sounds. He'd be able to reach places Ozzie couldn't as easily, could move with you in ways the size difference would make tricky for Oz, perhaps the two of you could tease Oz ... Fizz let out a raspy chuckle at that.

Not that Ozzie wouldn't be involved in plenty of other ways. Oh satan, no. The best fantasies involved all three of you.

Fizz imagined being inside you while Ozzie's hands roamed over both of you. The Sin's large fingers could reach so many places at once, could touch you both, guide the rhythm, make Fizz forget his own name while he was buried in your heat.

Or maybe you riding him while he lay back and watched you move above him, would you be a bit switchy ? He'd wondered plenty of times but it wasnt exactly dinner conversation, your expression lost in pleasure, while Ozzie praised you both and told you exactly what to do, how to move, how to make it so good—

"Fizz! You alive up there?" one of the stage techs called.

"Yeah! Just contemplating my artistic vision!" Fizz called back, not moving from his position in the rigging.

His artistic vision currently involved significantly less clothing and significantly more of you making sounds he'd never heard but desperately wanted to help cause.

But there was more than just the physical stuff. The soft moments too, the ones that scared him more than anything.

Waking up with you in his arms, your face relaxed in sleep, peaceful and trusting. No makeup between you, no costume, just him. Scars and jagged horns and all the parts of him he usually hid. And you'd wake up and look at him and not see something fucked up. Just see him.

The horns worried him. You probably didn't even know what horns meant to an imp, didn't understand the significance. His were burned off, had been since the accident, and they marked him as damaged in ways that went beyond the physical. Would you care? Would it matter to you?

Or would you just smile at him like you always did, like he was worth something beyond his performance value?

Teaching you things. Not just bedroom things—though definitely those too—but other things. How to juggle, maybe. How to do a backflip. Stupid shit that would make you laugh and make him feel useful for something other than performing.

Inside jokes. The kind that developed over time, over months and years of living together. References only the three of you would understand. A whole language built on shared experiences and private moments.

Coming home after shows to find you waiting. Lazy mornings where you'd trace his skin and ask questions and he'd answer honestly because you made him feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Afternoons where you'd curl up together and do nothing. Evenings where the three of you would tangle together in bed and it wouldn't even be about sex, just about being close, being together.

You, looking at him without his makeup. Seeing his real face, the scarring there too, and not looking away. Touching his cheek, his jaw, telling him he was handsome or pretty or whatever word you'd choose.

You, accepting every part of him. The performer and the Imp. The jokes and the insecurities. The body that was part organic and part mechanical.

"Fizz, seriously, we need to run through the routine!"

"Shit, yeah, sorry I'm coming!" Fizz flipped to his feet, shaking off the daydream.

But it lingered. The hope. The possibility. The terrifying, wonderful idea that maybe you could want him. All of him. Exactly as he was.

You'd tried to stop. You'd tried to pull yourself together, to clean your face, to act normal. But every time you thought you had control, you'd see those photos again in your mind, read those awful words, and the tears would start fresh. You were crying when they came home.

You heard the front door open, heard Fizz's voice calling out cheerfully, "We're home! Did you miss us?"

You wanted to hide. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to not exist so you couldn't cause them any more problems.

But before you could move, they were there. In the lounge. Seeing you curled up on the couch, tear-stained and miserable, the tabloid on the coffee table in front of you.

"Whoa, hey, what's wrong?" Fizz was there instantly, his arms extending to reach you even as he crossed the room. "Cutie, what the fuck happened?"

"I'm sorry," you choked out, and the words came tumbling out in a rush as you wiped at your eyes. "I'm so sorry, I didn't—I didn't think about how it would look, and now there's photos and articles and they think I'm using you, and I ruined everything, and I'm so sorry—"

"Slow down," Ozzie said, his voice gentle as he knelt beside the couch. "What are you talking about?"

You couldn't speak, could only point at the newspaper with a shaking hand.

Ozzie picked it up, his expression darkened with each line he read, and you felt your stomach drop even further. He was angry. Of course he was angry. You'd created this mess, this scandal, this—

"Oh, this is what you're upset about?" Fizz asked, reading over Ozzie's shoulder. "The tabloids? Cutie, the tabloids are trash. Nobody takes them seriously."

"But they—they think I'm—" You couldn't even say it, couldn't voice the awful implications. "And the photos make it look like we were—like I was—"

"Like you were what?" Ozzie asked, setting the paper down and giving you his full attention. "Having a nice day out with me? Because that's what happened."

"But they're saying I'm using you!" The words burst out of you, along with a fresh wave of tears. "That I'm trying to—to climb a social ladder or seduce you or—and I'm not! I would never! You've been so kind to me, both of you, and I just—I just wanted to help around the house and be useful and instead I've caused this huge mess and—"

Your voice broke completely, dissolving into sobs.

"Hey, hey, no," Fizz said, and suddenly he was on the couch beside you, pulling you into his arms. "No, no, no. You haven't caused a mess. This is just what the tabloids do. They're assholes who make up stories for attention, cauae there own lives are shitty."

"But the photos—"

"Are photos of us having a good time," Ozzie said firmly. "Nothing more, nothing less. The captions are fabricated bullshit."

"I ruined your privacy," you said miserably into Fizz's chest. "You keep your relationship with Fizz private, and I just—I didn't think—"

"Our relationship is still private," Ozzie assured you. "This article doesn't even mention Fizzy. Those motherfuckers saw you with me and jumped to their usual conclusions because that's what they do. It has nothing to do with reality."

"But everyone will think—"

"Everyone who matters knows the truth," Fizz said, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "And everyone else can go fuck themselves."

"MmHmm," Ozzie said in agreement.

"It's true!" Fizz looked down at you, his expression softening when he saw your tear-stained face. "Cutie, listen to me. The tabloids have been printing shit about Ozzie for decades. They've called him every name in the book, made up every kind of scandal you can imagine. This is nothing new."

"And you," Ozzie added gently, reaching out to carefully touch your shoulder with one finger, "are not using me. You're not climbing any social ladders. You're not manipulating anyone. You're a guest in our home, someone I care deeply about, and I wanted to show you a nice time. That's all."

"I cleaned the kitchen," you said nonsensically, your brain apparently short-circuiting from stress and tears. "And sorted your mail I was trying to be helpful."

"You are helpful," Fizz said, sounding almost fierce about it. "You're fucking wonderful, actually. And if some garbage tabloid tries to paint you as anything less than that, they're wrong."

"I don't want to cause you guys problems by being here," you whispered.

"Your the furtherest thing from a problem" Ozzie said, and his voice held such certainty that you almost believed him. "This is not your fault. The tabloids are going to print what they're going to print regardless of what we do. That's the nature of being a Sin. But that doesn't make any of their words true."

You wanted to believe them. You did believe them, in a way. But the hurt was still there, the fear that you'd damaged something precious, that you'd overstepped somehow.

"Come here," Ozzie said softly, offering his hand.

You let him lift you from Fizz's arms, let him cradle you carefully against his chest. His warmth was soothing, and you could hear the rumble of his voice when he spoke.

"You are welcome here," he said firmly. "In our home, in our life. A garbage tabloid doesn't change that. I need—We need you to understand that, okay?"

You nodded against his chest, even though part of you still felt raw and scared.

"Good," Ozzie said. "Now, I'm going to make some calls and ensure that rag prints a retraction. And possibly make their lives very difficult for a while."

"Ozzie—" you started.

"No one makes you cry and gets away with it," he said, and there was steel under the gentleness. "That's non-negotiable."

Despite everything, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. "Okay."

"Okay," he agreed. Then, softer "We've got you, little one. Both Froggie and I. Always."

"And I'll say it again in five more minutes. I'm consistent." Fizz stretched, his mechanical limbs extending out in ways that would make a normal person wince. One arm stretched across the room to grab Ozzie's robe from where it hung on a hook near the bathroom door. "Here you go, Big Daddy."

"I thought we agreed you'd stop calling me that," Ozzie said, but he was smiling as he took the robe.

"We agreed I'd stop calling you that in public. We're in the bedroom. Totally private." Fizz's bells jingled as he sat up, another mechanical limb stretching over to grab his own robe from a chair. "Besides, you love it."

"I tolerate it."

"You loveee it," Fizz insisted, grinning. His limbs retracted back to normal length with soft mechanical whirs. "So, what's the plan for today? More meetings? Paperwork? Boring business stuff that makes you grumpy?"

"I'm not grumpy—"

"You get this little crease righttt here—" Fizz poked Ozzie's forehead. "—when you're dealing with administrative bullshit."

"That's just my face."

"It's your grumpy face." Fizz bounced out of bed. "Anyway! I was thinking I should check on our houseguest! Make sure she's settling in okay!"

"By check on, you mean wake her at an ungodly hour?"

"It's not ungodly! It's... barely godly! Almost godly! Godly-adjacent!" Fizz was already pulling on clothes. "Besides, she's probably awake already! Humans are early risers, right?"

"Fizzy babe, it's seven in the morning."

"Exactly! Practically noon in human time!"

"That's not how that works."

"You don't know that. You're not a human expert." Fizz called out as he headed for the door. "I'm gonna go be a good host!"

"Please don't traumatize her."

"I never traumatize anyone! I'm delightful!"

Ozzie watched him go with fond exasperation. This was either going to go very well or very poorly. Probably both.

You were having a dream about being back home. Your apartment, your bed, your normal life where demons didn't exist and you hadn't fallen through any mysterious puddles.

Then a sound pierced through your dream like a knife.

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!!

You jolted awake, heart hammering, completely disoriented.

"GOOD MORNING, CUTIE!"

Fizzarolli backflipped into your room—literally backflipped, his mechanical limbs making the movement look effortless—and landed with a cheerful jingle of bells right next to your bed.

"Rise and shine! It's a beautiful lusty day! Well, it's always kind of the same here, but you know what I mean!" He was holding an actual air horn, grinning widely.

"Did you sleep good? You look like you slept good! Well, you looked like you slept good before I woke you up with the horn. Now you look startled. But in a cute way!"

You stared at him, brain still trying to process the fact that you'd been woken by an air horn and a backflipping demon clown.

"I... what... why..." you managed.

"Breakfast time! Well, almost breakfast time! Ozzie's making food!" Fizz's bells jingled as he gestured enthusiastically. "I figured I'd come get you so you don't get lost! The palace is super confusing if you're not used to it. One time we had a guest who got lost for three hours. Three hours! In our own house! Can you believe it?"

"You have an air horn," you said weakly, still processing.

"Oh, this?" He waved it cheerfully. "Yeah, I use it to wake up Ozzie when he's being stubborn about getting out of bed! He hates it, which makes it funnier! I figured it would work on you too!"

"It worked," you confirmed, hand still over your racing heart.

"Awesome! Okay, get dressed and come down to the lounge! I'll wait out here so I'm not being creepy!" He backflipped toward the door. "Take your time! But not too much time! Ozzie gets grumpy if breakfast gets cold! Well, he says he doesn't get grumpy, but he totally does!"

The door closed with the cheerful jingle of bells.

You sat there in bed for a long moment, trying to reconcile the peaceful sleep you'd been having with the chaos that was Fizzarolli's wake-up method.

This was your life now, apparently.

You got dressed quickly—into a fresh set of borrowed pajamas since you didn't have anything else—and opened the door to find Fizz leaning against the wall, playing with his phone. His mechanical fingers moved with surprising dexterity across the screen.

"There she is!" He sing songed as he pocketed the phone. "Ready for breakfast? It's gonna be good! Ozzie's making his specialty!"

"What's his specialty?" you asked as you fell into step beside him. Well, beside and slightly behind, since he was already walking.

"Everything! He's good at everything! It's actually kind of annoying how multi-talented he is!" Fizz mused as he led you through the corridors. "Like, he runs a successful business empire, he's an amazing cook, he's great in bed—"

Your face immediately burned.

"—at making the bed! Very neat! Hospital corners and everything!" Fizz grinned wickedly.

"What did you think I was gonna say? You have a dirty mind" His grin said he knew excalty what he was doing.

"I... nothing," you mumbled.

"You're so easy to fluster! It's fucking adorable!" He laughed, but not meanly. "Anyway, so! Life in the Lust Ring! Let me give you the rundown since you might be here for a bit!"

As you walked, Fizz launched into an animated explanation about the Lust Ring, his hands gesturing wildly—extending and retracting for emphasis.

"So basically, Lust is one of the seven rings of Hell—Lust being the sixth one, I think? Or fifth? I always forget the order. Anyway, Ozzie runs it because he's the Sin of Lust, which is a whole thing. Each Sin runs their own ring. There's Pride, which is where the royal family lives—that's Lucifer and his daughter Charlie, never met them but heard good things!"

You tried to keep up with his rapid-fire explanations while also navigating the palace corridors.

"Then there's Wrath, that's Satan's ring, lots of fighting and aggression. Envy, which is Leviathan's—never been there, heard it's weird. Greed is Mammon's ring, that's where I work sometimes! Well, a lot of times, Mammon's really dedicated to clownship! Gluttony is Beelzebub's ring—Bee's actually pretty cool, throws great parties. And Sloth is Belphegor's, but nobody goes there unless they have to."

"That's... a lot," you said faintly.

"Right? Hell's complicated!" His bells jingled. "But the Lust Ring is the best one, obviously. We've got the best clubs, the best entertainment, the best atmosphere! Sure, it's very adult-oriented, but that's kind of the point! Everyone here is all about pleasure and desire and having a good time! Well, mostly. Some people are just here because they're horny, but that's also valid!"

Your face was red again.

"And Ozzie keeps everything running smooth! He's got the factory for manufacturing products—toys, ropes, accessories, all that fun stuff—and then there's Ozzie's, which is the premier club for couples looking to have a romantic evening! Very exclusive! Very classy! Well, as classy as you can get when the entire theme is y'know lust!"

You followed him down a grand staircase, listening to him chatter away.

"It sounds complicated," you said softly.

"It is! But you get used to it!" Fizz grabbed your hand, pulling you into a large, comfortable room. "And here we are! The lounge! Where we lounge! Hence the name!"

Plush couches were arranged around the coffee table, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city, art on the walls that ranged from tasteful to suggestive, and a full bar in the corner.

Ozzie was already there, setting plates on the coffee table. He'd changed into more casual clothes—if you could call anything casual on someone that large and imposing.

"Good morning," he said, smiling at you. "I hope Fizzy's wake-up call wasn't too traumatic."

"I used the horn!" Fizz announced proudly.

"Of course you did." Ozzie sighed. "I apologize for my business partner's complete lack of boundaries."

"Hey! I have boundaries! I stayed outside her room while she got dressed!"

"That's the bare minimum."

"Still counts!"

You couldn't help but smile at their bickering. "It's okay. I'm awake now."

"See? She's fine!" Fizz flopped onto one of the couches, bells jingling. "Come sit, cutie! Food time!"

You settled onto a couch across from them, and Ozzie pushed a plate toward you. It was loaded with what looked like a full breakfast—eggs, bacon, toast, fruit, some kind of pastry.

"This is a lot of food," you said hesitantly.

"You need to keep your strength up," Ozzie said. "Humans need to eat regularly, right?"

"Well, yea, but—"

"How much do humans eat?" Fizz interrupted, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. "Like, is it more than us? Less? The same? Do you need to eat every hour? Every few hours? Can you go days without food?"

"Fizz, let her breathe—"

"I'm just asking! I don't know human biology! Do you even have biology? Or is it something else? Anatomy? Is there a difference?"

You blinked at the rapid-fire questions. "Um... humans usually eat three meals a day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sometimes snacks in between."

"Three meals!" Fizz's bells jingled as he processed this. "That seems like a lot! Or maybe not a lot? I don't know! We eat whenever we feel like it. Sometimes that's twice a day, sometimes it's once, sometimes I forget to eat entirely and Ozzie gets all worried—"

"Because you need to eat, Froggie."

"I know, I know! But I get busy!" Fizz turned back to you. "So three meals. Got it. And how much per meal? Like, this much?" He gestured at your very full plate.

"This is... probably more than I usually eat for breakfast," you admitted, trying to be polite. "But it looks really good!"

"But you can eat it all, right?" Ozzie asked, a slight furrow in his brow. "Or is it too much? I apologize, I don't have much experience with human dietary needs."

"More experience than me!" Fizz interjected. "I've never met a human before! Well, except for you. But you're my first! Human, I mean. Not my first—wait, that sounds weird. You're the first human I've met! That's what I meant!"

Your face was burning again.

As you ate—the food was delicious, even if there was enough to feed three people—both Fizz and Ozzie kept asking questions.

"So you need water too, right?" Fizz asked. "Like, regularly? How much water?"

"Do you sleep the same hours as demons?" Ozzie added. "Or do humans have different sleep cycles?"

"Can you eat demon food or is it different from human food?"

"Do you need sunlight? I know the Lust Ring doesn't have traditional sunlight—"

"What about temperature? Are you comfortable here or is it too hot? too cold ?"

The questions came rapid-fire, and you tried your best to answer them. It was actually kind of sweet how genuinely concerned they seemed about making sure you were comfortable.

"I'm okay with temperature," you assured them. "And the food tastes normal to me. And I usually sleep, well people say it should be like eight hours at night—"

"Eight hours!" Fizz's bells jingled with surprise. "That's so long! I sleep like five, maybe six if Ozzie makes me!"

"Because you need rest," Ozzie said pointedly.

"I rest plenty! I just don't need as much sleep as you do, old man!"

"I'm not old—"

"You're ancient! You're like a million years old!"

"I'm not even close to a million—"

You laughed softly at the exchange, and both of them paused to look at you.

"Sorry," you said quickly. "You two are just... funny together."

"We're hilarious," Fizz agreed, grinning. "It's part of our charm! Well, my charm. Ozzie's charm is different. He's got the whole 'tall, dark, and mysterious' thing going on. Very attractive!"

You gathered your courage, trying to figure out how to phrase your own questions politely. "Can I... can I ask you both a couple things?"

"Of course!" Fizz said immediately.

"Anything," Ozzie added.

"I don't want to be rude, or offensive, or anything—I'm just trying to understand—" You were stumbling over your words, nervous. "But what... what are you? I mean, I know Ozzie is—you said you're a Sin? The Sin of Lust? But I don't really know what that means. And Fizz, you're..."

You gestured vaguely at his mechanical limbs, which were currently stretched across the room to grab a coffee cup from a side table.

"Oh!" Fizz looked down at himself, bells jingling. "You mean these?" He flexed one of his mechanical arms. "Yeah, these are prosthetics! Had an accident when I was younger—it was a whole thing, very dramatic, not fun to talk about—and these replaced what I lost. They're pretty cool though! Custom-made by Ozzie, actually!"

"You made them?" You looked at Ozzie with surprise.

"It's one of my skills," Ozzie said modestly. "Engineering, manufacturing. Froggie needed something that would let him continue performing, so I designed these to be as functional and flexible as possible."

"They're fucking awesome!" Fizz extended one arm across the entire length of the room, then retracted it smoothly. "I can reach anything! Do crazy stunts! They're way better than regular limbs! Well, except for the maintenance. And sometimes they need recalibrating. And one time one of them fell off mid-performance, which was embarrassing—"

"Fizz, you're rambling," Ozzie said gently.

"Right! Sorry!" Fizz's bells jingled. "Point is, they're prosthetics! Very advanced prosthetics! And as for what I am" Fizz hoped on the couch and gave a dramatic bow "—I'm an imp!"

