#poly!fizzmodeus x reader

Your phone rang, interrupting your inventory, and you smiled when you saw Fizz's name on the screen.

"Hey," you answered, climbing down from the step stool. "You guys done already?"

"Almost!" Fizz's voice came through with that manic energy that meant he was still riding the high from performing. "Ozzie's wrapping up some paperwork, but I'm freeee! Which means I get to make important executive decisions!"

"Executive decisions about what?" you asked, already smiling at his enthusiasm.

"Dinner! Well, late dinner. Very late dinner. Post-show snacks? Whatever, semantics!" You could hear him moving, probably bouncing around backstage. "I have been authorized by Big Daddy himself to acquire sustenance using his magical plastic rectangle of infinite money!"

"You stole his credit card again, didn't you?"

"Borrowed! I borrowed it! With implied permission! He said, and I quote, 'Get whatever you want, just make sure she eats something,' so really, I'm following orders!" There was a pause. "Okay he actually said 'grab food on the way home' but I'm choosing to interpret that as carte blanche to order everything!"

"Fizzy—"

"So! What does my beautiful, wonderful, amazing cutie want for dinner? And before you say 'I don't mind,' I will remind you that's not an acceptable answer! Pick something! Anything! The Seven Rings are your oyster! Well, not literally, unless you want oysters? Do you want oysters?"

You laughed, settling onto one of the kitchen stools. "I don't know what I want. What are the options?"

"Everything! Anything! I'm looking at Hellber-Eats right now and there are approximately one million restaurants! We could get that barbecue place from Wrath! Or the noodle place from Gluttony! Oh, or there's this new place that does those little dumpling things you liked!"

"Those were good," you admitted.

"See? Progress! We're narrowing it down! Dumplings are on the maybe list!" You could hear tapping, probably Fizz scrolling through options. "Ooh, or sushi! There's a place that is supposed to be amazing! The reviews say it's 'to die for' which, given that we're in hell, is a significant endorsement!"

"Sushi does sound good," you said, and you could practically hear Fizz's grin through the phone.

"Sushi it is! I'm ordering everything! All of it! Every single roll!"

"Fizz, that's too much—"

"Nonsense! There's no such thing as too much! We'll have leftovers! Leftovers are a gift to future us! Future us will be so grateful to past us for this abundance!" More tapping sounds. "Okay, I'm getting the rainbow roll, the dragon roll, the volcano roll—is that a weird name for sushi? That seems weird—the California roll even though we're not in California, some sashimi because I'm fancy, those little fried things—"

"Tempura?"

"Yes! Those! Tempura everything! Shrimp, vegetables, probably some things I can't identify! Oh, and edamame because that's healthy and Ozzie will appreciate that I'm making responsible choices!"

"Ordering thirty sushi rolls is not a responsible choice."

"It's a delicious choice! There's a difference!" Fizz paused. "Okay, I'm also getting that miso soup you like and some of those little rice ball things. Onigiri! That's the word! I'm culturally educated!"

"You're something," you said fondly.

"I'm delightful!" Fizz corrected. "Okay, order placed! It'll be delivered to the palace in like thirty minutes! I'm gonna finish up here and head home. Ozzie's probably gonna take another twenty minutes because he's fussy about his paperwork—"

"I can hear you!" Ozzie's voice came faintly through the phone.

"I said you were thorough and detail-oriented!" Fizz called back. Then, to you "See you soon, cutie! Don't start trouble without me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," you said, smiling.

"See you soon! Bye!" He hung up before you could respond.

You were just finishing up your grocery list when you heard the front door open. Your heart did that little flutter it always did when either of them came home, and you hopped off the stool to go greet whoever it was.

Ozzie was in the entryway, already in the process of removing his accessories—the extra decorative elements he wore for public appearances. He looked tired but content.

"Hey Big Guy." you said softly, and his entire face lit up when he saw.

"Little one," he rumbled warmly. "There you are."

He crossed the space between you in just a few strides, and you found yourself looking way, way up at him. Sometimes you forgot just how massive he was until moments like this, when his presence filled the entire room.

His hand came up, and one enormous finger very gently brushed your hair back from your forehead. The gesture was so tender, so careful, and then his finger moved to stroke your cheek. His touch was warm, gentle, mindful of the size difference.

"How was your day?" he asked, his voice soft in that way it only got in private, when the persona fell away.

"Good," you said, leaning into his touch. "Quiet. I've been making a grocery list. And cleaning a bit."

Ozzie's expression shifted immediately, his face flickering with what looked like concern mixed with exasperation. "Cleaning? Little one, we have staff for that. Multiple staff members whose literal job is cleaning."

"I know," you said. "But I don't mind. It's not like I deep cleaned or anything. Just... tidied up a bit. Organized some things."

"You don't need to do that," Ozzie said, and there was something almost distressed in his tone. "You're not here to work. You're here because—" He paused, seeming to struggle with the words. "Because we want you here. Because you're important to us. Not because we need a housekeeper."

"I know that," you assured him quickly. "I wasn't cleaning because I thought I had to. I was cleaning because I wanted to. Because it helps me feel useful. And because..." You hesitated. "It saves you money? On cleaning staff?"

Ozzie stared at you for a long moment, and then he started laughing. Not a mean laugh, but genuine, warm amusement that made his eyes dance.

"Little one," he said once he'd recovered. "Money is not a problem. At all. Even remotely. I am the Sin of Lust. I run the most successful club in the Lust Ring. I manufacture products that are sold across all Seven Rings. Money is quite possibly the least of my concerns."

"Oh," you said, feeling your face heat. "Right. I knew that. Intellectually. But I still don't want to be... wasteful? Or take advantage?"

Ozzie's expression softened, and he very carefully cupped your face in his hand—or rather, you fit in his palm like he was holding something precious. "You could never take advantage. If anything, Fizz and I are trying very hard not to overwhelm you with how much we want to spoil you."

"Spoil me? You know I dont need that." you repeated.

"Mmhmm," Ozzie confirmed. "Fizz already has a list of things he wants to buy you. I've had to talk him down from some of the more extravagant options at least three times this week."

"What kind of extravagant options?"

"He wanted to commission a custom wardrobe from one of the Lust Ring's top designers," Ozzie said dryly. "The entire consultation alone was going to cost more than most demons make in a year."

"Ozzie, thats far far too much!" you said, scandalized.

"I know. I told him we should start smaller. Maybe just a few nice pieces instead of an entire wardrobe." Ozzie's grin was slightly sheepish. "He's currently compromising by secretly ordering things online and having them delivered when he thinks I'm not paying attention."

"You know he does that?"

"I get notifications every time my credit card is used," Ozzie said. "I'm choosing to allow it because watching him try to be sneaky is adorable, and because he has excellent taste. Everything he's ordered for you has been beautiful, besides its a joint account."

You didn't know what to say to that. The idea that they wanted to spoil you, that they were actively trying to buy you things and make you happy, was overwhelming in the best way.

"You don't have to buy me things," you said quietly. "I'm happy just being here. With both of you."

"We know," Ozzie said gently. "But we want to. Because taking care of the people we—" He paused. "—the people we care about makes us happy. So let us spoil you a little bit. Please?"

The way he said it, like it was important to him, like he needed you to accept it—you couldn't say no.

"Okay," you said. "A little bit. But nothing too extravagant."

"Fizz is going to be so disappointed," Ozzie said, but he was smiling. "He already has a jewelry consultation scheduled for next week."

"Ozzie!"

"I'm kidding!" Ozzie said, though his expression suggested he might not be entirely kidding. "Mostly kidding. Sixty percent kidding."

Before you could respond, you heard the front door open again, followed by Fizz's voice calling out "Food has arrived! I come bearing gifts of fish and rice! Prepare to be amazed by my ability to spend obscene amounts of money on raw fish!"