You blinked. "An... imp?"

"Yep!" Fizz seemed pleased he'd be able to show off. "Born and raised! Well, born in the Greed Ring, raised in... various places. It's complicated. But yeah, full imp! We're one of the lower-class demon species, which sounds bad but it's really just a hierarchy thing. Imps are usually shorter, we've got horns—ooh and tails!" His tail swished up, the spaded tip giving its own little wave. "—and we're generally pretty resilient!"

As he talked, he stuck his tongue out slightly in concentration, a little "blep" expression, and you noticed something you hadn't before.

His tongue was forked.

Your eyes widened slightly, and Fizz noticed you staring.

"Oh, the tongue thing?" He stuck it out further, showing off the fork. "Yeah, that's an imp thing too! All imps have forked tongues! It's very useful for—well, lots of things!" His grin turned wicked. "Very useful things!"

"Fizz," Ozzie said warningly.

"What? I didn't say anything inappropriate! I just said it's useful! Which it is! For eating! And talking! And other completely innocent activities!"

Your face was red again.

"Anyway!" Fizz continued cheerfully. "I'm also a famous jester slash clown! Been performing since I was a kid! Worked in the circus, did the whole show business thing, and now I'm one of the most recognizable performers in Hell! Pretty cool, right?"

"It is cool," you said softly. "But... what exactly is an imp? I mean, I know you said it's a demon species, but—"

"Oh! Right! You don't know anything about Hell!" Fizz's bells jingled as he shifted into explanation mode. "Okay, so demons come in different types. You've got the hellborn demons—that's me, imps, hellhounds, succubi and incubi—we're all born in Hell. Then you've got sinners, who are humans who died and ended up here. They're stuck in the Pride Ring. Can't leave, actually, which sucks for them."

"And then there are the Sins," Ozzie interjected. "The seven of us who embody the deadly sins and rule our respective rings. We're more powerful than other demons, and we've been around since... well, since the beginning."

"So you're like... rulers?" you asked.

"Basically!" Fizz said. "Ozzie runs everything in the Lust Ring! He's the big boss! The head honcho! The top daddy!"

"Fizz."

"What? You are! You're literally the king of this entire ring!" Fizz's bells chimed as he grinned. "And imps like me are usually way, way down the hierarchy. But that's okay! I've made a name for myself! I'm special!"

"You are special," Ozzie agreed, his voice soft and fond.

The look they shared was so intimate that you felt like you should look away.

"So," Fizz said, turning back to you. "Any other questions? We're an open book! Well, mostly open! Some pages are stuck together by—"

"FIZZ."

"What?! I'm being helpful!"

The rest of the day passed in a comfortable blur. Fizz gave you a more thorough tour of the palace—pointing out which rooms were which, where everything was kept, and warning you about which doors to absolutely not open "That's Ozzie's private collection room. Very private. You probably don't wanna know."

You noticed throughout the tour how Fizz's mechanical limbs worked. He used them constantly—reaching for things across rooms, opening doors, even scratching his back in places he couldn't otherwise reach. The movements were smooth and natural, clearly something he'd adapted to completely.

"You want a picture Cutie ? Or is the staring working for you?" Fizz said with a slight defensive edge.

"Sorry!" Your face heated. "I didn't mean to be rude. They're just... really impressive."

"Oh right?" Fizz's expression softened, extending one arm dramatically, making it wave. "Oz is a genius! These things have something like fifty different points of articulation! I can move them however I want, they respond to my thoughts, and they're strong enough to lift like ten times what regular imp could lift!"

"Do they hurt?" you asked hesitantly.

His expression flickered with something complicated. "Sometimes. The connection points can ache if I overuse them, but the thresholds pretty high. And sometimes there's phantom pain from... before. But mostly they're fine. Better than fine! They let me do things I never could have done otherwise!"

He was watching you carefully, you realized. Like he was waiting for some kind of reaction. Judgment, maybe. Or fear.

"Can you... can you show me?" you asked softly. "What they can do?"

Fizz's bells jingled with surprise. "OooOoohhh You want to see tricks?" His eyebrows waggled.

"If that's okay? I'm just... curious. They seem really cool."

Something in his expression seemed to melt, and his smile became more genuine. "Yeah? You're not... weirded out?"

"Why would I be weirded out?"

"I mean..." He gestured vaguely at himself. "The whole robot arms thing isn't exactly standard. Some people think it's creepy. Or wrong. Or—"

"I think they're amazing," you interrupted quietly. "And there just you."

Fizz stared at you for a moment. Then his grin returned, wide and bright. "Okay! Okay, you wanna see tricks? I'll show you tricks! Check this out!"

He extended both arms out to their full length—far down the corridor—and started making them wave in serpentine patterns, creating mesmerizing shapes in the air. Then he retracted one while extending the other, making it look like he was juggling invisible balls.

"And that's just the basics! Watch this!" He stretched one arm up to the ceiling, wrapped it around a chandelier, and lifted himself off the ground, spinning in a circle. His bells jingled merrily as he twirled. "Ta-da! Instant carousel!"

You laughed, delighted, and Fizz's expression lit up even more.

"Oh, you liked that huh? How about this!" He dropped back down and extended both arms in opposite directions, then started making them do a wave pattern, like he was conducting an invisible orchestra. "I can also do this!" He made his arms spell out letters in the air—H-E-L-L-O—each letter formed by the precise positioning of his mechanical limbs.

"That's incredible!" you said, genuinely impressed.

"Right?!" Fizz was bouncing now, bells chiming enthusiastically. "And I can do practical stuff too! Like—" He extended one arm across the hall into another room to grab a book from a shelf, then brought it back and handed it to you. "No ladders needed! I'm my own reaching tool!"

He continued showing off—making his arms move in impossible ways, creating shadow puppets on the wall with the complex joint configurations, even doing a handstand where his mechanical arms walked while his legs stuck straight up in the air.

"And the best part," he said, finally settling back down, slightly breathless from excitement, "is that I can still perform! All my circus tricks, all my juggling, all the acrobatics—these arms make it even better! I can do stuff that would be impossible for normal performers!"

"Your shows must be breathtaking," you said softly.

Fizz's bells jingled as he tilted his head, looking at you with something warm in his expression. "You really think so?"

"Yeah. I'd love to see you perform sometime, well perform again." You said sheepishly

"I—" He seemed genuinely touched, his usual manic energy settling into something softer. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that. I could do a private show! Just for you! And Ozzie, obviously, he's seen me perform a million times but he'd want to be there—"

His enthusiasm was dailed to a hundred and you smiled. You'd been worried your curiosity about his arms might have been intrusive, but instead, it seemed to have made him happy. Gave him a chance to show off, even if he'd been nervous about your reaction.

"They really are cool," you said. "Thank you for showing me."

"Anytime, cutie." His bells jingled softly. "And hey, thanks for... you know. Not being weird about them. A lot of people are weird about them."

"Like i said they're part of you," you said simply. "Why would I be weird about you?"

Fizz's expression went through several complicated emotions before settling on something fond and a little overwhelmed. "You're too sweet, you know that? Like, dangerously sweet. We're gonna have to watch out for you in the Lust Ring. Someone's gonna try to snatch you up and corrupt you."

"I don't think I'm that sweet—"

"You absolutely are. It's adorable. Ozzie's gonna die when I tell him you asked me to show off my arms because you thought they were cool."

Your face heated. "I didn't mean—"

"No, no, it's a good thing! Trust me, it's a very good thing." His bells chimed as he grinned. "Come on, I wanna show you the terrace before Ozzie gets back!"

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

Later, Ozzie returned from whatever business he'd been handling and found you both on the terrace. Fizz was in the middle of an animated story about a performance gone wrong, complete with exaggerated gestures and sound effects.

"—and then the trapeze just SNAPPED! Just completely broke! And I'm falling, right, and the crowd is screaming, and I'm thinking 'this is it, this is how Fizzarolli dies, in front of a thousand people at Mammon's Theater'—"

"Fizz, you're going to give her a heart attack," Ozzie interrupted.

"But I didn't die! Obviously! Because I'm here! The safety net caught me!" Fizz grinned. "Though I did break three ribs and Ozzie refused to let me perform for like two months!"

"Because you needed to heal, Froggie."

"I was fine after one month!"

"The doctors said two months minimum."

"Doctors are overly cautious!"

You watched them bicker with a small smile. They were so obviously in love, even if they kept insisting they were just "business partners." It was kind of adorable.

"How are you settling in?" Ozzie asked, turning his attention to you.

"Good," you said softly. "Really good. Thank you again for letting me stay here. I know it must be a pain having to play host—"

"It's not," Ozzie said firmly. "We want you here."

"We really do!" Fizz added, with a raspy laugh. "You're fun! And you brighten the scenery" And your just accept the freaky parts like a champ." He said wiggling his fingers.

"Your arms are cool—"

"See? SEE?" Fizz looked at Ozzie triumphantly. "I told you she'd ask me to show her tricks! And she thought they were amazing!"

Ozzie's expression softened considerably. "Did she now?"

"Yeah! She wasn't scared or weirded out or anything! She just wanted to see what these bad boys can do!" Fizz's bells jingled happily.

"That's nice," Ozzie agreed, looking at you with something warm in his gaze. "Not everyone's reacted well."

"I think there impressive" you said confidently.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

Later Ozzie found himself in his office. Papers and contracts lay scattered across his massive desk—ignored. A single low lamp cast light across his face as he leaned back in the oversized leather chair, phone cradled in his hand.

He exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over the contact before he finally tapped it.

It rang twice.

A husky voice picked up after the third ring, the faint thump of bass audible somewhere behind her.

“Asmodeus, It’s—” a rustle, probably her checking the time “—way past ‘reasonable boss hours.’ This better be good.”

Ozzie’s chuckle came out softer than usual, almost tired. “Hey, Verosika. Sorry for the late call. I know you’ve got soundcheck and you hate being dragged away from beauty sleep.”

“Flattery’s not gonna make me less annoyed,” she drawled, but there was no real bite in it. “What’s up?”

He rubbed his free hand down his face, eyes drifting toward the closed door that led to the rest of the palace. Somewhere beyond it, Froggie was finally sleeping, so where you.

“There’s… someone staying here with me and Fizz right now,” he said quietly. “A human. Slipped into the ring somehow. I promised I’d help get them home. Back to Earth. No strings, no tricks—just back where they belong.”

There was a long beat of silence on the other end.

Then Verosika’s voice, sharper, curious. “You’re serious. You’ve got a topsider crashing at your place and you’re what playing Good Samaritan?”

Exactly.” There was no defensiveness in his voice, only quiet certainty. “They’re kind in a way that feels almost fragile in a place like this. Fizzarolli’s already half in love with them, and I—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat, the vulnerability vanishing behind familiar velvet charm.

“I gave my word I’d find a way to send her back where she belongs. And you are the best at clean, quiet runs on the surface. No traces. No headlines.”

Verosika let out a small, incredulous huff that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re going soft on me, boss. Okay. So what do you need from me? You’re asking me to babysit some lost topsider and play interdimensional Uber.”

“I’m asking my best succubus to do what she does better than anyone,” he corrected gently.

“But I want more than just a drop-off. I want you to take her straight to her apartment. Walk her inside. Make sure the place is safe, that she's got what she needs—food, a working phone, whatever. And before you come back after work… check in on her one last time. Look her in the eye. Make sure that she's ok.”

Another pause. When Verosika spoke again, her voice had lost some of its usual edge.

“You’re asking me to play emotional support succubus. That’s a new one.”

“I trust you, Verosika. More than almost anyone else when it comes to going topside.”

She was quiet long enough that he could hear the faint clink of a glass being set down on her end.

“Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll do it. But if they cry, or freak out, or start asking me deep philosophical questions while I’m trying to portal them, I’m billing you double.”

Ozzie’s smile was small, tired, but real. “Deal. VIP booth, champagne fountain, front-row table for your friends at your next headline run. Whatever you want, Ver."

“I want the booth and a private after-party suite,” she shot back immediately. “And maybe a new set of show heels. These ones are getting tragic.”

“Done and done.” Relief colored his voice now, warm and grateful. “Thank you, Verosika. Really. This… it means a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah. Save the sap for Fizz.” She paused, then added—quieter—“You’re really worried about her, huh?”

Ozzie looked toward that closed door again. “More than I expected to be,” he admitted. “Just… get them home safe for me. Please.”

“I’ve got it, boss.” Her tone softened, just a fraction. “Text me any specifics—apartment number, security codes if you’ve got them, whatever. I’ll handle the rest.”

“You’re a gem,” he murmured. “Truly.”

“Don’t get used to hearing that.” A smirk crept back into her voice. “See you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep Oz—you sound like you need it.”

The call ended with a soft click.

Right. Hell. You were in Hell.

You sat there for a few minutes, just processing, before your stomach made its opinion on the matter very clear with a growl that echoed embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.

The palace was quiet as you made your way downstairs, padding along in bare feet because you couldn't find your garbage laced shoes and you were too anxious to spend more time looking for them. Everything was so big here—the doorways, the hallways, even the stairs were slightly too tall for comfortable human proportions. You felt like Alice after she'd shrunk, navigating a world that wasn't built for someone your size.

You could hear something from what you thought might be the main living area—the sound of a TV, maybe?—and you followed it like a lifeline. At least if there was TV, there was probably either Fizz or Ozzie watching said TV.

The living room was exactly as overwhelming as you remembered massive, decorated in that same blend of elegant and vaguely obscene that seemed to be Ozzie's signature style, with furniture that looked both incredibly expensive and incredibly comfortable.

And there, sprawled across a couch that could have fit your entire apartment's living room, was Fizzarolli.

He was watching what looked like some kind of Hell's version of a morning talk show, his mechanical limbs stretched out in ways that made your brain hurt to look at. He was still in what you assumed were pajamas—loose pants covered in little hearts and a top that read "I'm a Nightmare Before AND After Coffee."

You must have made some kind of sound, because his head whipped around, and those pink eyes locked onto you immediately.

"Oh shit, you're awake!" He sat up in one fluid motion that involved joints bending in ways they shouldn't. "Uh, morning?" He paused, seeming to really look at you for the first time. "You sleep okay? I mean, considering the whole 'trapped in Hell' thing."

"I... yeah, actually," you said, hovering awkwardly in the doorway. "The bed is really comfortable. Almost too comfortable. I think I slept for like twelve hours."

"Nice! See, we're good at the whole hospitality thing. Comes with the territory." Fizz gestured at the couch. "You hungry? Thirsty? Need anything? I can... actually, I don't know what we have."

Despite everything, you felt a small laugh bubble up. "Just... normal food? Cereal, toast, that kind of thing?"

"Oh thank fuck, we have that." Fizz bounced up from the couch, his limbs retracting to a more normal length as he headed toward the kitchen. "Come on, let's get you fed before you like, faint or something. That would be bad. Ozzie would kill me if I let our resident human die of starvation."

You followed him, trying not to stare too obviously at the way he moved. It was mesmerizing and slightly unsettling in equal measure.

You were halfway through a bowl of cereal which tasted normal, thank god, even if you tried not to think too hard about where it came from, when you heard the front door open and Ozzie's distinctive voice echoing through the palace.

"Babe! Is our guest awake yet?"

"In the kitchen!" Fizz called back, shooting you a grin. "Eating her weight in cereal!"

"I am not—" you started, but Ozzie was already entering the kitchen, and your protest died in your throat.

He wasn't alone.

The woman with him was striking in a way that made your brain short-circuit slightly. Tall, with pink and white hair, dressed in clothes that could generously be described as "minimal," and carrying herself with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly how attractive you were.

"Huh" she said, her eyes sweeping over you with an assessing look that made you want to sink into the floor. "So this is the little human you told me about."

"Verosika," Ozzie said, and there was a warning in his tone. "Be nice."

"I'm always nice," Verosika said, which was clearly a lie based on her tone. But she did soften slightly, moving to lean against the counter with a grace that seemed effortless. "Ozzie here tells me you need a ride back topside."

You blinked, looking between Verosika and Ozzie. "I... yea...yeah"

Ozzie's expression was carefully neutral, but there was something in his eyes that might have been disappointment. "You shouldn't be here. In Hell, I mean. You're human, and this isn't..." He made a vague gesture. "I told you we would find you a way home, I've arranged for Verosika to take you back to Earth and get you home safely."

"Thank you," you said, and the words came out smaller than you'd intended. You were going home, back to your normal life, away from this insane dimension where everything was trying to kill you or seduce you or both.

So why did your chest feel tight?

"I have a full day of work topside anyway," Verosika said, examining her nails. "Might as well make myself useful. We leave in twenty, so finish your breakfast or whatever."

She swept out of the kitchen with the same dramatic flair she'd entered with, leaving you alone with Ozzie and Fizz. There was a moment of awkward silence.

"You okay?" Fizz asked quietly, and when you looked at him, his expression was surprisingly gentle. More than that—there was something almost sad in his eyes, like the thought of you leaving was bothering him.

"Yeah," you lied. "Yeah, I'm fine. This is good. Going home is good."

Ozzie made a sound that might have been agreement, but his expression flickered in a way that suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. "If you need anything once you're back on Earth, you can... well, you probably won't be able to contact us, actually. But you'll be safe. That's what matters."

Right. Safe. Back to your normal, safe life.

You finished your cereal in silence, trying to ignore the way Fizz kept glancing at you when he thought you weren't looking.

The journey back to Earth was significantly less traumatic than your journey to Hell had been, mainly because Verosika knew what she was doing.

One moment you were in Hell, the next you were standing in an alley somewhere... you squinted at the street signs.

"Alright, human," Verosika said, pulling out her phone and already scrolling through something. "I'm gonna need your address. And before you ask, no, I'm not going to murder you and steal your identity. Too much paperwork."

You rattled off your address, still feeling slightly dazed. Everything looked so normal. So Earth-like. Cars driving by, people walking past the alley entrance, the sun shining in a sky that was actually blue instead of glowing.

Verosika somehow procured a car, you decided not to ask how and drove you to your apartment with the casual disregard for traffic laws that suggested she didn't care about getting a ticket. Or maybe tickets didn't apply to succubi. You had no idea how any of this worked.

"Right," she said, pulling up outside your building. "I've got work to do. Very important work. The kind that keeps the Lust Ring running smoothly." Her smile was sharp. "I'll check on you later, make sure you haven't like, spontaneously combusted or whatever. Here."

She shoved a phone at you—when had she gotten a phone for you?—with a number already programmed in.

"That's my line. It works cross-dimensionally, don't ask me how. If anything weird happens, you text. Got it?"

"Got it," you said, clutching the phone like a lifeline. "Thank you. For, you know, not leaving me in Hell."

Verosika's expression softened slightly, just for a moment. "Yeah, well. Ozzie asked nice. And he doesn't ask for favors often." She paused. "You're lucky, you know. Most of lust think he's intimidating, but Asmodeus is actually very sweet, dont tell him i said that."

And then she was pulling away, the car disappearing around the corner, and you were alone.

Your apartment building looked exactly the same as it had... however long ago you'd left it. The same cracked tile in the lobby, the same flickering light on the third floor, the same slightly musty smell in the hallway.

You locked the door behind you and just stood there for a moment, taking in the familiar space. Your couch. Your kitchen. Your life.

Normal. Safe. Boring.

You made yourself hot chocolate because that's what you always did when you needed comfort, and you checked your mail bills, junk, a coupon for a pizza place, and you tried very hard to pretend that everything was fine.