The dining room table was quickly covered in an truly absurd amount of sushi. Fizz hadn't been exaggerating when he said he'd ordered everything—there were at least fifteen different rolls, several orders of sashimi, tempura that was still steaming, miso soup, edamame, onigiri, and several items you couldn't immediately identify.

"Froggie," Ozzie said, looking at the spread with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "This is enough food for twenty people."

"Or three very hungry people!" Fizz countered, already settling at the table with his usual chaotic energy. "Plus leftovers! I told cutie, future us will thank present us!"

"Future us is going to be eating sushi for a week," Ozzie said, but he was already sitting down, carefully arranging himself at the table.

You settled between them, looking at the variety of options. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start here!" Fizz said, immediately putting several pieces on your plate. "This is the rainbow roll—it's got like seven different fish on it, very aesthetic, very delicious. And this one is the dragon roll, which has eel and is topped with avocado and looks cool. And this one—"

"Fizz, let her choose," Ozzie said gently.

"I'm helping her choose!" Fizz protested. "There are too many options! This is a guidance service I'm providing! Very valuable!"

Despite his protests, he did stop adding to your plate, instead turning his attention to his own food. You watched with amusement as he tried to use chopsticks with his mechanical hands—the precision was there, but he kept adjusting his grip like he wasn't quite sure how much pressure to use.

"These are harder than they look," Fizz muttered, successfully picking up a piece of sushi only to have it fall apart halfway to his mouth. "Who invented these? Chopsticks are a conspiracy to make eating difficult!"

"You juggle flaming pins for a living," Ozzie pointed out.

"That's different! Flaming pins are designed to be thrown! Chopsticks are designed by sadists!"

You giggled, successfully managing your own chopsticks to eat a piece of the rainbow roll. It was delicious—fresh and flavorful and nothing like any sushi you'd had on Earth.

"Good?" Fizz asked, watching you with bright, attentive eyes.

"Really good," you confirmed. "You did good with the order."

"See?" Fizz said to Ozzie. "I made excellent choices! I'm a decision-making genius!"

"You ordered enough food to feed a small army," Ozzie said dryly.

"A well-fed small army!" Fizz corrected.

The meal continued with easy conversation, the three of you sharing food and stories from your day. Fizz recounted a moment during his performance where he'd nearly dropped a juggling pin and had to improvise an entire bit around it. Ozzie talked about some new product designs his factory was developing. You told them about your grocery list project, which led to a fifteen-minute discussion about snack preferences.

You were reaching for another piece of sushi when you noticed movement from the corner of your eye. One of the Quevies—the troublemaker one, you'd learned to recognize them all by now—had crept up to the table and was staring at Fizz with big, pleading eyes.

Fizz, without even pausing his conversation with Ozzie, picked up a piece of sashimi and dropped it down to the Quevy, who caught it with a happy little chirp.

"Babe" Ozzie said warningly.

"What?" Fizz asked innocently, even as another Quevy approached and he handed over another piece.

"You're feeding them table scraps again."

"It's fish! Fish is healthy! I'm promoting good nutrition for the babies!"

"They have their own food," Ozzie pointed out.

"But this fish is fancy!" Fizz argued. "I paid good money for this fish! The babies deserve fancy fish too!"

More Quevies were appearing now, drawn by the promise of treats. Soon there were five of them clustered around Fizz's chair, all looking up with varying degrees of desperation.

"You're creating a pack of monsters," Ozzie said, but there was no real heat in it. "They're going to expect fancy sushi every night now."

"Good! They should have high standards! I'm teaching them self-worth!" Fizz dropped several more pieces to the increasingly excited Quevies.

Even Precious had wheeled over in her little wheelchair, positioning herself hopefully near the table. Fizz immediately gave her two pieces, which she accepted with regal dignity.

"You're spoiling them," you said, amused.

"I spoil everyone I care about!" Fizz declared. "It's my love language! Excessive gift-giving and feeding behavior!"

"Your love language is chaos," Ozzie corrected.