It started about an hour after Verosika left.

At first, you thought maybe you'd just made the hot chocolate too hot, because you felt flushed and warm in a way that didn't quite make sense. You turned on the air conditioning, changed into lighter clothes, even took a cold shower.

Nothing helped.

If anything, you felt worse. The heat was building under your skin, making you dizzy and nauseous. Your hands were shaking. Your vision was starting to blur at the edges.

And then your nose started bleeding.

Just a drop at first. Then another. You grabbed a tissue, pressing it to your nose, but the bleeding didn't stop. It got worse, faster, until you were going through tissues at an alarming rate and the trash can was filling up with crumpled, blood-soaked paper.

Panic clawed at you. This wasn't normal. This was very, very not normal.

You fumbled for the phone Verosika had given you, your fingers slippery with blood, and managed to pull up her contact. The text you sent was barely coherent.

You hit send and immediately felt the world tilt sideways. The phone clattered to the floor as you grabbed onto the counter, trying to stay upright, but your legs felt like jelly and the heat under your skin was becoming unbearable and—

Verosika was having a very good day.

She'd lined up three potential clients, all of them wealthy, all of them desperate, all of them exactly the kind of sex energy she needed to meet her quota for the month. The first one was already putty in her hands, hanging on her every word as they sat in some overpriced café, and she was just about to go in for the close when her phone buzzed.

She ignored it. She was working.

It buzzed again.

"Excuse me for just a second, sugar," she purred, flashing her most dazzling smile as she pulled out her phone. "Work emergency."

The text made her blood run cold.

"Fuck," she said, her carefully maintained seductive persona dropping instantly. "Fuck fuck fuck."

"Is everything—" her mark started, but Verosika was already standing, already moving.

"Rain check, shithead," she called over her shoulder, not even bothering to look back as she headed for the exit. "Something came up."

The drive to your apartment involved breaking several traffic laws and possibly one minor traffic accident, not her fault, the other guy should have been watching where he was going. She took the stairs two at a time, her heels clicking against the concrete, and when she reached your floor she could smell the blood.

Your door was locked. She kicked it open without hesitation.

You were on the floor of your kitchen, conscious but barely, your face covered in blood and your eyes unfocused. The sight made something twist in Verosika's chest—she'd seen a lot of shit in her time, but there was something particularly awful about seeing someone so fragile.

"Okay," she said, more to herself than to you. "Okay, we're not doing this. You're not dying on my watch because Asmodeus will literally never let me hear the end of it."

She scooped you up—and was back out the door before you could even process what was happening.

Fizzarolli was enjoying a rare quiet afternoon.

Ozzie was still at the club handling some business thing that Fizz hadn't really paid attention to the details of, and he had the palace to himself. He was sprawled on the couch, watching some cooking show where the secret ingredient was screams literally, and debating whether or not to order food.

"FIZZAROLLI!" Verosika's voice was sharp with panic, and Fizz was on his feet instantly because Verosika didn't panic. Verosika was cool and collected and never lost her composure.

He made it to the door in time to see her carrying you, and the amount of blood covering your face made his brain screech to a halt.

"What the fuck happened?!"

"I don't know!" Verosika snapped, and yeah, she was definitely panicking. "She texted me, said something was wrong, and when I got there she was like this!"

Fizz's mind was racing. My Human. Bleeding. Bad. Very bad. The human who was so sweet and lost and who'd laughed at his jokes with genuine amusement—she couldn't just die. Not like this. Not when Ozzie had barely gotten to talk to her, when they'd barely started to know her.

"Kitchen, now," he said, his performer's training kicking in and steadying his voice even though his insides were churning. "Put her on the counter."

Verosika complied, setting you down with surprising gentleness. You were conscious, which was good, but your eyes were glazed and you looked about two seconds from passing out.

"Stay with me, cutie," Fizz said, and his hands were already moving, grabbing a clean kitchen towel and pressing it firmly against your nose. "You're okay, you're gonna be fine, just keep breathing."

"Call Ozzie," he said to Verosika without looking away from you. "NOW."

He could hear her already dialing, her voice sharp as she spoke into the phone. "Asmodeus, we have a problem. No, a big problem. The girls bleeding and I don't—yes the human, yes she's here—I don't fucking know, she just started—"

Fizz tuned her out, focusing entirely on you. The towel was already soaked through with blood, and he grabbed another one, keeping pressure steady. Your skin was burning up under his touch, way too hot.

"Hey, eyes on me," he said gently when your gaze started to drift. "Come on, stay awake. What's your favorite color? Tell me your favorite color."

"Blue," you mumbled, the word slurred. "Like... like his fluff..."

Fizz's heart did something complicated in his chest—half terror that you might not make it to see that mane again, half something else.

"Good! Blue's a great color. What else? Favorite food? Favorite movie? Come on, talk to me."

"You're... you're really good at this," you slurred, your eyes struggling to focus on him. "The... the caring thing. S'nice. You're nice. Pretty too. Really pretty. Has anyone told you... told you that you're pretty?"

Oh. Oh no. His heart was doing that complicated thing again, but more intensely now.

"She's definitely woozy," Verosika muttered from behind him.

"I can work with woozy," Fizz said, his voice cracking slightly. "Woozy means conscious. Keep talking, cutie. Tell me more. What else do you think?"

But your eyes were already starting to droop, your words trailing off into incoherent mumbles. The bleeding was slowing though, thank fuck, and by the time he heard the front door, you were mostly just looking sleepy.

"Ozzie's on his way," Verosika had said what felt like hours ago but was probably only minutes. "He said ten minutes."

It felt like the longest ten minutes of Fizz's life.

By the time Ozzie arrived, the bleeding had stopped completely, and you were drowsing against Fizz's chest, your eyes fluttering closed every few seconds.

Ozzie took one look at the scene—you covered in blood, Fizz holding you carefully, Verosika pacing anxiously—and his flames flared bright enough to make both Fizz and Verosika wince.

He crossed the kitchen in two strides, and Fizz very carefully transferred you into his massive hands. You stirred at the movement, your eyes fluttering open just a fraction, glassy and confused.

"Mmm...Fizz ?" you mumbled, your head lolling slightly.

"Right here, cutie," Fizz said immediately, his voice gentle despite the way his hands were still trembling. He moved into your line of sight, and something in his chest clenched when your unfocused gaze drifted to him and the ghost of a smile tugged at your lips.

"Fizzy," you murmured fondly, like you'd been looking for something important and finally found it.

Ozzie and Fizz shared a look—quick, loaded—and then Ozzie was carefully, carefully moving to the living room, Fizz right on his heels.

Ozzie lowered you onto the couch with a gentleness that seemed impossible for someone his size, and the second you were settled, Fizz was there, kneeling beside you with a damp cloth he must have grabbed on the way past the kitchen.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up," Fizz said softly, tilting your chin up with two fingers. The cloth was warm, and he dabbed at the blood on your face with a patience that surprised even him. "You're doing great. Just stay still for me, okay?"

"'M'tired," you slurred, your eyes drifting closed again.

"I know, I know. Just a sec." Fizz kept his voice light, easy, like he was chatting with you at a show backstage. "Hey, you wanna see something? Watch this—"

He held up his mechanical arm, the segments shifting and rearranging with a series of soft clicks and whirrs—extending, folding, curling in on itself before snapping back out into a shape that looked vaguely like a little waving hand.

Then it twisted again, reforming into something that might have been a bird, or a flower, or something entirely made up. It was fast and fluid and mesmerizing, each piece slotting into place like it was alive.

Your eyes fluttered open again, tracking the movement with drowsy fascination, your lips parting in a little "oh."

"Whoa," you breathed.

"Right? I can do way better shit when you're not half-asleep," Fizz promised, a grin tugging at his mouth despite the knot in his stomach. "I'll put on a whole show for you later. Private performance. VIP only."

Behind you both, Ozzie had turned his full attention to Verosika, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

"What. Happened." His voice was low. Controlled. The kind of calm that was far more dangerous than shouting.

Verosika, to her credit, didn't flinch. Much.

"That's what I'd like to know," Verosika said, crossing her arms. "Look, Ozzie, I've been doing topside runs for decades. I've seduced thousands of humans. Not once has this happened. Not once."

"Because you're not transporting them," Fizz said, and there was something thoughtful in his expression now. "You're just... visiting Earth, doing your thing, and coming back. The humans stay where they are."

"Exactly!" Verosika gestured emphatically. "We're not dimensional transport! That's not what we do! I don't even know how bringing a living soul across dimensions is supposed to work because it's not part of the job description!"

Ozzie was quiet for a long moment, looking down at you sleeping in his hands. "She can't go back," he said finally, and there was something heavy in his voice. "Not until we understand what happened. What might happen again."

"She's gonna be stuck here," Fizz said softly his bells giving a soft tinkle.

"Better stuck in Hell than dead on Earth," Verosika pointed out, though her tone had lost its sharp edge. She looked at you, something like concern crossing her features. "She's tougher than she looks though. Most humans would've passed out way before I got there."

"Yeah," Fizz agreed, and there was something warm in his voice. "She is pretty tough."

Ozzie's gaze flicked to him, and something passed between them—an understanding, an acknowledgment of something neither was quite ready to say out loud.

"So what now?" Verosika asked quietly.

"Now," Ozzie said, his voice heavy with something that might have been guilt or resignation or both, "she stays here. Where we can monitor her. Where she's safe."

"You can't keep a human in Hell indefinitely," Verosika protested weakly, but even she didn't sound convinced.

"You have a better idea?" Ozzie's flames flickered. "Because I'm open to suggestions that don't involve her bleeding out on her floor."

Verosika didn't have an answer to that.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

"She's stable," Ozzie said, closing the door to the master bedroom. "Temperature's back to normal, no more bleeding. She should sleep through the night."

Fizz was already sprawled across their bed, his limbs stretched out in that boneless way he had when he was stressed and trying not to show it. "Should. That word again."

"Fizz—" Ozzie started, but Fizz cut him off.

"She called me pretty, Oz." His voice was muffled by the pillow he'd shoved his face into. "While she was bleeding and probably dying, she told me I was pretty."

Ozzie felt something warm unfurl in his chest. He moved to the bed, settling beside Fizz and running one large hand down his back. "Did she now?"

"Don't sound so smug about it," Fizz grumbled, but he was already turning over to look at Ozzie, and there was something vulnerable in his expression. "I know it was just the blood loss talking or whatever, but—"

"But it scared you," Ozzie finished gently. "Because your attached."

Fizz didn't even try to deny it. He just looked up at Ozzie with those pink eyes—the ones that could sell out an arena or break your heart depending on the angle—and gave him the look.

The look.

The one with the lower lip, slightly trembling. The wide eyes, dewy and devastating. The way his whole frame seemed to shrink just a fraction, curling in on itself like a kicked puppy who'd done something wrong and knew it.

Ozzie had seen that look before and, It was, of course, working on him right now.

"Fizzy," he tried to said firmly.

The look intensified. Fizz's bottom lip did an honest-to-goodness wobble.

"You are a famous performer. I've seen you perform thousands of times Babe. That face is not going to—"

Fizz made a small, pitiful whimpering noise.

"—oh, fuck it... you know I can't say no to that face." Ozzie scooped Fizz up—well, as much as you could scoop up someone made of mostly limbs and attitude—and pulled him against his chest. "Talk to me Froggie."

"Can we keep her?" Fizz asked immediately, the puppy-dog act melting seamlessly into earnest, hopeful excitement. "Like, not as a pet, but she's here and she can't go back and she laughed at my jokes and she asked where I was when you picked her up, Oz. She asked where I was. Like she wanted me there."

"I noticed," Ozzie said, and he had. That small, sleepy question—had hit both of them harder than either would probably admit out loud.

"So we should make sure she's okay," Fizz continued, the words tumbling out now, fast and earnest. "And we reallllllyyyy should look after her. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Ozzie agreed. "We should."

"Good." Fizz nodded firmly, then immediately deflated back into Ozzie's chest. "But that's the other thing. The keeping safe thing. It's not just the bleeding shit, Oz. It's everything."

"What do you mean?"

Fizz shifted, pulling back just enough to look at Ozzie properly. The vulnerability was back, but it was different now—sharper, edged with something that looked like genuine worry.

"She's human," he said. "A real, live human. In the Lust Ring." He let that sit for a moment. "Do you know how many hellborn down there have never even seen a human before? Like, ever? What if they think she's some curiosity, a novelty. You know what demons in this ring do with things they find novel and exciting."

Ozzie's flames flickered darkly. He did know. The Lust Ring's population didn't always have a reputation for restraint, the thought sickened him.

"They'd fetishize her," Ozzie said flatly.

"In a fucking heartbeat," Fizz confirmed. "The moment word gets out that there's an actual human living in the palace—every horny piece of shit in this ring is going to want a piece of her. And she won't even understand why. She doesn't know how any of this works, Oz. She doesn't know what she looks like to people down here. She doesn't know what she's—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "What happens when someone smiles at her who doesn't have good intentions?"

The temperature in the room dropped noticeably. Ozzie's flames burned cold and blue, the way they only did when he was truly, properly angry—not at anyone in particular, just at the situation.

"We don't let that happen," Ozzie said, and it wasn't a suggestion. It was a decree. "She stays in the palace. She doesn't go anywhere without one of us. And anyone who so much as looks at her wrong—"

"—gets to see what the Sin of Lust looks like when he's genuinely pissed," Fizz finished with a grin that had zero humor in it. "Yeah. I like that plan."

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

They were quiet for a moment, the weight of it settling between them. Fizz's fingers were idly tracing patterns on Ozzie's chest, and his expression had gone somewhere distant and thoughtful.

"She said I was pretty," he repeated, quieter this time. Not with the earlier wonderous emphasis—just a simple, small observation. Like he was still turning it over in his mind, trying to understand it.

"You are pretty," Ozzie said, tilting Fizz's chin up with one finger so their eyes met.

Fizz's smile was crooked—self-deprecating in that way it got when the insecurity crept in, the one Ozzie had spent years trying to erase. He reached up and touched his own face, fingertips tracing the edge of his jaw where the clown makeup had been washed off.

"She doesn't know what I actually look like," he said, and his voice had gone very quiet. Very careful. Like he was picking his way through glass.

"Not the whole..." He gestured at himself. "Package."

Ozzie didn't say anything. He knew better than to interrupt when Fizz was actually letting something out.

"It's all scar tissue, Oz." Fizz's hand dropped from his face, settling flat against his own chest like he was trying to hold something in. "The whole thing. One big, ugly, white mess. The paint covers it—all of it—but if she ever saw it without..." He trailed off, swallowing thickly.

"Most people flinch. Or they stare. Or they do that fucking thing where they pretend they don't notice, which is sooooo much worse."

His hand drifted up to where his horns—what was left of them—sat on his head. Broken. Uneven. The jagged stumps a permanent reminder of the fire that had taken so much from him.

"The horns too," he said, almost as an afterthought, like it was just another item on a list he'd been keeping for years. "They're never growing back. I know that. I've known that for a long time and im fine with it really. But she hasn't—she doesn't know what imp horns are supposed to look like. She doesn't know mine are all wrong."

"They're not wrong," Ozzie said.

"They are Oz," Fizz corrected, and his tone wasn't bitter. It was worse than bitter. It was just... tired. Resigned. Like he'd had this argument with himself a thousand times and lost every single one.

"Everything about me is fucked, Oz. The horns. The face. Half my body is literally metal and wiring now because the parts that were burned off got replaced with machines, and im grateful for that, that I have the limbs, truly I am."

He laughed then, short and sharp and a little wet. "But she has no fucking idea what she was actually looking at."

Ozzie moved. Not fast, not suddenly—just deliberately, carefully, the way he always moved when Fizz was like this.

He gathered Fizz up properly, one massive hand cradling the back of his head, and held him close enough that Fizz could feel the thump of his heartbeat.

"Listen to me," Ozzie said, and his voice was low and steady and absolute in the way it only got when he meant something with every single part of himself.

"The scars are part of you," Ozzie continued, his thumb stroking slow circles against the back of Fizz's neck. "The horns are part of you. All of it—it's you. And it has been for a long time. And I have been looking at every single piece of you and thinking you are the most stunning thing I have ever seen."

"Oz—"

"I'm not finished." Ozzie pressed his lips to the top of Fizz's head, right between the broken stumps of his horns. "She called you pretty because you are. Broken horns and scars and metal limbs and all of it. And if she ever does see what's under the paint—and she might, eventually—I genuinely believe she's going to think the exact same thing."

Fizz was quiet for a long time after that, pressed against Ozzie's chest, his breathing slowly evening out.

"Shut up," he mumbled.

"Never." Ozzie pressed another kiss to his head. "Not about this. Not ever."

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped around each other, the quiet settling into something comfortable and warm. Fizz's breathing was starting to even out.

"She's gonna be okay, right?" he asked, barely above a whisper. "She's gonna stay okay?"

"We're going to make sure of it," Ozzie promised.

A beat of silence, and then Fizz's head tilted up again, that familiar mischievous spark returning to his eyes. "So... can we keep her though? Officially? Like, is that a yes?"

"Fizz, she is not a—"

"A yes then," Fizz declared happily, nuzzling back into Ozzie's chest. "Great. Awesome. Love you, big daddy."

"If that's okay? I don't want to get in your way."

"You're fine, hun," said Dee, one of the line cooks who'd taken a particular liking to you. She was chopping something that looked vaguely like vegetables but moved occasionally. "Help yourself to whatever's in the walk-in. Just stay away from the blue container—that's for tonight's special and Chef will have my head if it goes missing."

"Noted," you said, smiling as you moved toward the walk-in cooler. "Thanks, Dee."

"Ooh, while you're in there, grab me one of those pastry things!" Porchi called after you. "The ones with the sweet filling!"

"Get your own snacks!" another cook yelled at him. "She's not your servant!"

"I was asking nicely!" Porchi protested. "There's a difference!"

You couldn't help but laugh, grabbing a small plate and loading it with an assortment of snacks—chips, some kind of pastry that smelled like cinnamon, a few pieces of fruit that you were pretty sure were Hell-grown. You snagged one of the pastries Porchi wanted and tossed it to him on your way out.

"You're an angel!" Porchi said, catching it. "Wait, no, scratch that, terrible choice of words—"

"A saint?" you offered, amused.

"Also probably not appropriate given the location," Dee pointed out.

"You're a wonderful person and I appreciate you!" Porchi amended, taking a huge bite of the pastry.

"Much better," you said, grinning as you headed toward the door. "Thanks for the snacks!"

"Anytime, hun!" Dee called after you. "And tell that Jester to actually eat lunch today! He was in here this morning and left with just coffee, he doesn't know when to take a break."

"I'll try," you promised.

You made your way back through the club, the main stage area already set up for whatever show would happen tonight. During the day, though, it belonged to Fizz, and you could hear his voice carrying across the space before you even saw him.

The main stage at Ozzie's was a completely different beast during the day. Without the colored lights, the crowd, the pulsing music and energy of a live show, it was peaceful. The massive space felt more intimate and you'd found yourself a comfortable spot in one of the VIP booths to watch Fizz rehearse.

You settled in with your snacks, trying very hard not to think about why Fizz was rehearsing so intensely. The shows at Mammon's theater. Back-to-back performances. Meet-and-greets with fans who sometimes made him uncomfortable in ways he wouldn't fully explain to you.

You pushed the thought down, even if the concern kept trying to bubble up every time you watched him run through the same routine without a break.

He was running through his "kid-friendly" set. Which meant toning down the sexual innuendos by about ninety percent and replacing them with slapstick comedy and terrible puns.

"Alright, alright, settle down imaginary children!" Fizz announced to the empty room, his voice projecting perfectly even without a microphone. "Now, I know what you're all thinking—'Fizzarolli, how are you so talented AND devastatingly handsome?' And the answer is—" He struck a dramatic pose, his mechanical limbs extending in impossible directions. "—I sold my soul! Just kidding! I mean, we're already in Hell, so that ship has sailed!"

You laughed, nearly choking on a chip. Even alone in the empty club, Fizz performed with the same energy and commitment as if there were hundreds watching.

"But seriously folks, let's talk about juggling!" Fizz produced three colorful balls from seemingly nowhere. "It's a lot like life—you're constantly trying to keep everything in the air, and occasionally—" One of the balls "accidentally" bonked him on the head. "—you get hit in the face! It builds character!"

He began juggling in earnest, his movements fluid and precise, adding more balls until he had six going at once. Then, because apparently that wasn't impressive enough, he started juggling with his feet while doing a handstand.

"See kids, this is why you should never skip leg day!" he called from his upside-down position. "Also, having robot limbs helps! I highly recommend it! The warranty is terrible though!"

You were grinning so hard your face hurt, completely relaxed in a way you rarely felt. This was nice. Safe. Just you and Fizz and his terrible jokes in the empty club.

Fizz transitioned into a bit involving a comically oversized hat and some kind of prop comedy that you couldn't quite follow but found hilarious anyway. He was so expressive, so animated, every movement deliberate and designed to entertain.

"And remember kids," Fizz said, taking an exaggerated bow, "if anyone ever tells you that you can't achieve your dreams because you're too short or too weird—" He paused, something genuine flickering across his face before the showman's mask slipped back into place. "—tell them Fizzarolli says they can go fuck themselves! Wait, no, that's not kid-friendly. Tell them to go... fudge themselves? Is fudge okay for kids? I honestly don't know anymore."

You dissolved into giggles, and Fizz's eyes found you in the booth. His grin widened, and he took another elaborate bow, this time clearly directed at you.

"Thank you, thank you, you're a wonderful audience!" he called. "Even if you are an audience of one who's currently eating all the snacks!"

"They're good snacks!" you called back, holding up the pastry.

"Those are MY good snacks!"

"Come get them, while there's still some to share!" you teased, taking an exaggerated bite.

Fizz gasped in mock horror, clutching his chest. "Betrayed! In my own club! Is nothing sacred?"

You just grinned at him, completely unrepentant, and watched him launch into another bit.

About twenty minutes later, Fizz bounded off stage and made his way to where you were sitting. He vaulted over the booth with unnecessary acrobatic flair, landing beside you with a flourish.

"So, what'd you think, cutie?" he asked, eyeing your plate. "Be honest. I can take it. I'm a professional."

"I think you're really good," you said honestly. "Even the terrible puns."

"ESPECIALLY the terrible puns," Fizz corrected, striking a pose. "The puns are art. I'll have you know I workshopped that 'leg day' joke for weeks. WEEKS."

You smiled, offering him the plate. "Want some? There's still plenty."

"Oh, so NOW I get to eat huh ?," Fizz said, but he was already taking a chip. "After I poured my heart and soul into that performance. But sure, I'll accept tribute in snack form."

"I really did think you were great," you said, holding the plate so he could take another chip. "Do you prefer performing for kids? I remember watching you at that carnival in Wrath—those little imp kids absolutely loved you. They were so cute."

Fizz's expression shifted through several emotions—surprise, something soft and pleased, then a more complicated look. "I mean, yeah, kid shows are fun! They're honest, you know? If a joke doesn't land, they just stare at you though. No fake laughs."

"That carnival show was amazing," you said. "You were so good with them."

"Thanks, cutie," Fizz said, and there was genuine warmth in his voice before his tone shifted slightly. "It's... a lot. Love-hate relationship with that whole circus, honestly."

"Because of the extra meet-and-greets?" you asked.

"Yeah, those are..." Fizz paused, his smile becoming a bit more strained. "They're fine. Mostly. The kids are great! Always great! It's just, you know, some of the adults get a little..." He trailed off, then seemed to catch himself. "Anyway! Point is, kid shows are way more fun because kids don't have weird expectations! They just want balloon animals and bad puns!"

You sensed there was more to it, but before you could ask, Fizz was already pivoting.

"Have you eaten anything else today?" you asked, deciding not to push.

Fizz paused mid-chip-grab. "Define 'eaten.'"

"Fizz."

"I had coffee?"

"That doesn't count."

"Sure it does! It's a bean! Beans are food!" Fizz said, but he was already standing, his limbs retracting to normal proportions. "But FINE, if you're gonna mother-hen me like Ozzie does, I guess I'll get some real food. You coming, cutie? Wanna bring MY snacks."

"I'll bring them," you said, standing with the plate. "And we can share OUR snacks. Like civilized people."

"Oh, is that how sharing works? Fascinating!" Fizz said, already heading toward the backstage area. "Come on then, before I perish from starvation! It'll be very dramatic! There'll be a whole death scene! People will write songs about it!"

The backstage area of Ozzie's was just as elaborate as the main club, all dark corridors and dressing rooms with stars on the doors. Fizz led you to his dressing room—a space that was somehow both chaotic and organized, covered in costumes, props, and what appeared to be an entire wall dedicated to different balloon animals.

"Okay, so, confession time!" Fizz announced, flinging himself toward the small fridge in the corner. "I haven't practiced actual balloon animals in FOREVER. So if you're staying, cutie, you're getting a front-row seat to the Fizzarolli Balloon Spectacular! Which may or may not involve several loud popping sounds and some very creative swearing!"

"I would love that," you said, settling onto the plush couch and setting the plate between you.

Fizz pulled out what looked like a sandwich and a bag of balloons, flopping down beside you. He immediately took a huge bite of the sandwich, then grabbed a balloon with his free hand.

"Multitasking!" he announced with his mouth full. "It's a GIFT!"

You held out a chip toward him, and he took it without question, somehow managing to chew both the sandwich and the chip while inflating a balloon. His cheeks puffed out comically, and you couldn't help but giggle.

"You're gonna choke," you said.

"Nah, I'm a professional!" Fizz said, swallowing. "I once ate an entire plate of wings while doing a handstand! Granted, Ozzie yelled at me for like an hour afterward, but I SURVIVED!" He tied off the balloon with a flourish. "Now watch as I create ART!"

His hands moved quickly, twisting the balloon into a perfect dog shape within seconds. "TA-DA! Behold! Man's best friend! Or demon's best friend! Whatever!"

He set it aside and grabbed another balloon, offering you a bite of his sandwich. You took it, and he grinned before launching into an explanation of how to make a giraffe.

"The trick is the proportions!" he said, his hands already working. "You want the neck to be long but not so long it looks like a confused snake with delusions of grandeur!"

You watched, mesmerized by how precisely his mechanical fingers moved. Each twist was exact, each bubble perfectly sized.

"Okay, your turn, cutie!" Fizz declared, shoving an uninflated balloon into your hands. "I'll walk you through a dog! It's super easy! No promises! But hey, if you fail, we can just say it's abstract art!"

The balloon squeaked awkwardly as you tried to inflate it, managing to get it about halfway before running out of breath.

"Here, give it here," Fizz said, taking it and inflating it in one quick breath. "Okay! So first twist is about ttttthis far from the top—" He demonstrated. "That's the snout! Adorable! Moving on!"

He guided you through each step, occasionally taking bites of food between instructions and offering you more from the plate. His energy was infectious, and you found yourself completely absorbed in trying to get the proportions right.

"Your tongue's out!" Fizz said, pointing at your face. "That's how I know you're in the ZONE! Okay, okay, twist there—YES! Good! Now the ears—they should be loops, not weird stick things—"

"I'm trying!" you protested, concentrating hard on making the loops even.

"And NOW the legs!" Fizz continued. "Same principle as the ears! Make 'em loopy! We want a dog, not a stick figure that identifies as a dog!"

Several balloons popped in the process, each one making you jump, but eventually, you held up a slightly crooked but definitely recognizable balloon dog.

"I DID IT!" you exclaimed.

"You DID!" Fizz matched your energy, jumping up from the couch. "LOOK AT THAT! It's beautiful! It's like a dog that might have a alcohol problem but in the CUTEST way possible!"

"It's not that wonky!" you laughed.

"It's PERFECTLY wonky and I love it!" Fizz declared, snatching it from your hands and immediately clearing space on his prop shelf. "This is going in the Hall of Fame! Right here! Pride of place!"

He set your lopsided creation among his perfect balloon animals with such genuine care that it made your chest feel warm.

"Now," Fizz said, settling back on the couch and grabbing another balloon, "watch the master work!"

He launched into creating increasingly elaborate balloon animals—a giraffe, something that might have been a dragon.

You settled in to watch, offering him bites of food every so often, which he accepted without breaking his rhythm. His mechanical hands were fascinating, moving with such precision and control.

The mechanical fingers moved at impossible angles, bending and twisting in ways that organic hands never could. You found yourself staring, completely fascinated by the precision, the control.

How much could he actually feel through them? Were they just tools he controlled, or could he sense things? Temperature, texture, pressure?

"Okay, you're staring REALLY hard," Fizz said, not looking up from the balloon animal he was constructing. "Like, REALLY staring. I can feel your eyeballs boring into my hands. It's kinda intense. Should I be concerned? Are you planning to steal them? Because I gotta tell you, they're kinda attached."

"Sorry," you said quickly, your face heating. "I was just... wondering."

"Wondering what?" He brandished the completed animal with a flourish before setting it aside. "About my INCREDIBLE dexterity? My AMAZING hand-eye coordination? The fact that I could probably beat you in thumb war with both hands tied behind my back? Which would be ironic?"

"About your hands," you admitted. "I was wondering how much you can... feel with them?"

Fizz's manic energy seemed to pause for just a moment. His expression shifted into something you couldn't quite read—surprised, maybe? Touched?

"Huh," he said finally. "That's... actually a good question! Most people don't ask. Or they ask in this weird pitying way like I'm some tragic figure in a penny dreadful! 'Oh, poor Fizzarolli, he can't FEEL things!' Very dramatic. Very annoying."

"I'm just curious," you said softly. "But if it's too personal—"

"Nah, nah, it's cool!" Fizz waved a hand dismissively. "I like that you just... asked. You always ask like it's a normal question. Which it is! Totally normal!" He extended one of his arms, the limb stretching across the space until his hand was right in front of your face. "I can feel most things! Pressure, definitely. Temperature. Texture's a little fuzzier but it's there. It's not the same as, like, flesh-and-blood touch, but it's not nothing!"

You looked at the offered hand, then back at his face. "Really?"

"Really! Here, I'll prove it!" Fizz said, and suddenly he was slapping his other hand over his eyes in an exaggerated gesture. "Okay! I can't see! I'm BLIND! Completely SIGHTLESS! You could rob me right now and I'd never know!"

"Fizz—"

"Touch my hand!" he said, his voice taking on a game-show host quality. "Anywhere! And I'll tell you when I can feel it! It's like a magic trick but with SCIENCE! Or engineering! Or whatever! Just touch it and I'll tell you if I can feel it!"

You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. Slowly, carefully, you reached out and very lightly touched one finger to his palm.

Nothing. He didn't react.

You pressed a little harder, and Fizz immediately perked up. "There! Right there! Palm! Very center! I felt that!"

"You can feel that?" you asked, genuinely fascinated now.

"Hell yeah I can feel that! Keep going! This is FUN!" Fizz said, still covering his eyes but you could see him peeking just slightly between his fingers.

You ran your fingers across his palm, experimenting with different pressures. When you touched lightly, he didn't seem to register it. But firmer pressure got immediate responses.

"Yep! Got it! That's the base of my fingers now—oh, that tickles! Who knew robo hands could tickle? NOT MEEEE!"

You were laughing now, tracing patterns across his mechanical hand while Fizz gave running commentary, occasionally peeking through his fingers to watch your expression.

"Okay, okay, that's the wrist—I felt that! Very scandalous! What if someone sees? What will they THINK?" He said the last part in a dramatic falsetto.

"They'll think we're weird," you said, gently squeezing his hand.

"Joke's on them, I've ALWAYS been weird! It's part of my CHARM!" Fizz lowered his hand from his eyes, looking at you with an expression that was softer than his usual manic grin. "But seriously, thanks for asking. And for being cool about it. Lots of people get weird about the prosthetics. Like, WEIRD weird."

"They're part of you," you said simply. "Why would I be weird about you?"

Fizz went very still. His eyes were fixed on your face with an intensity that made your breath catch, though you weren't sure why.

"You're really special, you know that?" he said, his voice quieter than you'd ever heard it. "Like... really special."

"HA, sure, sure ...special good or special bad?" you asked, your hand resting under his mechanical hand.

Fizz's eyes dropped to your lips for just a moment—two seconds, maybe three—before meeting your gaze again. You didn't notice, too focused on waiting for his answer.

"Special like—perfect," he said softly, and then he was leaning in, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

And then he was kissing you.

For a moment—just a brief, stunning moment—you froze. Fizz's lips were soft against yours, gentle in a way that seemed at odds with his usual manic energy. His mechanical hand was warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin, and his other hand was still clasped in yours.

But then reality crashed back in, and you pulled back sharply, your heart hammering in panic.

"W-what are you doing?" The words came out strangled, confused.

Fizz blinked, his hand still on your cheek, his expression shifting from soft to uncertain. "I—I thought we were having a moment? That was a moment, right? I didn't just imagine—"

"You have Ozzie!" you said, and your voice cracked on his name. "You're with Ozzie! I can't—we can't—"

The tabloids. Oh god, the tabloids had been right. Mystery plaything, they'd called you. Homewrecker. Doing anything for a place to stay.

And now you'd actually done it. You'd kissed Ozzie's partner.

"Wait, no, that's not—" Fizz started, his eyes widening with alarm as he saw the panic on your face.

"I'm sorry," you said, and the tears were already starting, hot and fast. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—I should have stopped you, I should have—those tabloids were right, fuck they were right about me, I'm doing exactly what they said—"

"Whoa, whoa, NO—" Fizz reached for you, but that only made it worse.

You scrambled off the couch, backing away from him. "I would never try to come between you two, I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen, I'm not—I couldn't—"

Your voice broke completely. You could see it now, the new headlines. The proof that you were exactly the homewrecking slut they'd painted you as. Seducing Asmodeus's boyfriend. Destroying their relationship. Being everything vile and disgusting the article had accused you of.

"Hey, no, wait—" Fizz was on his feet now, his hands outstretched but not touching, like he was afraid he'd spook you further. "This isn't—you're not—fuck, please just let me explain—"

"I have to go—I gotta get some—some air." you choked out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Please don't—" Fizz started, but you were already at the door.

"I'm sorry," you said again, your vision blurring with tears. "I'm so, so sorry."

And then you turned, walking fast too fast, then walking turned to running.

Down the hallway, through the empty club, out into the street. You heard Fizz calling your name, but you didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

The tabloids had been right.

You were exactly what they'd called you.

And you had no idea how to live with that.

Fizz's phone buzzed across the dressing room vanity, he took the phone call with a heavy sigh, sinking back onto the couch and running his hand down his face.

"Oz, I fucked up," he said immediately.

"Well, that's not concerning at all," Ozzie's voice came through, warmly. "What happened?"

"I kissed her," Fizz said, his voice going small. "I kissed her and she freaked out and I'm pretty sure she thinks she's a homewrecker now."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"Froggie," Ozzie said carefully. "Did you tell her that we've been planning to ask her to join our relationship?"

"I didn't get that far!" Fizz said, his voice pitching higher with distress. "We were having this really nice moment and she was touching my hand and asking about what I can feel and it was so sweet and genuine and she called the imp kids from Wrath cute and was asking about my shows and I just... went for it. Like a complete IDIOT."

"You're not an idiot," Ozzie said, but he sighed. "Though your timing could use work."

"FUCK, she thinks I cheated on you," Fizz said miserably, slumping further into the couch cushions. "With her. She was apologizing and saying she'd never come between us and something about the tabloids being right and then she just left, Oz. She RAN."

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know. Home? Probably home." Fizz made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. "What do I do, Oz? She looked so upset. Like she'd done something awful. And it's MY fault for not explaining first!"

"I'll handle it," Ozzie said firmly. "I'm heading home now. Don't follow her—she needs space, and you chasing her down might make it worse. We'll talk to her together when she's ready."

"And if she's not ready?" Fizz asked quietly, voicing the fear that was clawing at his chest. "What if she doesn't want... this? Us?"

"Then we'll deal with that," Ozzie said gently. "But Fizzy? I don't think that's the problem. She might not know it's an option."

"Yeah," Fizz said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, okay."

"I'll see you at home," Ozzie said. "And Froggie?"

"Yeah?"

"It's going to be okay. We'll figure this out."

Fizz hung up and stared at the ceiling, at the collection of balloon animals scattered around the room, at your lopsided balloon dog still sitting proudly on his shelf.

"Please let him be right," he muttered to the empty room. "Please, please let him be right."

By the time Ozzie made it home, the palace was quiet.

He headed straight for your room, his chest tight with concern. He knocked gently on the door.

"Little one, are you home? Can we talk?"

Silence.

He tried again, his voice softer. "I know you're upset. But please, let me explain. Fizzy called me and—"

Still nothing.

"Baby, I'm not angry," Ozzie said, pressing his hand against the door, the name slipping past his teeth without a second thought. "Neither of us are upset with you. But we need to talk about what happened. Please."

When there was still no response, Ozzie carefully tried the handle. The door swung open.

The room was empty. Your bed was made. Your belongings were still scattered around—a jacket draped over a chair, your phone charger on the nightstand, a book on the side table—but you weren't there.

Ozzie's flames flared bright with sudden alarm. He moved through the palace quickly, checking the lounge, the kitchen, the bathroom. Calling your name, his voice echoing through the empty halls.

Nothing.

You weren't home.

By the time he reached the bedroom, Fizz had arrived home and was sitting on the edge of their bed, his expression shifting from miserable to alarmed at the look on Ozzie's face.

"What's wrong?" Fizz asked, uncoiling from the bed. "Did she—is she okay? Did you talk to her?"

"She's not here," Ozzie said, and his voice was tight with worry. "She's not in her room. She's not anywhere in the palace. She's gone."

"Gone?" Fizz repeated, his voice pitching higher. "What do you mean GONE? Where would she GO?"

"I don't know," Ozzie said, already pulling out his phone. "But we need to find her. Now."

Fizz was on his feet instantly, his limbs extending as he started pacing. "Okay, okay, think! Where would she go? She doesn't know Hell that well, she doesn't have many places she could—oh fuck, Oz, she doesnt have security she's just wondering alone?"

"Call her," Ozzie commanded, already dialing himself. "Keep calling until she picks up."

They both tried. Once, twice, three times. Each call went straight to voicemail.

"She turned her phone off," Fizz said, and there was genuine panic in his voice now. "She NEVER turns her phone off! Oz, what if something happens to her? What if someone—"

"Don't panic Froggie, we'll find her," Ozzie said firmly, even though his own flames were flickering over his mane. "We'll find her."

Fizz was already at the door, his movements jerky with anxiety. "I'm checking Ozzie's. Maybe she went back there, maybe she's hiding in the club or—"

"I'll check the surrounding streets," Ozzie said, grabbing his coat. "Call me if you find anything. ANYTHING."