"Chaotic gift-giving!" Fizz amended. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to distribute fish to my adoring fans."

By the time the meal was finished, the Quevies had eaten almost as much as you had, and Fizz looked enormously pleased with himself despite Ozzie's long-suffering sighs.

Later, after the sushi had been packed away, there were indeed enough leftovers for several days, after the Quevies had been corralled back to their sleeping area, after you'd all gotten ready for bed—you found yourself in the massive round bed.

It had become routine now, this nighttime ritual. You'd change into sleep clothes, brush your teeth, go through all the normal bedtime motions. And then you'd all settle into bed together—usually with you somewhere in the middle, Ozzie taking up a significant portion of the space, and Fizz sprawling wherever he could find room.

You were already under the covers, settled in the pillows, when Fizz's head emerged from under the mass of blankets with his usual energetic chaos.

"Okay, so I've been thinking—dangerous, I know, what if we got a Quevy-sized obstacle course? Like, tiny hoops and tunnels and—" He stopped mid-sentence when his eyes landed on you. "—and I just forgot what I was talking about because you look really cute right now."

Your face immediately heated. "I'm just... in bed. Like normal."

"Yeah, but you're in our bed," Fizz said, and there was something in his tone that made your stomach flip. "In that shirt that's definitely mine, by the way. I noticed. I notice everything. Very observant, that's me."

He settled next to you, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. One of his mechanical hands reached out to touch your arm, the movement casual but deliberate.

Ozzie was already in bed on your other side, propped up against the headboard, his expression a soft, intimate glow. He wasn't saying anything, just watching with those knowing eyes, and somehow that made you feel bashful.

"So!" Fizz continued, his voice taking on that rapid-fire quality that could have been excitement or nerves or both. "This is cozy! Very cozy! You comfortable, cutie?"

"I'm comfortable," you managed, though your voice came out quieter than intended.

"Good! Great! Fantastic!" Fizz's hand moved from your arm to your waist, and you felt your breath hitch at the touch. "I'm comfortable too. Very comfortable. So comfortable I might just—" He shifted closer, his face now inches from yours. "—stay right here."

You could see the way his eyes kept darting down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. The nervous energy was still there, but there was something else now too. Something heated and wanting that made you swallow thickly.

"You're staring," you whispered.

"You're really pretty," Fizz said immediately. "I'm allowed to stare. It's in the handbook. Staring at your gorgeous girl is not only allowed but encouraged.'"

"I don't think that's a real handbook," you said, but you were smiling despite yourself.

You turned your head slightly and Fizz met you halfway. The kiss started soft—tentative on your part—but he responded with that familiar chaotic enthusiasm tempered by care. Fizz's raspy voice humming approval against your lips as his tongue brushed yours playfully, tasting faintly of sour candy and smoke.

The kiss lingered, growing slower and more intent, mouths moving together in a warm, unhurried rhythm that made everything else fade.

While the kiss stretched on, your fingers brushed against his. Slowly, almost shyly at first, you traced the lines of his mechanical fingers—feeling the smooth metal joints. Fizz made a soft, surprised sound into the kiss, then mirrored you.

His fingertips danced lightly over yours, tracing each knuckle and the delicate skin between them with surprising gentleness, as if committing every detail to memory. The slow exploration sent little sparks through you both.

Gradually, your fingers slid together and intertwined, squeezing gently.

Fizz’s grip tightened just enough to feel secure, his thumb brushing back and forth over the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm that matched the slow slide of his tongue against yours.

When you finally pulled back for air, cheeks burning, Fizz grinned wide, pink eyes sparkling even as a tiny nervous twitch flicked through his tail.

“I've been thinking about this for so long Cutie.” he said, One of his hands came up to cup your face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the mechanical nature of his prosthetics, while the other hand on your waist, pressed in slightly like he needed to confirm you were real.

He kissed you again, this time deeper, exploratory, and you found yourself pressing closer to him, your hands coming up to grip his shirt.

Fizz made a small sound against your mouth, something between a moan and a whimper, and his hand on your waist slid slightly lower, fingers spreading across your hip. Even through the fabric of your shirt and sleep shorts, his touch felt electric.

When you broke apart this time, you were both flushed and breathing hard. Fizz's eyes were dark, his usual manic energy channeled into something more focused, more intense.

"You're so—" He stopped, seeming to struggle for words. "I want—can I—" His hand on your hip tightened slightly. "There's so much I want to do right now. So many things I've been thinking about. You have no idea how many things."

Your hand came up to touch his face, and he immediately leaned into the contact, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.

"I'm a little nervous," you admitted quietly.

Fizz's eyes opened, something vulnerable flickering across his face before his expression shifted to concern. "Hey, we don't have to—look just because i said—if you're not ready cutie, we can just—"

"I didn't say I didn't want to," you interrupted, your face heating. "I just... You're both so... experienced, and I don't want to mess up or—"

"Cutie," Fizz said, and his voice had gone soft in a way it rarely did. "You couldn't mess this up if you tried. Trust me. Just being here with you is—" He seemed to struggle with the words again. "Everything."

Ozzie's hand came to rest on your back, warm and grounding. "He's right, little one. There's no wrong way to do any of this."

Encouraged by their words, you let yourself relax slightly. Fizz took that as permission to continue, his hand sliding under your shirt to trace patterns on your side.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his fingers dancing along your ribs.

"Yes," you breathed, and Fizz's grin returned, sharper now.

"Good. Because I've got a lot of ground to cover." His hand slid higher, thumb brushing just under the curve of your breast. "And I'm very thorough. Very detail-oriented when I want to be. Which I definitely want to be right now."

He leaned in to kiss you again, this time trailing his lips from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck. The sensation made you gasp, your hands tightening in his shirt, and you felt him smile against your skin.

"You make the best sounds," Fizz murmured against your neck. "Been wondering what you'd sound like. Thought about it a lot. Like, a concerning amount. Ozzie can confirm."

"I can," Ozzie said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement mixed with heat. "He's been quite distracted lately."

"Can you blame me?" Fizz asked, pulling back to look at you, his expression intense. "Look at her, Oz. She's—" His hand slid back down to your waist, then tentatively to your thigh, his touch feather-light, his eyes searching your face.

"Too much?" he asked softly.

Your face was burning, but you shook your head, and Fizz's hand settled more firmly on your thigh, his mechanical fingers warm through the thin fabric of your shorts.

"You're so soft," he said, something like awe in his voice. "Everything about you is so soft and—" His hand squeezed gently, and you felt his breath hitch. "Fuck, you're really ...you're really letting me touch you."

"Where else do you want to touch?" you asked, your face flushing at the boldness of the words.

Fizz's eyes went wide, then darkened. "Everywhere," he said honestly. "I want to touch everywhere. Want to learn every part of you. Want to know what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you—"

His hand started sliding higher on your thigh, and you felt yourself tense—not from fear, but from anticipation mixed with nervousness.

"Fizz—" You struggled for words. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do... Well ok no I kinda do... I just ... My hands are just... here." You gestured awkwardly with your hands that were still gripping his shirt

"You can touch me," Fizz said, his voice going rough as he unbuttoned the little heart buttons on his pajama top. "Please ... I'm like dying here, cutie. Touch me anywhere. Everywhere. I'm not picky."

Tentatively, you let your hands settle on his chest. His skin was warm under your palms, you could feel his heartbeat, rapid and strong, matching your own frantic rhythm.

"Is this okay?" you asked, your fingers tracing the lines where red and white intersected, where scars met skin.

"Better than okay," Fizz said, his voice strained. "That's—yeah. Keep doing that."

Encouraged, you let your hands explore more freely, mapping the planes of his chest, the dip of his waist, feeling the way he shivered under your touch. When your fingers brushed over one of his shoulders, where flesh met metal, Fizz made a sound that was definitely a moan.