"Same," Fizz said, his voice cracking slightly. "Oz, I—if something happens to her because of what I did—"

"We'll find her," Ozzie repeated, moving to pull Fizz into a quick, tight kiss. "We will find her. She can't have gone far."

But even as he said it, he couldn't shake the cold dread settling in his chest.

You were out there somewhere. Alone. Upset. In Hell.

And they had no idea where you'd gone.

Fizz pulled back, his pink eyes wide with fear. "We have to find her. We have to."

"We will," Ozzie promised, even as his mind raced through increasingly worse scenarios. "Come on."

They left the palace together, splitting up at the entrance. Ozzie headed toward the main streets, his flames bright enough now to light his way, calling your name into the darkness.

Fizz ran toward the club, his movements almost frantic, his mind racing with terrible possibilities.

"I'm filing a complaint with HR about my boss," Fizz grumbled, but he was already extracting himself from the tangle of limbs, stretching in a way that could only be normal for him.

"Exploiting his poor, innocent employee. Making him wake up at unreasonable hours."

"It's Seven AM."

"Unreasonable," Fizz repeated firmly, but he was grinning now, fully awake and already bouncing with that manic energy he always seemed to have in the mornings. "I dreamed about our adorable human down the hall."

"Of course you did."

"Okay, so! Agenda for the day!" Fizz grabbed a tablet from the nightstand—custom-made to fit his grip—and started scrolling. "You've got a meeting with the factory managers at nine. Then there's that conference call with the Greed Ring suppliers at eleven—ugh, Mammon's people are gonna be on that one, they're always such pricks about shipping costs—"

"Fizz."

"Right, staying on track! Lunch meeting with the Envy rep at one. Then you've got paperwork and approvals for the new product line. Oh, and don't forget you promised to review the quarterly reports before the board meeting next week."

Ozzie groaned. "Sounds riveting."

"Hey, being the King of Lust isn't all sex and parties, Big Daddy." Fizz grinned at him. "Sometimes it's boring business stuff and—" He paused, squinting at the screen. "Did you actually agree to have drinks with Beelzebub, or did she just add herself to your calendar again?"

"Probably the second one."

"Thought so." Fizz made a note. "I'll confirm with her. And then you're free for the evening, which is good because I'm pretty sure our human is going to need some attention after, you know, almost dying yesterday."

The reminder sobered them both. Ozzie's expression flickered, shifting to something more serious.

"How is she?" Fizz asked quietly.

"Was sleeping peacefully when I checked last night," Ozzie said. "But we should probably—"

"Yeah," Fizz agreed. Then, after a beat of silence, his expression shifted into something more calculated. Ozzie recognized that look.

"Froggie."

"Annnyway!" His bells jingled as he bounced excitedly. "Speaking of our girl, I was thinking—"

"Here we go." Ozzie grinned.

"—I should take her shopping! Like, actually shopping! She can't keep wearing the guest pajamas or branded hoodies, and she probably needs her own stuff. Clothes, toiletries, maybe some treats to make her feel better about the whole 'trapped in Hell' thing—"

"Fizz, I'm not sure that's—"

"Come on, Oz!" Fizz's expression shifted into full puppy-dog eyes. "She needs stuff! And I'm great at shopping! Plus it'll get her out of the house, let her see that the Lust Ring isn't ALL terrifying! Well, mostly. I'll keep her away from the really intense areas!"

"That's what worries me."

"I'll be careful! I promise! Scout's honor!" Fizz held up his hand in what was probably meant to be a scout salute but looked more like jazz hands.

"You were never a scout."

"Details! Point is, I'll take good care of her, you know I will! And you'll be in meetings all day anyway, so she'd just be sitting here, probably getting bored or overthinking everything—"

Ozzie sighed. Fizz knew him too well. "If—and this is a big if—I agree to this, you have to promise me you'll stay in the safe areas. The market district is fine, but nowhere near the clubs or the red light streets."

"Obviously!"

"And you take security with you."

"Oz, I don't need—"

"Non-negotiable, Fizzy. If word gets out there's a human here, every demon with bad intentions is going to be looking for her. You take security."

Fizz's bells jingled as he nodded. "Okay, okay. Security. Got it."

"And use my card. The one with the joint account. Get her whatever she needs."

"Can we get her treats too?"

"Within reason."

"You're the best, Big Daddy!" Fizz threw his arms around Ozzie's neck, bells chiming happily.

"What did I say about that name?"

"We're alone! It doesn't count!" Fizz planted a kiss on Ozzie's cheek. "I'm gonna go check on her! Make sure she's okay!"

"Fizz, it's barely seven in the morning—"

But Fizz was already bouncing out of bed, bells jingling all the way to the door. "She's probably awake! Humans wake up early, right? That's a thing humans do!"

"Fizz—"

"I'll be subtle! Promise!"

Ozzie watched him go with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Subtle. Right. Fizz didn't have a subtle bone in his body.

But the enthusiasm was endearing. And if it made their her feel more comfortable...

He hauled himself out of bed. Time to face another day of meetings and management. The glamorous life of a Sin.

You were trying to retrace your steps from when Ozzie had brought you to the room last night, but nothing looked familiar. Was it left at the weird statue, or right? Did you go down the stairs or up? There were too many doors, too many turns, and you were fairly certain you'd passed the same vase three times now. Now, faced with a corridor that branched off in three different directions, you were completely lost.

You tried going left first. That led to more doors—all closed—and eventually to what looked like a library or study. Beautiful, but definitely not the kitchen.

You backtracked and tried the middle path. This opened into what might have been a sitting room? Or maybe a formal parlor? There were couches and art and large windows, but no kitchen.

The third path seemed more promising—you could smell something. Coffee? Maybe food? You followed your nose down the corridor, past more closed doors, around a corner, and—

You stopped dead.

This hallway had photos on the walls. Lots of them. And they were... well. Some were perfectly innocent—Fizz and Ozzie at what looked like a restaurant, Fizz performing on stage, Ozzie at some kind of formal event.

Others were decidedly less innocent. Not explicit, exactly, but intimate in ways that made your face burn. Fizz sprawled across Ozzie's lap. Ozzie's hand on Fizz's face, tender and possessive. A photo of them kissing that was definitely not meant for public viewing.

You quickly averted your eyes and kept walking, face flaming.

"Okay," you muttered to yourself, standing at yet another intersection of hallways. "This is fine. This is totally fine. You're just lost in a demon palace in Hell. Very normal. Very cool."

You picked a direction at random and kept walking, hoping that eventually you'd stumble across something familiar. Or someone. Anyone, really, at this point you'd take—

"Little one?"

You jumped, spinning around to find Ozzie standing in the hallway behind you, his massive form somehow having appeared without making a sound, and his expression was gentle—concerned, even.

"I was just coming to find you," he said, moving closer. "Are you... lost again?"

"Maybe a little," you admitted, your face heating with embarrassment. "Everything kind of looks the same, and I couldn't remember which way was the kitchen, and I didn't want to bother anyone by calling out or—"

"You wouldn't be bothering anyone," Ozzie interrupted gently. One massive hand reached out, and his fingertip—still roughly the size of your head—brushed against your hairline in what was probably meant to be reassuring. "This palace is too big for anyone to navigate without help. Even Fizzy still gets lost sometimes."

"I do not!" Fizz's voice echoed from somewhere down the hall, followed by the sound of mechanical limbs clicking against the floor. He appeared around the corner a moment later, grinning. "I have an excellent sense of direction, thank you very much. I just sometimes choose to take the scenic route."

"You got stuck in the west wing for two hours last month," Ozzie said dryly.

"That was one time!" Fizz protested, but he was already moving to your side, looking you over with an assessing gaze that was trying to be subtle and failing. "How you feeling, cutie? Any more nosebleeds? Dizziness? Sudden urge to combust?"

"I'm fine," you said, and you were surprised to find it was mostly true. "Just... hungry, I think."

"Well, we can definitely fix that," Fizz said brightly. "Come on, the kitchen's this way. Just follow the scent of Ozzie's stress-cooking."

"I don't stress-cook," Ozzie said, falling into step behind you both as Fizz led the way.

"Yes you do babe!"

Fizz gestured for you to go first. "Come on, don't be shy! Ozzie's making breakfast! He makes the best pancakes. Well, he makes the best everything, but his pancakes are especially good—"

"You're biased," Ozzie said, but he sounded pleased.

"I'm accurate!" Fizz bounced to the kitchen bench and patted the chair next to him. "Sit! Food'll be ready soon!"

You made your way over and climbed into the chair. Even the breakfast bar chairs were a bit tall for you—clearly sized for demons. Your feet didn't touch the floor.

"Sorry, I should drawn you a map or something!" Fizz said. "The layout's kind of weird. Ozzie had it designed for maximum privacy, which means lots of wings and corridors and—hey, did you see our photo wall?"

Your face immediately burned. "I... might have walked past it?"

Fizz's grin turned wicked. "And?"

"Fizzy baby" Ozzie said warningly. "Don't tease her before she's even had coffee."

"I'm not teasing! I'm just asking if she liked our photos! They're artistic!"

"Some of them are very artistic," you said carefully, face still hot.

Fizz laughed, bells jingling. "You're so cute when you're embarrassed. Ozzie, she's blushing again."

"I can see that, Froggie."

Ozzie brought over a platter of pancakes that could probably feed an army, along with bacon, eggs, fruit, and what looked like some kind of pastries. He set it all down and settled into a chair—custom-made, clearly.

"Help yourself," he said gently. "There's plenty."

You took a pancake and some fruit, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by their generosity.

"So!" Fizz said, already loading his plate with an impressive amount of food. "I had an idea!"

"Oh no," Ozzie said, but he was smiling.

"Hey! My ideas are great! Anyway, I was thinking—you need stuff, right? Clothes, toiletries, maybe some comfort items? So I should take you shopping!"

You blinked. "Shopping?"

"Yeah! There's this great market district not too far from here. Outdoor stalls, lots of variety, and it's way less intense than the main shopping centers." His bells jingled with excitement. "We can get you a whole wardrobe! And other stuff! Whatever you need!"

"That's really nice, but I don't have any money—"

"Oh, we're using Big Oz's card," Fizz said cheerfully.

"Don't call me that at breakfast."

"But you ARE big, and your name is Oz, so—"

"Fizz."

"Anyway!" Fizz turned back to you, grinning. "Point is, money's not an issue. Ozzie's loaded. Like, stupidly loaded. And he likes spoiling people."

Fizz's bells jingled. "So what do you say? Shopping trip? It'll be fun! I'm a great shopping companion! I have excellent taste!"

"I really can't accept—"

"Sure you can!" Fizz interrupted. "Look, you need clothes. The pajamas are cute, but you can't wear them forever. And we want to help! Don't we, Oz?"

"We do," Ozzie confirmed. His expression was kind as he looked at you. "Consider it part of keeping you safe. You need to be able to blend in a bit, and that means appropriate clothing for the Lust Ring."

"But it's too much—"

"It's really not," Ozzie said gently. "And before you argue more, let me ask you this, do you like it here so far? In the guest room? Are you comfortable?"

You nodded hesitantly. "Yes, but—"

"Then that's all that matters. We want you to feel safe and comfortable, if that means buying you some clothes and things that will make you feel more at home, then that's what we'll do."

His voice had a finality to it that made it clear the discussion was over. But it wasn't harsh—just certain. Protective, almost.

"Besides," Fizz added, bells jingling as he leaned closer conspiratorially. "Ozzie loves spending money on people he likes. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You'd be doing him a favor, really."

"That's not—" Ozzie stopped, then sighed. "Okay, that's partially true. But my point stands. Let us help you."

You looked between them—Fizz with his enthusiastic grin and jingling bells, Ozzie with his gentle but firm expression—and felt something warm curl in your chest. They were just... helping. No strings attached.

"Okay," you said softly. "If you're sure it's not too much trouble."

"Yes!" Fizz pumped his fist, bells chiming. "Shopping trip! This is gonna be great! I'll show you all the best stalls! Oh, and we have to get you some plushies—the market has the cutest plushies—and maybe some snacks, and—"

"Fizz, let her finish breakfast first," Ozzie said, amused.

"Right, right! Breakfast first, then shopping!" Fizz dug into his pancakes with enthusiasm. "These are so good, babe. I don't know how you make them so fluffy."

"Secret recipe," Ozzie said dryly.

"Lies. You use a mix from a box."

"A very expensive box."

You ate your pancakes, listening to them bicker affectionately, and felt yourself relax slightly. This was still insane. Still completely surreal. But maybe... maybe it would be okay.

An hour later, you found yourself in an elevator with Fizz and two large demons who Fizz had cheerfully introduced as "security."

"Ozzie's being paranoid," Fizz had explained as you'd left the palace. "But honestly, it's kind of sweet. He worries."

The security demons didn't talk much, just followed at a respectful distance as Fizz led you through the streets of the Lust Ring.

In daylight—the Ring looked different. Still overwhelming, still covered in neon and suggestive architecture, but somehow less intimidating. The crowds were thinner, the atmosphere more relaxed.

"Market's just up here," Fizz said, his bells jingling as he walked. He'd grabbed your hand at some point, leading you through the crowd. His grip was oddly warm considering it was mechanical and you found yourself grateful for it. "It's pretty chill, mostly just vendors selling stuff. Some of it's, uh, adult-oriented, but there's normal stuff too!"

"Adult-oriented," you repeated weakly.

"You know, toys and accessories and—actually, we'll just skip those stalls! Focus on the clothing and cute stuff!"

The market opened up before you, a sprawling collection of colorful stalls and tents arranged in a rough grid. Vendors called out to passersby, advertising their wares. The air smelled like food and incense and something sweet you couldn't identify.

"Okay, first stop—clothes!" Fizz dragged you toward a stall that had racks of clothing on display. "Let's get you some basics. Shirts, pants, maybe a dress or two if you're into that—"

The vendor was a demon with purple skin and multiple arms, which she used to show off various items simultaneously. "Looking for something specific, Fizzarolli?"

"Oh, you know me?" Fizz grinned.

"Everyone knows you! My kids love your act!" She gestured to a poster on her stall—Fizz's face grinning back from what looked like an advertisement. "What can I get for you?"

"We need a whole wardrobe for my friend here," Fizz said, gesturing to you. "Comfortable stuff, practical, but cute. She's new to the area."

"Say no more!" The vendor started pulling items, holding them up for your inspection. "What about this? Or this? Oh, this color would look great on you!"

Twenty minutes later, you had a pile of clothes that Fizz assured you would be perfect. Shirts, pants, a few dresses, even some pajamas that weren't borrowed from palace stock.

"How much?" you asked hesitantly.

"Don't worry about it!" Fizz was already handing over a card. "Big Oz's treat! He insisted!"

You felt guilty, but also... it was really nice to have clothes that would fit properly.

The next stall sold toiletries, and Fizz loaded up a basket with soaps, shampoos, and various other items while asking you questions about what scents you liked. Then there was a stall with accessories—hair clips, jewelry, scarves—and Fizz picked out a few things he deemed "essential."

"This is already so much—" you started.

"Shh, we're not done! We haven't hit the fun stuff yet!" His bells jingled with excitement as he pulled you deeper into the market.

The "fun stuff" turned out to be a stall absolutely covered in plush toys, of all things, and something in your chest loosened slightly. These were normal. These were cute. These weren't—

"Oh my satan, look at this one!" Fizz held up a plush demon that looked like a tiny, grumpy bat. "He's perfect. He looks like he's judging everyone. I love him."

"He's cute," you admitted, reaching out to touch the soft fabric.

"You're getting him," Fizz decided immediately, adding it to the growing pile of purchases. "And this one—oh, and this one looks like a little Ozzie, that's perfect for you since you like blue—"

"Fizz, you don't have to—"

"Not listening!" Fizz sang, grabbing another plush. "We're treating you, remember? That's the whole point of today!"

You wanted to protest more, but there was something so genuinely happy about the way Fizz was shopping for you—picking things he thought you'd like, getting excited about little details, insisting on the bat plush because it "had personality"—that you couldn't bring yourself to argue.

You were in the middle of debating between two different blankets when a voice called out from behind you.

"Holy shit, is that Fizzarolli?"

You turned to see a group of three fans approaching, their eyes wide with excitement and laser-focused on Fizz. Fizz's entire demeanor shifted—not in a bad way, but into something more performative. More on.

"The one and only!" he said with a showman's grin, striking a pose. "What gave it me away? The devilish good looks or the irresistible charm?"

"Oh man, we're huge fans!" one of them gushed, already pulling out their phone. "We've seen your show's like six times. You're incredible!"

"Aw, you're gonna make me blush," Fizz said, and you could tell he was eating this up even as one of the fans physically moved you aside—actually put their hands on your shoulder and shifted you out of the way like you were a piece of furniture—to get a better angle with their camera.

"Here, here, can you do the pose? The one from the commercials?" The imp was already shoving their phone at you without looking. "You, can you take the picture."

You blinked, suddenly holding a stranger's phone while they clustered around Fizz, and you weren't entirely sure how you'd gotten here.

"Smile!" you said weakly, because what else were you supposed to do?

"Oh dude, you have a Fizzie, right?" one of them was saying as you fumbled with the phone. "I got the deluxe model last month and holy shit, the upgrades—"

You blinked, confused. "Fizzies?"

Fizz's expression flickered with something uncomfortable for just a moment. "Oh, uh, yeah! Mammon—that's one of the other Sins, he's kind of my boss—he manufactures these, uh, robots. Based on me. For entertainment purposes."

The way he said "entertainment" made it clear what kind of entertainment they were designed for. Your face immediately burned.

"They're top of the line!" one of the fans was saying. "Super realistic, lots of features, very... durable."

"Oh god," you whispered, face flaming.

"I modded mine," another cut in enthusiastically. "Extended the prehensile feature by like six inches and added the heating element. Best investment I ever made."

"Okay, that's genius," the first one said. "I didn't even think about the heating thing. Does it actually make a difference when you're—"

"Oh absolutely. Especially with the vibration settings? Game changer. I used mine for hours last night—"

You were trying very hard to focus on taking pictures and not on the conversation happening approximately two feet from your face.

"—and the flexible spine model?" the third imp actually groaned. "The positions you can get that thing into are insane. I'm talking full one-eighty bends, completely unnatural angles—"

"See, that's what I'm saying! The articulation is incredible!" The first fan turned to Fizz, who had frozen in his pose with an expression you couldn't quite read. "Seriously, man, whoever designed these things is a genius. The oral function alone—the suction, the tongue articulation, the way it—"

"Okay!" Fizz said brightly, his voice pitched just a little too high. "Great! Love the enthusiasm! Always appreciate fans who appreciate the, uh, craftsmanship!"

"Oh we appreciate it," one of them said with a frankly obscene wink. "I appreciate it like five times a week minimum. Six if I'm having a good week."

You were actively trying to sink into the ground through sheer force of will.

"And can we talk about the voice box?" The third fan was practically vibrating with excitement. "Hearing it say your catchphrases while it's—I mean, there's nothing hotter than your voice right when you're about to—"

"Photos are done!" you announced, perhaps a bit too loudly, shoving the phone back at its owner. "All done! Great pictures! Very nice!"

The fans barely glanced at you, still crowding around Fizz.

"One more picture? Can you sign my shirt?"

"Oh, sign mine too!"

"Do the voice—do the voice from the commercials!"