"Too sensitive?" you asked, jerking you hand back between you.

When you glanced sideways you caught Ozzie watching the two of you with that heated, indulgent gaze, your nerves spiked. You buried your head against Fizz’s shoulder, hiding your burning face in the crook of his neck, a small embarrassed whimper escaping you.

Fizz let out a soft, surprised laugh that vibrated against your cheek, though you could feel the faint tremble in his frame too. “Hey … where’d you go, cutie?” he teased gently, voice cracking even as he tried to sound confident. “Don’t hide that pretty face. Oz is just enjoying the show — aren’t you, big daddy?”

Ozzie chuckled low and warm, the sound rich and reassuring as his large hand stroked slowly down Fizz’s back. “I am,” he rumbled, voice like velvet. “You two look beautiful together. So shy and sweet… Look at her hiding, Fizzy — she’s so adorable when she gets flustered.”

When you pulled back Fizz’s eyes searched yours for a long moment, that intense, wanting look still flickering with a hint of his usual chaotic energy. “Can I…?” he asked again, voice dropping lower, almost reverent.

His thumb brushed slow circles over your hip, waiting, always waiting for your answer even when his tail was lashing with barely-contained excitement behind him.

You nodded, breath shallow. “Yes.”

The grin that broke across his face was bright and a little shaky. “Fuck yeah— I mean, good! Great choice, cutie. Best choice.”

He shifted so he was leaning over you more fully, careful not to crowd you too fast. One mechanical hand stayed at your waist while his fingers hooked gently under the waistband of your sleep shorts. He paused there, eyes flicking up to meet yours again.

“Gonna take this off now, okay?” he murmured, voice raspy and soft. “Nice and slow. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You whispered your agreement, and Fizz let out a small, delighted sound. he peeled them down your legs slowly, kissing every bit of skin he uncovered—your hip, the top of your thigh, the inside of your knee. Once they were gone, he settled between your parted legs, his mechanical hands sliding up your thighs with feather-light pressure, his gaze locked on you like you were the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen.

“Shit… look at you,” he breathed, voice cracking just a little. “So pretty. So fucking pretty it hurts.”

His hands returned, both of them now, tracing the newly bared skin with surprising patience. He watched every reaction, cataloguing it—your little gasps, the way your back arched, the way your thighs pressed together.

Ozzie remained quiet on your other side, but you could feel the weight of his warm gaze. One of his large fingers rested lightly on your arm, a steady, grounding presence, offering silent approval as he watched Fizz explore you with such care.

Fizz’s tail curled around your ankle, the spade tip stroking gently up and down your calf as he moved. eyes flicking up to yours once more.

One of his hands moved with aching slowness, fingertips brushing along your inner thigh before finally reaching their destination. He traced gently, reverently—first with just the pads of two fingers, gliding through warmth, learning the shape of you, watching your face the whole time, attuned to every hitch in your breath and every small twitch of your hips.

"Amazing... your amazing Cutie” he murmured, voice low and raspy. His touch stayed careful, exploratory, never rushing. His thumb joined in, pressing soft, lazy circles. Every movement was deliberate, almost tender, as if he was memorizing you by touch alone.

You could feel Ozzie shift slightly beside you, his hand sliding to your thigh, thumb brushing just beside where Fizz was touching you, adding another layer of warmth and sensation without taking over.

Fizz leaned in again, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. This one was slower than before—gentle and unhurried, his mouth moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His mechanical fingers never stopped, circling in slow, lazy loops that sent warm sparks through your body.

Ozzie’s finger gently carded through your hair, brushing the strands back from your face with surprising delicacy. The gesture was soothing, grounding—his touch full of quiet affection as he watched the two of you with those warm glowing eyes.

Fizz didn’t look away from your face, his pink gaze stayed fixed on you. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice thick with concern.

You laced your fingers through his and lifted your joined hands into his field of vision. “So are you Fizzy—see?” Your fingers gliding down to his wrist and rubbing soothing circles.