Fizz was still smiling, but you could see something tight around his eyes now, something performative about the way he was moving as he signed shirts and posed for more pictures. He kept glancing at you—quick, flickering looks like he was making sure you were still there.

"Alright, alright!" Fizz finally said, his voice still cheerful but with an edge of finality. "I gotta get back to shopping, but it was great meeting you guys! Enjoy the Fizzies, and uh, remember to follow the care instructions! Don't want anything breaking!"

"Oh trust me, we take very good care of them," one of them said with a laugh that made you want to bleach your brain.

The fans finally dispersed, still chattering excitedly among themselves, and Fizz's smile dropped the second they were out of sight. He turned to you immediately, his mechanical limbs retracting back down in a way that made him look smaller.

"Hey," he said, and his voice was different now—quieter, more genuine. "You okay? They kind of just... pushed you out of the way there."

"I'm fine," you said, even though being physically moved aside like you didn't exist had stung more than you wanted to admit.

"They shouldn't have done that," Fizz said, and there was an edge to his voice now. "That was rude. You were standing right there and they just—" He made a frustrated gesture.

"It's okay, really—"

"It's not okay," Fizz interrupted. "You're not invisible. You're not just—" He cut himself off, running a hand down his hat. Then, quieter, "I'm sorry about... all of that. The Fizzie stuff."

You blinked at him, surprised by the almost embarrassed tone in his voice.

Fizz shook his head, seeming to physically shake off the interaction. "Come on. Let's get away from this area before we run into more people who want to tell me about their sex habits."

He held out his hand, and you took it without thinking. His grip was warm—and firm without being overwhelming.

"I know its weird," Fizz said once you were out of earshot. "The whole robot thing. Mammon makes bank on them, and I get a cut, so I can't really complain, but..." He shrugged, bells jingling softly. "It's weird sometimes, knowing there are thousands of robot versions of me out there doing... that."

"That sounds really uncomfortable," you said quietly.

"Eh, you get used to it." But his smile wasn't quite as bright. "The performing makes up for it though! I love being a clown—like, genuinely love it. The circus, the crowds, the acts. I've been doing it since I was a kid. Mammon's kind of a strict about it sometimes, but the work itself? Best thing in the world."

His enthusiasm returned as he talked about performing, bells chiming more cheerfully. You could see how much he loved it—it was written all over his face.

"Must be nice," you said. "Loving what you do."

"It's the best!" Fizz grinned. "Though working with Ozzie is pretty great too. Best business partner a guy could ask for." His expression went soft and fond. "Even if he worries too much and makes me take security everywhere."

"He cares about you."

"Yeah." Fizz's smile was genuine and warm. "Yeah, he really does."

By the time you got back to the palace, your arms were loaded with bags and boxes. The security demons helped carry everything up, and Fizz was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Ozzie! Oz, we're back!" he called out, bells jingling loudly. "Where are you?"

"Office!" Ozzie's voice rumbled from somewhere down the hall.

Fizz grabbed your hand and dragged you toward the voice, shopping bags rustling. "Come on, we have to show him everything!"

Ozzie's office was massive—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a desk that looked like it belonged in a CEO's suite, bookshelves lined with what looked like actual books and not just decorative ones.

Ozzie was behind the desk, looking at a computer screen, but he looked up when you entered.

"How was shopping?" he asked, smiling.

"AMAZING!" Fizz was already dumping bags on the desk. "Look at everything we got! Okay, so first—clothes! We got her like three full outfits, plus some dresses, plus pajamas that actually fit her—"

He started pulling items out, showing them to Ozzie with enthusiastic commentary. You stood awkwardly to the side, face burning with embarrassment as Fizz displayed everything like show-and-tell.

"—and then we found this stall with plushies! Look at this one, it's like a mini you! And this one's grumpy! And she picked out this cute little guy—"

"Fizz really picked most of them," you interjected quietly.

"Because you needed them! Everyone needs plushies!" Fizz's bells jingled as he continued his presentation. "Oh, and we got snacks! And some books from this one stall—figured she might want reading material—and this jewelry that's really subtle and pretty—"

Ozzie watched with an amused, fond expression as Fizz rattled through everything. When Fizz finally ran out of steam, Ozzie looked at you.

"Did you have fun?" he asked gently.

"I... yes," you admitted. "But it's too much. All of this—you spent so much money, and I can't pay you back—"

"I don't want you to pay me back."

"But I should do something! Maybe I could clean, or cook, or help with paperwork—something to earn—"

"Stop." Ozzie's voice was gentle but firm. "You don't need to earn anything. Let me ask you again, did you like shopping? Are you happy with what you and Fizzy picked out?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then that's all that matters." He leaned back in his chair. "I don't want your labor or your guilt. I want you to feel safe and comfortable here. If buying you clothes and plushies helps with that, then I'm happy to do it. Okay?"

You looked at him—at his kind expression, at the genuine care in his eyes—and felt your throat tighten.

"Okay," you whispered.

"Good." He smiled. "Now, why don't you go put everything away? Your room, your space. Make it comfortable."

Later, after you'd put everything away and were settled in your room reading one of the books, you heard a knock on your door.

"Cutie! You hungry?" Fizz's voice called through the door.

You opened it to find him standing there, bells jingling cheerfully. "I ordered sushi! Like, a lot of sushi! Wanna come eat with us?"

"I don't want to intrude on your evening—"

"You're not intruding! We want you there!" Fizz grabbed your hand. "Come on! We're gonna watch a movie too! You like movies, right? Please tell me humans have movies."

"We have movies," you confirmed, smiling despite yourself.

The living room was draped in plush blankets, and the coffee table now covered in sushi containers.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I got variety!" Fizz announced, settling onto the couch. "California rolls, spicy tuna, salmon, some of the fancy ones with weird names—help yourself!"

You settled onto the couch—keeping a respectful distance from both of them—and took a few pieces. Ozzie was already there, looking relaxed in casual clothes rather than the business attire from earlier.

"What are we watching?" you asked.

"I was thinking something fun! Light! Nothing too intense!" Fizz was scrolling through options. "Oh! This one's good! It's a comedy about a demon who accidentally ends up in the human world and has to figure out how to blend in. Very relatable, given your situation. Well, reverse relatable."

"Sounds good," you said quietly.

The movie was actually pretty funny. Fizz kept up a running commentary, making jokes and pointing out inaccuracies "That's not how that works!" "Demons don't sparkle, what the fuck!", and even Ozzie laughed a few times.

You found yourself relaxing, laughing at the jokes, reaching for more sushi. It felt... normal. Weirdly, impossibly normal.

At some point, you realized you'd migrated closer to them on the couch—not touching, but closer. More comfortable.

"You okay?" Ozzie asked quietly during a particularly loud scene.

"Yeah," you said, and meant it. "This is... this is really nice. Thank you. Both of you."

"Anytime, cutie," Fizz said, bells jingling softly. "We like having you here."

And looking at their faces—Fizz's bright grin and Ozzie's gentle smile—you believed them.

Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be all bad.

Halfway through the movie, you felt yourself starting to drift off, the combination of good food and a comfortable couch and the safety of having Fizz and Ozzie nearby making it hard to keep your eyes open.

"Someone's tired," Fizz observed, his voice fond.

"'m not tired," you mumbled, even as you burrowed deeper into your blanket.

"Sure you're not," Ozzie rumbled, amused.

You made it another twenty minutes before you were fully asleep, your head tilted back against the couch cushions, your breathing slow and even.

Fizz waited until he was absolutely sure you were asleep before he carefully extracted himself from the couch, moving with a silence that seemed impossible for someone made of mostly metal parts.

Ozzie followed him to the kitchen, where they could talk without risk of waking you.

"So?" Ozzie asked quietly. "How was it really?"

"Good," Fizz said, and there was a soft smile on his face. "Really good, actually. She was nervous at first, kept trying to refuse things, but by the end she was actually having fun. Smiling. Laughing. It was..." He trailed off, searching for words.

"Nice to see," Ozzie finished.

"Yeah," Fizz agreed. He leaned against the counter, his expression thoughtful. "She's been through a lot, Oz. And I think today helped. Getting out of the palace, doing something normal, being treated like a person instead of a problem to solve—I think she needed that."

"You're good with her," Ozzie observed. "You know that, right?"

Fizz's expression flickered with something vulnerable. "I just want her to be okay. To be happy here. I know it's not ideal, being stuck in Hell, but if she has to be here... I want it to be good, you know?"

"I know," Ozzie said softly, reaching out to run a hand down Fizz's arm. "And I think you're doing a wonderful job of making that happen."

They stood there for a moment, comfortable in the silence, before Fizz spoke again.

"She tried to insist on working to pay us back," he said. "Like, seriously insist. It took both of us shutting her down to make her stop."

"She's not used to accepting help," Ozzie said. "That's clear."

"Well, she better get used to it," Fizz said with a hint of that protective fierceness. "Because we're not stopping. She deserves nice things. She deserves to feel safe and cared for. And if that means I have to fight her every time I want to buy her a stuffed bat, then that's a fight I'm willing to have."

Ozzie's laugh was quiet but genuine. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know," Fizz said, grinning up at him. "I'm very lovable. Adorable, even. Some might say irresistible."

"Some might say insufferable."

"That too," Fizz agreed cheerfully. Then, more seriously, "I love you too, Ozzie."

Fizz reached up to stroke Ozzie's cheek before giving him a soft peck. "She's staying, right? Like, for real staying?"

"For now," Ozzie said carefully. "Until we figure out what happened when she tried to go back to Earth. But yeah Froggie, she's staying."

"Good," Fizz said firmly. Then, with a mischievous grin, "Because I already bought her three more plushies that I hid in my bag. Was gonna give them to her tomorrow."

You passed doors with nameplates. "Storage." "Sound Booth." "Green Room." And then, at the end of the hall, a door that was notably larger than the others, made of dark wood with gold accents.

The nameplate read: "PRIVATE"

The server knocked—three quick raps—and a voice from inside called out, "Come in!"

She opened the door and gestured for you to enter. You hesitated on the threshold.

"It's alright," she said softly, kindly. "They don't bite. Well, not unless asked." She must have seen your face because she quickly added, "That was a joke. You'll be fine."

You took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The dressing room was massive—calling it a "room" seemed inadequate. It was more like a luxury apartment. Plush furniture, a full bar, a vanity area with lights that could probably be seen from space, and decorations that ranged from elegant to explicitly sexual.

But you barely noticed any of that.

Because sitting on the couch was the biggest person—being—demon?—you had ever seen in your life.

He was fucking enormous. Fifteen feet tall at least, maybe more, built with broad shoulders and a powerful frame that somehow managed to be both imposing and elegant. His skin was a deep purple that seemed to shimmer in the light, and he was draped casually across the couch in a way that suggested he was very comfortable with the space he took up.

But it was his face that made your breath catch.

He had a leonine quality to it, with a mane of feathers or fur—you couldn't quite tell—that flared out around his head. Nestled within that mane were two smaller faces—one a ram, one a bull—their expressions as if they were whispering secrets only he could hear. Two large, curved feathers ? antennae ? Things ? rose from his head, and his eyes...

His eyes and even his mouth were bright chartreuse with a warm, almost hypnotic quality. They were fixed on you with an intensity that made you feel like you were being x-rayed.

"Well, hello there," he said, and his voice was impossibly deep, resonating in your chest. "Come in, come in! Don't be shy!"

You couldn't move. Your feet were rooted to the floor.

Fizzarolli was there too, perched on the arm of the couch, looking tiny next to the giant blue demon. His jester hat bells jingled softly as he waved at you cheerfully. "Hey, cutie! Glad you could make it!"

"I—" Your voice came out as a squeak. You cleared your throat and tried again. "I don't—what—"

The giant demon's expression softened. "Oh, you're scared. That's fair. I am pretty intimidating, huh?" He didn't sound smug about it, just matter-of-fact. "Why don't you have a seat? You look like you're about to fall over."

He gestured to a chair opposite the couch—a safe distance away. You managed to make your legs work enough to stumble over and collapse into it.

"There we go. Better?" The demon leaned forward slightly, and even sitting down he was taller than you were standing. "I'm Asmodeus. But you can call me Ozzie. Everyone does."

"Oh my god," you whispered.

"Actually, we're demons, but I appreciate the sentiment!" Ozzie grinned at his own joke. "And you are...?"

You told him your name, somehow managing to get it out without stuttering too badly.

"Nice to meet you!" Fizz chimed in, bells jingling as he bounced slightly on the couch arm. "So, uh, got some questions. If that's cool with you? Nothing intense! Just, you know, curious about a few things."

"Like how you got into my club," Ozzie added, still smiling but with an edge to his voice. "We have a pretty strict couples-only policy. And according to security, you're not on any list and didn't come through the front door."

"I—" You swallowed hard. "I snuck in. Through a side door. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I just—"

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Fizz hopped down from the couch arm and moved a bit closer, though he kept a respectful distance. "You're not in trouble. We're just curious. Why'd you sneak in?"

How did you even begin to explain?

"I... I didn't know where else to go," you said quietly. "I'm lost. Really, really lost. And everything out there is so... much. And this place seemed... I don't know. Dry? Safe? I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Lost how?" Ozzie asked, his tone gentler now. "Lost in Lust? Or lost-lost?"

"I don't even know where I am!" The words burst out of you, tinged with hysteria. "I don't know what this place is, I don't know how I got here, I don't know how to get home! I just—I fell. Twice. And now I'm here and everyone's a demon and there was a robot clown that tried to kill me and—"

You were spiraling. You could feel it happening but couldn't stop it.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." Fizz's voice cut through your panic. "Robot clown? What robot clown?"

"At a theme park," you managed. "Loo Loo Land. He looked like—" You gestured at Fizz. "Like you. But all stiff and mechanical. And he said I wasn't supposed to be here and I was—"

"Ugh, a Robo Fizz." Fizz's expression darkened. "One of my Fizzy's threatened you?"

"Froggie," Ozzie said warningly, then turned back to you. "Okay. Let's start from the beginning. You said you fell. Fell from where?"

You told them everything.

About the bus stop. The rain. The puddle that wasn't a puddle. Falling through impossible space into Loo Loo Land. The robot clown and his threats. Falling again. The dumpster. All of it came spilling out in a disjointed, panicked rush.

Ozzie and Fizz listened without interrupting, though they exchanged several looks that you couldn't quite read.

When you finished, there was a moment of silence.

"So," Fizz said slowly. "You're a human."

"What else would I be—" You stopped. "Wait. Why did you—"

"Babe," Fizz looked at Ozzie. "She's human. Like, actual living human."

"I'm aware, Fizzy." Ozzie was studying you with an intensity that made you want to shrink into the chair. "The question is how a living human fell into Hell. That's not... that doesn't happen. There are rules. Procedures."

"I don't know!" Your voice cracked. "I don't know what happened! I just want to go home!"

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Ozzie's voice shifted, becoming softer, almost soothing. It was startling, coming from someone who looked so intimidating. "We're going to figure this out. But first, you need to breathe. Can you do that for me? Deep breath in."

You tried. It came out shaky but you managed it.

"Good. And out. There you go." He kept his voice steady, calm, almost hypnotic. "You're safe right now. Nobody here is going to hurt you. Fizz and I—" He paused. "Well, we won't let anything happen to you. Okay?"

There was something about his voice, about the genuine concern in his expression, that made you believe him. Your breathing started to slow, the panic receding slightly.

"Okay," you whispered.

Fizz had moved closer without you noticing, now sitting cross-legged on the floor at a comfortable distance. "So you really don't know anything about Hell? Like, nothing?"

You shook your head.

"Fuck." He looked at Ozzie again. "She's completely clueless."

"Fizz."

"What? I don't mean it as an insult! I mean she literally has no idea what she's stumbled into! This is—" He gestured expansively, bells chiming. "This is bad. Like really bad. A living human, alone, in the Lust Ring? Do you know what would happen if the wrong demons found out?"

You felt your face pale. "What... what would happen?"

Fizz opened his mouth, but Ozzie cut him off smoothly. "Nothing, because they're not going to find out. Which is why you're not staying alone."

Your head snapped up. "What?"

Ozzie and Fizz looked at each other, and something passed between them—a whole conversation in a single glance. Fizz's expression was worried but determined. Ozzie's was calculating but soft around the edges.

"She can't exactly wander around out there," Fizz said.

"No, she definitely cannot," Ozzie agreed.

"And we can't just... leave her?"

"Absolutely not."

"So..."

"So she stays with us."

They turned back to you in unison.

"Stay with you?" you repeated faintly, feeling your anxiety spike again. Stay with them? They were being nice now, but they were still demons. In a place they kept referring to as Lust. Where everything was about... about...

Your face felt hot.

"Just until we figure out what's going on," Ozzie said quickly, seeming to sense your nervousness. "We've got plenty of space. Guest rooms. Security. Everything you'd need to be safe while we work out how to... well, either get you home or at least get you sorted."

"We're not gonna let you sleep in a dumpster, cutie," Fizz added. "What kind of business partners would we be?"

"Business partners?" The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Fizz's expression flickered with something—embarrassment? His bells jingled as he shifted. "Yeah. Business partners. Ozzie owns the club, I perform here. Business. That's all."

Except the way Ozzie was looking at Fizz suggested "business" wasn't quite the right word. It was fond and exasperated and affectionate all at once.

"Right," Ozzie said, voice dripping with amusement. "Business partners. We've been 'business partners' for the last several years."

"We are!"

"Of course, baby." The pet name slipped out so naturally that Fizz didn't even seem to notice at first, but you did. And so did Ozzie, whose grin got wider. "Very professional business partners."

Fizz's face flushed slightly and his bells gave an indignant jingle. "Shut up."

Despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the complete insanity of your situation—you felt the corner of your mouth twitch. There was something almost... cute about watching them bicker. Even if the thought of staying with them made your stomach flip nervously.

But then the reality of what they were suggesting hit you again.

"Wait," you said. "Do you mean stay as in ? Like, here? In the club?"

"Oh, hell no," Fizz said immediately. "Could you imagine? The noise alone would drive you insane. Plus there's the whole... atmosphere thing. Not exactly human-friendly, if you catch my drift." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

You felt your face burn.

"Nah, we've got a place," Fizz continued. "Well, Ozzie's got a palace. I just... also live there. For business reasons."

"Very business-like living arrangements," Ozzie added, completely deadpan.

"It's practical!"

"Whatever you say, Froggie."

"When you say 'a palace'..." you started hesitantly.

"The palace," Ozzie said casually, like it was no big deal. "It's connected to my factory. Easier for business operations."

"The... palace."

"Yeah."

"You have a palace."

"I'm the King of Lust," Ozzie said, as if this explained everything. "It's kind of required. Don't worry, it's not as pretentious as it sounds. We've made it comfortable."

Your brain was struggling to process this. A palace. They wanted you to stay in a palace. With them. The demon prince of Lust and his "business partner." In the Lust Ring.

"I can't stay in a palace," you said, voice rising slightly. "That's—that's insane. I can't just—"

"You got a better option?" Fizz asked, not unkindly. "Because from where I'm sitting, your choices are: stay with us where it's safe, or go back out into the Lust Ring where literally any demon could—" He paused, seemed to reconsider his words. "Let's just say the Lust Ring isn't exactly friendly to lost humans who don't know the rules. Especially not cute little things like you who probably blush at the word 'sex.'"

You did, in fact, blush at the word.

Fizz's grin widened. "Yeah, exactly my point. You wouldn't last five minutes out there without someone trying to... well." He made a vague gesture that somehow managed to be both explanatory and completely inappropriate.

"Fizz," Ozzie said warningly.

"What? I'm being honest! She needs to understand what she's dealing with here!"

"But I can't just impose on you like that—" you tried again.

"You're not imposing," Ozzie interrupted gently. "Look, we've got the space. We've got the security. And honestly?" He glanced at Fizz with an expression that was surprisingly soft. "We both feel better knowing you're somewhere safe rather than trying to figure this out alone."

"We've got guest rooms," Fizz added enthusiastically, his bells chiming with his excitement. "Plural! Like, six of them! Most of them don't even get used except when the quieves decide that's their new favorite sleeping spot!"

"The... what?"

"Our dogs," Ozzie explained. "Well, they're not exactly dogs, but close enough. You'll meet them. They're... enthusiastic."

You sat there, trying to process everything. Two demons—one of them the literal King of Lust—were offering to let you stay in a palace because you'd accidentally fallen into their dimension. And you were supposed to just... accept this? Stay with them? In the Lust Ring, where everything was about...

Your face was definitely still burning.

"I..." You didn't know what to say. "Are you sure? I mean, I don't want to be in the way, and I don't really understand what... what this place is about, and—" You were rambling now, nervous energy making the words spill out. "—and you keep making jokes I don't really get, and I'm probably going to be really awkward and—"

"Hey." Fizz's voice was surprisingly gentle. "You're not gonna be in the way. Yeah, we make jokes. Yeah, we're in the Lust Ring and that comes with a certain... vibe." His bells jingled as he tilted his head. "But we've got a whole separate guest wing. Private. Away from any of the stuff that's making you nervous. Promise."

"I..." You tried to find a reason to say no, but came up empty. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Ozzie said firmly. "Besides, I'm curious. A human falling into Hell is unprecedented. I want to figure out how it happened. And you—" He gestured at you. "—you need somewhere safe. It's mutually beneficial."

"Plus you look like you're about to pass out," Fizz noted. "When's the last time you ate?"

You tried to remember. Breakfast? Had you even had breakfast? The bus, the fall, Loo Loo Land, another fall, the dumpster, sneaking into Ozzie's... it all blurred together.

"I don't... know."

"Right, that settles it." Fizz hopped to his feet, bells jingling merrily. "We're taking you home, feeding you, and getting you into an actual bed. Everything else can wait until tomorrow."

"But—"

"No buts!" Fizz was already moving toward the door. "Well, except ours, obviously. And yours, though I'm sure it's cute too—"

"FIZZ."

"What? I'm being complimentary!" But he was grinning, completely unrepentant.

Your face was on fire. You were pretty sure you were going to die of embarrassment before anything else could get you.

Ozzie stood up, and the sheer size of him made you shrink back instinctively. But his expression was kind as he offered you his hand.

Except his hand was enormous. Like, the palm alone was bigger than your entire torso. There was no way you could hold his hand like a normal person.

"Come on," he said softly. "Let's get you somewhere comfortable."

You stared at his hand for a long moment, then carefully, hesitantly, wrapped your fingers around his pinky instead. It was the only part small enough to hold onto.

Ozzie's expression softened even further, something almost protective flickering across his features. "Alright then. Let's go."

The "palace" was accessed through a private entrance at the back of Ozzie's. You followed Fizz and Ozzie through a door marked "PRIVATE - NO ENTRY" and into a corridor that was significantly more subdued than the rest of the club.

Well, "followed" was generous. You were still holding onto Ozzie's thumb like a lifeline, while Fizz chattered animately on your other side, Ozzie was being very careful to match his pace to yours.

"So this connects to a factory?" you asked, trying to make conversation to distract from both the surreal nature of everything and your hyperawareness of how close you were to the literal demon of Lust.

"Yep!" Fizz was practically bouncing as he walked ahead of you, his bells creating a cheerful soundtrack. "Ozzie manufactures all kinds of stuff—toys, accessories, whatnot—and having the palace connected means he can check on operations easily. Plus it's convenient for me since I do promotional work for the brand and—"

"Fizz," Ozzie interrupted gently. "Maybe save the company overview for when she's not dead on her feet?"

"Right, right. Sorry! I get excited about the logistics!" His bells jingled as he spun around to walk backwards, facing you. "But seriously, the factory is super cool. We make all sorts of things! Some of them are even appropriate for polite company!" He grinned wickedly. "Most aren't though. Most are very, very not appropriate."

You felt your face heat up again.

"Stop teasing her, Fizzy," Ozzie said, but he sounded amused.

"I'm not teasing! I'm being informative! She should know what we do here!"

"She knows enough to be blushing like that, which means you can dial it back."

"But she's so cute when she blushes!"

"Your a maniac."

"Okay, okay! I'll behave! Mostly!"

The corridor opened up into what looked like a private elevator. Ozzie pressed the button with his free hand—the one you weren't clinging to—and the doors slid open with a soft ding.

Inside, the elevator was all mirrors and gold accents. You caught sight of yourself and winced—you looked exactly as bad as you felt. Hair a mess, clothes rumpled and stained, garbage still clinging to parts of your outfit, eyes red and puffy from crying.

And there, beside you in the reflection, Ozzie absolutely towered over you. You barely came up to his knee. The size difference was comical.

"We'll get you cleaned up," Ozzie said, noticing your expression. "Don't worry."

The elevator rose smoothly, though you couldn't tell how many floors. When the doors opened, you stepped out into...

"Holy shit," you breathed.

The entrance hall was massive. Marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Vaulted ceilings with chandeliers that looked like they cost more than your entire apartment building. Art on the walls—some of it beautiful, some of it explicit enough to make your eyes widen and your gaze dart away quickly.

"Welcome to Casa de Asmodeus!" Fizz announced, spreading his arms wider then should be possible, bells ringing with the gesture. "Or as I call it, 'Ozzie's place where I also happen to live for totally business-related reasons.'"

"It's our home, Fizzy," Ozzie said with fond exasperation. "You can just say it's our home."

"Business home."

"You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Wait, did you just—" Fizz's bells jingled as he whirled around. "Did you just admit you love me? In front of company."

"I said I love your ridiculous behavior. Different thing."

"That's basically the same thing!"

"If you say so, baby."

There it was again—another pet name slipping out so casually. And this time Fizz definitely noticed, his face flushing.

"Shut up," he muttered, but he was smiling.

You watched them still feeling nervous and out of place but also... they were kind of adorable together, actually. In a weird, demonic way. Even if every other word out of Fizz's mouth seemed designed to make you blush.

"Come on," Fizz said, suddenly grabbing your free hand—the one not holding Ozzie's thumb—and tugging you forward. His grip was warm and his bells chimed with his enthusiasm. "Let me show you around! So this is the entrance hall, obviously. Through there is the main living area—huge fucking couch, TV that's definitely too big, Ozzie refuses to admit it's too big but it is—"

"It's appropriately sized," Ozzie interjected.

"It's the size of a billboard, babe."

Another pet name. They were just flowing out now.

"ANYWAY," Fizz continued, pulling you along. "The kitchen's through there, the dining room we never use is over there, there's a pool on the terrace—heated, obviously, perfect temperature for late night skinny dipping—"

"Fizz."

"What? I'm describing the amenities!"

You were definitely blushing again.

"—gym downstairs, entertainment room with a sound system that'll blow your mind, though usually we use other things when we wanna blow—"

"FIZZY."

"I was gonna say 'blow your expectations'! Get your mind out of the gutter, Oz!" But his grin was absolutely wicked, and he snickered with barely suppressed laughter.

Ozzie sighed deeply. "I apologize in advance for him. He's like this all the time."

"Hey, she should know what she's getting into!"

"She's getting into a guest room, Froggy A nice, safe, appropriate guest room."

"Well yeah, but the palace itself is still—you know." Fizz made another one of his vague but somehow completely explanatory gestures.

You were starting to understand why this was called the Lust Ring.

"Right! Guest room!" Fizz said suddenly, as if just remembering. "Let me show you! It's gonna blow your—" He caught Ozzie's look. "—expectations. It's gonna blow your expectations."

"Nice save," Ozzie muttered.

"What can I say I'm a professional!"

Fizz dragged you up a grand staircase—you'd had to let go of Ozzie's thumb for this part, much to your nervousness—with Ozzie following behind at a more measured pace. The bells on Fizz's hat created a musical accompaniment to the climb.

"So we've got like six guest rooms," Fizz was explaining, holding your hand as he pulled you down a hallway. "But I'm thinking the blue one for you. It's got the best view and it's the furthest from our room which means you won't have to hear any—"

He glanced at Ozzie, his face flushing.

"—conversations! I was gonna say loud conversations!"

"You absolutely were not."

"Prove it!"

Despite how out of place you felt, despite everything, you felt a small laugh bubble up. It was barely more than a huff of air, but it was genuine.

Both of them stopped immediately and looked at you.

"Oh!" Fizz's entire face lit up, bells jingling with delight. "Was that a laugh? That was a laugh! Ozzie, I made her laugh!"

"Yes, you're very funny," Ozzie said dryly, but he was smiling too. "Now can we please show her the room before she passes out from exhaustion?"

"Right, right!" Fizz opened a door with a flourish. "Ta-da! Your temporary home away from... wherever you're from!"

The room was incredible.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

It was huge—bigger than your entire apartment back home. The walls were painted a soft blue that was actually soothing after all the neon of the Lust Ring. A massive bed dominated one side of the room, piled with pillows and covered in blankets that looked impossibly soft. There were windows with actual curtains, a sitting area with plush chairs, and a door that led to what Fizz proudly announced was "THE bathroom."

The bathroom was the size of your bedroom back home. Marble everywhere, a shower that could fit like four people, a tub that was practically a small pool, and more towels than any one person could possibly need.

"So this is you!" Fizz announced, bouncing on his heels, bells chiming. "Everything you need should be in here. Towels, toiletries, there's robes in the closet, and if you need clothes I can grab some of—actually, you're probably not gonna fit in my stuff. Or Ozzie's. His stuff would be like wearing a tent on you. We'll figure out the clothes thing tomorrow."

"Multiple tents," Ozzie added. "Possibly a circus tent."

"For now, there's pajamas and stuff in the dresser that should work," Fizz continued. "We keep the guest rooms stocked. Though some of the rooms have more... specialized items? But not this one! This one's totally normal! Completely innocent! Well, as innocent as anything gets around here—"

"Fizz, you're rambling," Ozzie said gently.

"Right! Sorry!" His bells jingled as he shook his head. "Point is, you've got everything you need. And we're just down the hall if you need anything. Though maybe knock first. Definitely knock first. Especially if it's after like 10 PM because that's when we usually—"

"FIZZ."

"—watch TV! We watch TV!"

You couldn't help it. Despite your nervousness, despite how your face was burning, despite everything, you laughed again. A real laugh this time, shaky but genuine.

Fizz's expression softened into something warm and genuine. "There we go. That's better. We're gonna take care of you, cutie. Promise."

"Now," Ozzie said, his deep voice gentle. "About food. What would you like? And please don't say 'nothing' because you need to eat."

"I... I don't know what you have—"

"EVERYTHING!" Fizz interrupted enthusiastically. "Seriously, name a food. Any food. Ozzie's got it or can have it delivered in like ten minutes. He stress-shops for groceries."

"I do not stress-shop—"

"You bought seventeen different types of cheese last week."

"That's called being prepared."

"For what, a cheese emergency?"

"You never know when you'll need cheese, Froggie."

"See?" Fizz looked at you, grinning. "Stress-shopping. But it works in your favor! So what do you want? Sandwich? Pizza? Pasta? Soup? We've got one of those instant ramen things—the fancy kind, not the broke college student kind. Though we also have those if you want authenticity. Or we could make you a full meal! Big Oz is actually a pretty good cook, which is sexy as fuck—"

Your face was on fire again.

"—because cooking is a universally attractive skill!" Fizz finished smoothly. "That's what I meant!"

"Sure you did," Ozzie said, but he was smiling. "How about I make you a selection? That way you can choose what appeals to you."

"A sandwich would be fine," you said softly, feeling overwhelmed but in a different way now. "Any kind is fine."

"Sandwish it is," Ozzie decided. "Fizz, why don't you let her get cleaned up? I'll bring food up in about twenty minutes."

"On it!" Fizz's jingled as he headed for the door. "Get yourself all cleaned up. There's like eight different types of fancy soap in there. Some of them smell amazing. Some of them smell like they're supposed to be for after you—" He caught Ozzie's look. "—after you exercise! For muscle relaxation! That's definitely what they're for!"

He gave you a little wave and bounced out of the room.

Ozzie paused at the door, having to duck significantly to fit through it. "If you need anything, anything at all, just call out. We'll hear you."

"Thank you," you said quietly. "Really. Both of you. For... for helping me."

His expression softened into something almost protective. "Get some rest, little one. We'll figure this out tomorrow."

And then he was gone, closing the door gently behind him.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

You stood there in the middle of the luxurious guest room in a palace in Hell, owned by a demon prince and his "business partner," and felt the weight of the day finally crash down on you.

But for the first time since falling through that puddle, you felt something other than terror.

"Come on," you muttered to yourself, stretching as far as you could. Your fingers brushed the edge of a glass, and you carefully, carefully pulled it toward you. "Yes! Ha! Take that, giant architecture."

Getting down was somehow more precarious than getting up, and you managed to slosh a bit of water on your shirt in the process, but you counted it as a victory anyway. You were adapting. Learning. Becoming a master of navigating a world that wasn't built for you.

Glass of water acquired, you wandered through the palace, peeking into rooms as you went. You found Ozzie in his office—a massive space dominated by an equally massive desk covered in papers and what looked like some kind of plans. He was leaning over them, his expression thoughtful as he made notes with a pen.

You hesitated in the doorway, suddenly unsure. Should you interrupt? Was he busy? This looked like busy. This definitely looked like you should come back later.

But then you remembered that standing in doorways looking awkward was probably creepy, so you raised your hand and rapped your knuckles against the door.

Ozzie's head came up immediately, and when he saw you, his expression softened into something warm. "Good morning. Come in, please."

You stepped inside, feeling very small in the large space. "I'm sorry, I don't want to bother you if you're working—"

"You're not bothering me," he said, and he sounded like he meant it. "I was actually going to find you. I have a surprise."

That made you pause, mid-sip of water. "A surprise?"

"Mmhmm." He was grinning now, his eyes and mouth glowing glently in the room. "Go get dressed. Something comfortable. We're going out."

You blinked at him. "Out? Like... out out? Outside the palace?"

"Outside the Ring, actually," Ozzie said, looking far too pleased with himself. "I thought you might enjoy, a change of scenery."

"Where are we going?" you asked, immediately suspicious. Not that you didn't trust Ozzie—you did—but the last time you'd travelled, you'd ended up with a nosebleed that nearly killed you.

"It's a surprise," Ozzie repeated, his tone amused. "Hence the name. Now go on, get dressed. Comfortable clothes. We'll leave in twenty minutes."

You gave him your best skeptical look, narrowing your eyes. "You're not going to give me any hints?"

"Nope."

"Not even a small one?"

"Not even a small one."

"What if I don't like surprises?"

"You'll like this one," Ozzie said with complete confidence. "Trust me."

And the thing was, you did trust him. Which was insane, considering he was a literal Sin. But some instinct in you said that Ozzie wouldn't hurt you, wouldn't put you in danger, and that if he said you'd like something, you probably would.

Twenty minutes later, you were standing in the palace's main entrance, dressed in jeans, a soft t-shirt, sneakers. Clothes that felt almost jarring in the opulent surroundings.

Ozzie had changed too, sort of. He was still unmistakably himself—massive, big blue mane, absolutely impossible to miss—but If a Sin could be casual, this was probably it.

"Ready?" he asked, offering you his hand.

You looked at his hand—his finger, really, since that's about all you could hold—and then back at his face. "I still don't know where we're going."

"And you still won't until we get there," he said, amused. "Come on, little one. Live a little. Or, well, continue living. Which you're already doing. You know what I mean."

The journey between Rings was different and when you emerged on the other side, the first thing you noticed was the smell. Earthy. Actual earth, rich and loamy, mixed with something that smelled like livestock and growing things. The second thing you noticed was the sky—Red instead of the blue of the lust ring, still Hell, but this red sky was, almost rusty.

"Welcome to Wrath," Ozzie said, and there was something fond in his tone. "It's not Lust, obviously, but it has its charms."

You looked around, taking in the landscape. It was surprisingly... rural. Rolling hills, fields that might have been farmland, structures that looked almost like barns in the distance. If you squinted and ignored the demonic livestock and the impossible geometry of some of the buildings, it could almost be mistaken for countryside back on Earth.

"It's beautiful," you said, and meant it.

Ozzie looked down at you, something pleased flickering across his features. "I thought you might like it. Come on, I know a place that does excellent food."

The restaurant Ozzie led you to was tucked into the main street of what appeared to be a small town. It had the aesthetic of what you might call a gastropub back on Earth, if gastropubs were run by demons and featured significantly more fire hazards.

The sign above the door read "The Burning Bull" in letters that actually appeared to be gently smoldering.

"They know me here," Ozzie said as he opened the door for you, his own entrance required him to duck significantly. "And they're discreet. Won't make a fuss."

Inside was surprisingly cozy. Dark wood, dim lighting, booths that looked actually comfortable. There were a few imp families scattered around, and a couple of larger demons at the bar, but none of the staff seemed particularly alarmed by Ozzie's entrance.

"Asmodeus!" The bartender—a older imp woman with horns that curled back from her forehead—grinned widely. "Ain't seen you 'round these parts in an age! You want your usual table?"

"Please, Marge. And we'll need a couple of cushions."

Marge's eyes slid to you for the first time, and you saw her eyebrows raise slightly. But to her credit, she just nodded. "Sure thing, hun. Right this way."

The "usual table" was in a back corner, private but with a good view of the rest of the restaurant. The booth was clearly designed to accommodate larger demons—Ozzie fit comfortably, which was saying something.

Marge grinned up at Ozzie, completely unintimidated with a notepad in hand, then her eyes landed on you again. "Can i get you started with some—" She leaned in, before she lowered her voice. "Asmodeus—is she a human? I always did wonder what they looked like."

You felt your face heat up and instinctively moved slightly closer to Ozzie, even though that was ridiculous because you were a grown adult and shouldn't be hiding behind people. Demons. Whatever.

"She is," Ozzie confirmed, and his voice took on a tone you hadn't heard before—still friendly, but with an undercurrent of something firmer. "And I would greatly appreciate your discretion about that fact. She's my guest Margeline-Rae, and I'd prefer if word didn't spread too far."

Her expression shifted immediately, becoming more serious. "Of course, of course! You know me. My lips are sealed." She made a zipping motion across her mouth, then smiled warmly at you. "Welcome to the Wrath Ring, honey. You're in good hands with this one. Now, what can I get you both to drink?"

You ordered water, because you still didn't trust most of Hell's beverage options, and the server bustled off with a promise to return with menus.

"Sorry," you said quietly once she was gone. "I didn't mean to cause a fuss."

"You didn't," Ozzie said, and when you looked up at him, his expression was gentle. "You can't help being human any more than I can help being... well, me. And anyone who has a problem with you can take it up with me."

There was something protective in his tone that made your chest feel warm and tight at the same time. You ducked your head, fidgeting with the napkin on the table. "Thank you. For bringing me here, I mean. And for... for being nice about everything."

Ozzie was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced up, he was watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read. Something soft and warm that made you feel like you were missing something important.

"Of course," he said finally, and his voice had that gentle quality again. "You deserve to see more of Hell than just the Lust Ring. And I... I enjoy your company."

Your face felt like it was on fire now. "Oh. I—I enjoy your company too. And Fizz's. Your both really—you've been really good to me."

Marge returned with menus before Ozzie could respond, and you were grateful for the distraction. The menu was extensive and creative, full of things that sounded delicious alongside things that made you slightly nervous.

"What's good here?" you asked, studying the options. "That won't, you know, be made of anything too weird?"

Ozzie leaned down—to look at your menu. "The roasted root vegetables are excellent. Very similar to Earth vegetables. And their grilled meats are high quality. If you're feeling adventurous, the seasonal harvest plate is always good."

"What's on the seasonal harvest plate?" you asked cautiously.

"Roasted vegetables, grilled protein—usually something similar to chicken or beef—fresh bread, and a selection of what they call 'hell-grown fruits.' Which are actually quite sweet and not at all concerning despite the name."

The way he said it, with that slight amusement in his tone, made you relax. "Okay. I'll try that then."

"Excellent choice," Ozzie said, and was it your imagination, or did he sound pleased?

When a server returned, Ozzie ordered the seasonal harvest plate for you and then proceeded to order what seemed like half the menu for himself. The server didn't even blink, just wrote it all down with practiced efficiency.

"Hungry?" you asked, trying not to laugh.

"I have a fast metabolism, why did you think I cook so often? Aside from Froggie turning cooking into a fire hazard," Ozzie said with a grin. "Besides I want you to be able to try different things. Can't experience Wrath's cuisine from just one dish."

The food arrived surprisingly quickly, and your plate looked... actually really appealing. The vegetables were colorful and perfectly roasted, the protein looked like some kind of poultry, and the fruits were these beautiful jewel-toned things that sparkled slightly in the light.

"Okay," you said, picking up your fork. "Here goes nothing."

That first bite was a revelation. It tasted like Earth food—really, really good Earth food—but with subtle differences that made it interesting rather than off-putting. The vegetables had a slight sweetness to them, the protein was tender and flavorful, and the fruits...

"Oh my," you said, after trying one of the fruits. "This is amazing. What is this?"

"Wrath-grown starfruit," Ozzie said, looking pleased by your reaction. "They only grow in certain regions. Fizz loves them. I bring some back whenever I visit."

You tried another piece, savoring the complex sweetness. Ozzie was working through his own meal—or meals, really, given how much he'd ordered—but you noticed he kept glancing at you, watching your reactions to each new thing you tried.

"Try this," he said, using his fork to push a small portion of something onto a clean section of his plate, then carefully maneuvering it closer to you. "It's a local specialty. Root vegetable hash with caramelized onions."

You leaned over to try it, and the flavors exploded on your tongue—savory and sweet and rich. "That's incredible," you said, covering your mouth because you were still chewing. "Everything here is so good!"

"I'm glad you like it," Ozzie said, and there was something warm in his expression. "Try the bread too. It's baked fresh daily."

The bread was crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, and when you tore off a piece and tried it, you actually made an involuntary sound of pleasure.

Ozzie's expression flickered into something for just a moment before returning back to normal.

"Good?" he asked, and his voice sounded slightly strained.

"So good," you confirmed, reaching for another piece. "I can't believe Hell has bread this good. That feels unfair somehow."

"The Wrath Ring takes their food very seriously," Ozzie said. "Agriculture is a major part of their culture. They pride themselves on quality."

You worked through your meal, trying bites of various things Ozzie offered you from his plates. He seemed to delight in finding things for you to try, watching your face as you experienced each new flavor. You were too focused on the food to notice the way his gaze lingered, or the soft expression that crossed his features every time you smiled.

"This was wonderful," you said eventually, finally setting down your fork. You were pleasantly full. "Thank you for bringing me here, Ozzie. Really. This whole day has been..."

You trailed off, not quite sure how to put it into words. Special felt too small. Amazing felt too generic. Perfect felt too presumptuous.

"Yeah," Ozzie said softly, and when you looked at him, he was watching you with that expression again—the one you couldn't quite read. "It has been."

Marge returned to clear your plates, and when Ozzie paid, she gave you both a warm smile.

"You two enjoy the rest of your day," she said, then leaned in conspiratorially. "And don't worry, hun. Your secret's safe with me."

You smiled gratefully at her, and she winked before heading off to help another table.

"She was nice," you said as you and Ozzie headed back outside.

"Imp's like Marge usually are," Ozzie said. "She's more straightforward than most. Less... political. I appreciate that about her."

"Is that why you come here?" you asked, then immediately worried you were prying. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that. I was just curious."

"Don't apologize for being curious," Ozzie said gently. "And yes, partly. We come here when Fizz and I need a break from the politics When I need to remember that Hell isn't all power plays. That there are places where things are simple."

You nodded, understanding more than you could put into words. Sometimes simple was exactly what you needed.

"There's one more place I want to show you." Ozzie said, and his tone shifted back to that excited, anticipatory quality from earlier.

"Wait, Little one," Ozzie said, pulling something from seemingly nowhere and handing it to you. "Put this on first."

It was a hoodie, dark red, with a hood that was significantly oversized. You looked at it, then at him, confused.

"You'll stand out otherwise," he explained gently. "The hood will help you blend in a bit more. And keep the sun off. Wrath's sun can be intense, I don't want you to get burnt."

Right. Because you were a human in Hell, and that was definitely weird.

You pulled the hoodie on, tugging the hood up. It was big enough that it shadowed most of your face, which was probably the point.

"Better?" you asked.

"Perfect," Ozzie said, and started walking proper.

As you rounded the corner music and laughter drew your attention, a carnival. Brightly colored tents, game booths, food stalls, and what looked like rides that defied several laws of physics. And everywhere, everywhere, were imps. Families with children running around with balloons, couples walking hand in hand, groups of friends laughing and competing at games.

It was so normal, so wholesome, that you felt something catch in your throat.

"Oh," you breathed, stopping to take it in. "Ozzie, this is—this is adorable."

"Thought you might like it," Ozzie said, sounding pleased. "They do these fairly regularly. Celebrations for harvests, holidays, sometimes just because. Come on, let's get closer."

As you walked toward the carnival, you became acutely aware that you were the only human in sight. Being "with" one of the Sins drew attention. Imps parted around Ozzie like water around a boulder, giving him respectful nods and wide berth.

"Would you like to see it from a better vantage point?." Ozzie offered, his expression soften into something you couldn't quite name. "You'll be able to see better, and you won't get jostled by the crowd."

He held out his hand, palm up, in an unmistakable offer.

You looked at his offered palm, then back at him, your brain short-circuiting slightly. You'd seen him carry Fizz before—Fizz perched in Ozzie's palm or on his shoulder, completely comfortable and secure.

But that was Fizzarolli. Fizz, who was Ozzie's partner, who was close enough to Ozzie to belong in that spot.

"Isn't that Fizz's spot ?," you heard yourself ask, and immediately wanted to sink into the ground.

Ozzie's face flickered, and there was something in his expression that seemed almost playful when he spoke, his voice dropped into a tone that made something flutter in your stomach. "Well, little one, I think there's plenty of room to share. I'm certainly big enough for both of you. More than big enough, in fact."

"What?" you said confused, your brain still trying to process the comment.

The way he said it, the subtle emphasis on certain words, the low rumble of his voice—it felt like it should mean something. Something that you were missing.

Ozzie cleared his throat. "I just meant—there's plenty of room. For both of you. If you wanted. Not that—the offer stands. But only if you're comfortable with it. You can absolutely walk if you prefer."

He was backtracking, stumbling over his words in a way that seemed uncharacteristic for Ozzie who was usually so confident. You tilted your head, trying to figure out what had just happened, but the moment had already passed.

"I can walk," you said quietly. "I don't mind. But thank you for offering."

"Of course," Ozzie said, and if he sounded disappointed, you told yourself you were clearly just imagining it.

The carnival was magical in a way you hadn't expected Hell to be capable of. The games were chaotic and probably rigged, but the kids didn't care. They shrieked with laughter as they threw rings at bottles, tossed balls at targets, tried to knock down stacks of cans. The food smelled amazing—fried things and sweet things and things that made your mouth water. And the rides...

"Are safety regulations optional here?" you asked, watching a ride that appeared to spin in four directions at once while also traveling in a loop-de-loop.

"Extremely optional," Ozzie confirmed. "But they're fun. Want to try one?"

"Absolutely not," you said immediately. "I'd like my internal organs to stay internal, thank you."

Ozzie laughed, rich and warm, and you found yourself smiling despite your nervousness at being in such a crowded place.

A commotion near the center of the carnival drew your attention—excited chattering, children's voices raised in anticipation. You couldn't see what was causing it from your position on the ground, the crowd too thick and you we're quite far back.

"What's going on?" you asked, trying to peer over the mass of imps.

Ozzie's expression shifted into something fond as he looked down at you struggling to see. "Little one," he said gently, "Please let me I pick you up? You aren't overstepping I promise but you won't be able to see anything from down there either, and I think you'll want to see this."

You hesitated for just a moment, remembering how you'd declined before, but curiosity won out. Whatever was happening, it had the whole carnival excited, and you really couldn't see anything.

"Okay," you said, nodding. "Yes, please."

The pleased flicker of Ozzie's expression was immediate. He reached down carefully, telegraphing his movements so you wouldn't be startled, and very gently picked you up.

You let out an involuntary squeak of surprise regardless, grabbing onto his thumb for dear life.

"I've got you," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "I'm just going to put you on my shoulder so you can see. Is that alright?"

Your heart was hammering, partially from the sudden height and partially from the casual way he'd just... picked you up. Like you weighed nothing. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I—yeah," you managed, your voice coming out smaller than you'd intended. "Yeah, that's okay."

He lifted you higher, and you found yourself settling onto his shoulder, your legs dangling and your hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his jacket for balance.

"Okay?" Ozzie asked quietly, and you could feel the rumble of his voice through your whole body.

"A little bit terrified," you admitted, your fingers tightening in his jacket. "But okay. I can see everything from up here."

"Good," Ozzie said. "Because you're going to want to see this."

In the center of the crowd, a small stage had been set up, and on it—

"Is that Fizz?" you asked, your fear temporarily forgotten in your delight.

"Surpriseeee," Ozzie said in a sing-song voice, and you could hear the smile in it.

It was. Fizzarolli was on the stage in full performance mode, his limbs extending and retracting in impossible ways as he entertained a group of absolutely enraptured imp children.

He was wearing a slightly different outfit than usual—brighter colors, more playful patterns, clearly designed to appeal to kids. His jester hat had bells jingled, and his grin was impossibly wide.

"You knew he was going to be here," you said, looking sidelong at Ozzie. "That's why you brought me. This was the surprise."

"Guilty," Ozzie admitted, and he sounded very pleased with himself. "Thought you might enjoy watching him perform. And I was right, wasn't I?"

You turned back to the stage, already completely captivated. "This is amazing," you breathed

You also noticed the security—large, intimidating shark demons positioned around the perimeter of the performance area, their eyes constantly scanning the crowd. It seemed like overkill for a kid's show, but what did you know about Hell's safety protocols?

"Alright, alright, settle down you little hellions!" Fizz called out, his voice carrying easily over the excited chatter. "And I mean that in the most literal sense! Now, who here likes DANGER?"

The imp children screamed their approval, and their parents laughed.

"Perfect! Because today we're going to learn the ancient art of—" he paused dramatically, producing three bowling pins from behind his back, "—JUGGLING! With FIRE!"

The pins burst into flame, and the children shrieked with delight while a handful of parents looked mildly concerned.

"Don't worry, folks!" Fizz called to the adults. "I'm a professional! I've only set myself on fire... twice this week!"

He began juggling the flaming pins with exaggerated flair, his arms extending and retracting to create impossible patterns. The children watched in awe, and you found yourself just as captivated.

"Now, I know what you're thinking," Fizz continued, still juggling. "'Fizzarolli, how did you get so talented, handsome and humble?'" He caught all three pins in one hand with a flourish. "And the answer is, I have NO idea! But I'm not complaining!"

The crowd laughed, and Fizz took an elaborate bow before the pins disappeared—you had no idea where—and he was suddenly holding a bunch of colorful balloons.

That's when he spotted you and Ozzie at the back of the crowd. His eyes lit up impossibly bright, and his grin somehow got even wider. You waved enthusiastically and Ozzie raised one hand in greeting.

Fizz winked at you both before turning back to his young audience, his movements becoming even more elaborate and showy.

"Okay kiddos, gather 'round!" He was using his extendable arms to gesture the children closer. "Today, Fizzy is gonna teach you something SUPER important. The kind of thing that'll make you the coolest imp at school."

"What is it?" one small imp child called out, bouncing excitedly.

"Patience, tiny terror! I'm building suspense!" Fizz grinned. "We're going to learn... the ancient and mystical art... of BALLOONS!"

He produced more balloons from seemingly nowhere, tossing them out into the crowd of children who scrambled to catch them. Some of the parents were also receiving balloons, looking bemused but game.

You watched, enchanted, as Fizz began demonstrating the twists and turns needed to create a sword shape. His hands moved with practiced precision, narrating each step in an exaggerated voice.

"First, you gotta grab your balloon like this—firmly, but not too firmly! You're not trying to strangle it, though I know that's tempting!"

The children giggled, attempting to follow along.

"Now, here's where it gets tricky," Fizz continued. "You're gonna make a bubble about tttthis big—" he demonstrated, "—which is a very technical measurement that I definitely didn't just make up!"

A small imp girl raised her hand. "Mister Fizzarolli, what if it pops?"

"Excellent question, pint-sized scholar!" Fizz pointed at her. "If it pops, you scream 'TACTICAL RETREAT!' and grab a new balloon. It's all about the showmanship!"

As if on cue, one of the children's balloons popped with a loud bang, and the kid immediately yelled "TACTICAL RETREAT!" sending the whole crowd into laughter.

You found yourself giggling, completely charmed by the whole scene. From your perch on Ozzie's shoulder, you had a perfect view of everything—the way Fizz moved with such natural charisma, how the children hung on his every word, the obvious joy he took in entertaining them.

"Look at them," you said softly to Ozzie, nodding toward a family near the front. A mother and father imp with three small children, all of them trying to make balloon swords together, laughing when they failed. "That's so sweet. They look so happy."

Ozzie made a low sound of agreement, and you felt it rumble through his shoulder.

"And those two," you continued, watching a pair of tiny imp children who couldn't have been more than toddlers, holding hands while they watched Fizz with wide, amazed eyes. "Oh my gosh, they're adorable. Look at their little faces!"

You were so focused on the families, on the wholesome scene in front of you, that you didn't notice the way bull—one of the massive heads in Ozzie's mane—had turned to stare directly at you with an intensity that suggested he found you very, very interesting indeed.

"Alright!" Fizz announced, having apparently finished his demonstration. "Now you all try! And remember—if anyone asks where you learned this, tell them Fizzarolli taught you!"

The shark demon security approached Ozzie, holding out a balloon with an expression that suggested he wasn't paid enough to smile. Ozzie took it delicately between two fingers, and you had to press your hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

"This is going to be interesting," Ozzie muttered.

Fizz was demonstrating the twists and turns needed to create a sword shape for a second time, his hands moving with practiced precision. The kids were following along with varying degrees of success, some creating passable swords, others creating shapes that looked more like abstract art.

Ozzie attempted to follow along, and you watched with growing amusement as he tried to manipulate the balloon with fingers that were absolutely not designed for such delicate work. The balloon kept slipping from his grip, and when he finally managed to hold it steady enough to attempt a twist, it popped with a sound like a gunshot.

Several imp children shrieked with laughter.

"This is impossible," Ozzie grumbled under his breath.

You couldn't help it—you started giggling. The sight of Asmodeus, the embodiment of Lust itself, defeated by a balloon, was too much.

"Are you laughing at me?," Ozzie questioned, but there was no real heat in it.

"It's a little funny," you said, still giggling. The shark demon had already provided Ozzie with a new balloon, and he was glaring at it like it had personally offended him. "Here, let me try."

"You're on my shoulder," Ozzie pointed out.

"So what ?," you said, already reaching for the balloon. "I can at least try."

Ozzie carefully transferred you the balloon, feeling slightly ridiculous but determined. Your hands were better suited to this than Ozzie's, but that wasn't saying much. The balloon was squeaky and unwilling to cooperate, and your first few attempts resulted in twisted messes that looked nothing like swords.

"Okay, this is harder than it looks," you muttered, frowning in concentration.

"Welcome to my world," Ozzie said, amused.

But you were stubborn, and after several more attempts and one popped balloon that made you jump, you managed to create something that could generously be called a sword. It was definitely not going to win any awards, but it was recognizable.

"Ha!" you said triumphantly, holding it up. "I did it!"

"You did," Ozzie agreed, and there was something warm in his tone. "Very impressive, little one."

"I am the balloon sword champion!" you said, with laughter.

From the stage, Fizz caught your eye and gave you an exaggerated thumbs up, his grin absolutely delighted. Several of the imp children were watching you and Ozzie, giggling at the sight of a Sin with a hooded figure on his shoulder.

You were too busy laughing, too caught up in the moment, to notice.

By the time you made it back to the palace, it was late evening, and you were exhausted in the best possible way. Your feet hurt from walking, your face hurt from smiling, and you were still clutching your balloon sword like a trophy.

Fizz had met you back at the palace, having finished his performance and had apparently portaled home via his boss rather than waiting. He was sprawled on the couch when you and Ozzie walked in, still in his performance outfit.

"How was the carnival?" he asked, grinning. "I saw you guys in the back. Looking very cute with your balloon sword, by the way Cutie."

"It was amazing," you said, and the words started spilling out before you could stop them. "Fizz, you were incredible with those kids! They loved you! And the carnival was so fun, and the food at lunch was delicious, and Wrath is beautiful—did you know it's got actual countryside? Like, farms and fields and everything? And everyone was so nice, and the games were fun even though they were definitely rigged, and—"

You stopped, suddenly aware that both Ozzie and Fizz were staring at you with matching expressions of fond amusement.

"Sorry," you said, feeling your face heat. "I'm rambling. I just—I had a really good time."

"Don't apologize," Ozzie said, settling onto the couch beside Fizz. "It's nice to see you excited."

"You really liked watching me perform, it wasn't to childish ?" Fizz asked, and there was something almost vulnerable in his expression.

"Are you kidding? You were amazing!" You moved closer. "The kids were obsessed with you. And that juggling thing you did? With the flaming pins? I thought their parents were going to have a heart attack, but the kids went crazy!"

"Flaming pins are always a crowd pleaser," Fizz said, looking pleased with himself.

"Thank you. Both of you. For today, I mean. It was really special." you said, suddenly feeling shy.

Fizz and Ozzie exchanged a look, one of those silent conversations they seemed to have constantly.

"Good" Fizz asked, and his smile was soft now. "You deserve special."

"MmHmmm" Ozzie hummed in agreement.

Your heart did something complicated in your chest, and you weren't sure what to say to that. These two kept saying things that made you feel warm and confused and like maybe you were missing something important.

But before you could spiral too far into that thought, Ozzie was suggesting dinner, Fizz was patting the couch beside him, and you were laughing again as Fizz demanded to hear about every detail of your day in Wrath.