Fizz gave a small, nervous laugh that came out more like a whimper. “I just… I want this to feel perfect for you. Every single touch. If I do anything that doesn’t feel right, you gotta tell me right away, okay? I’ll stop. I swear.”

He leaned in and pressed another soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then to your cheek, all while his fingers continued their tender exploration—never rushing, never pressing too hard, just learning you with that same loving focus. Ozzie’s finger moved back to gentle stroke your hair, offering silent reassurance as Fizz watched your every reaction like it was the most important thing in the world.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he shifted his hips forward, lining himself up against you. The blunt head of him pressed ever so slightly against you, a gentle nudge that made you gasp at the intimate contact.

He froze instantly.

Every muscle in his body locked up, tail going rigid behind him. “Shit—sorry, sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking with worry. His pink eyes were wide, searching your face frantically. “Was that too much? I can stop, we can—”

“Froggie,” Ozzie’s deep, velvety voice rumbled from your side, calm and reassuring. His hand slid from your hair down to rest gently on Fizz’s lower back, offering steady guidance. “She gasped for the same reasons I do. Breathe Fizzy Frog. You’re doing beautifully.”

Fizz swallowed hard, nodding quickly, the nervous twitch in his tail easing just a fraction under Ozzie’s touch and words. “Okay… okay, yeah. Got it.” He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, then another to the tip of your nose, murmuring praise into your skin.

With Ozzie’s quiet encouragement guiding him, Fizz pressed forward again—agonizingly slow, inch by careful inch. His mechanical hand moved to your hip, thumb stroking soothing circles, while the other braced beside your head. Every tiny movement was accompanied by more soft kisses, to your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Your—nghh—fucking incredible,” he whispered between kisses, voice hoarse with emotion. “So warm… so… fuck.”

Ozzie continued murmuring low praise from beside you, his deep tone wrapping around both of you like a warm blanket. “That's it babe. Nice and easy. Listen to her breathing… Keep going just like that.”

When Fizz was finally fully seated inside you, buried to the hilt in that tight, fluttering heat, he let out a shaky, broken moan against your mouth. Both of you were trembling, bodies pressed close, hearts racing in sync.

You shyly nuzzled into the crook of his neck, hiding your flushed face again, breathing in his familiar scent of smoke and sour candy mixed with the clean warmth of his skin. Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, holding him close as you pressed soft, almost timid kisses along the side of his throat.

Fizz made a soft, overwhelmed sound and buried his face in your hair, one mechanical arm sliding under your back to pull you even closer while the other hand gently cupped the back of your head. “Oh, cutie… you’re so ... so much better then i imagined.” he whispered, voice thick and adoring. “I love this… just ... OH SATAN ... just this.”

Ozzie leaned in to press a slow, tender kiss to your temple. “That’s it, Little one,” he murmured warmly. “There’s nothing sweeter than this, you look like a masterpiece.”

Fizz stayed perfectly still for a long moment, savoring the closeness, peppering your neck and shoulder with the gentlest kisses while his tail stroked lovingly along your thigh. The trembling slowly eased into a shared, contented warmth as you remained nuzzled against him, safe and cherished between your two men.

Your thumbs stroked Fizz’s cheeks in wide, gentle arches, tracing the smooth lines of his face as your breath came out in soft little pants and quiet groans. “You’re beautiful,” you managed between shaky breaths, voice breathy and full of feeling. “So beautiful Fizzy.”

Fizz’s pink eyes fluttered at your words, a soft, overwhelmed sound escaping him as he leaned into your touch. “Me? Beautiful?” he rasped, voice cracking with a mix of disbelief and delight. “Cutie, stoppppp, you’re gonna make me cry.”

Ozzie’s deep, velvety voice rolled beside you like warm honey. “Look at you two… so sweet together. Such artistry” With infinite care he used one of his fingers to gently hook your leg, the one closest to him outward, easing it a little closer toward his body. Your leg spreading just that bit further beneath Fizz, opening you up further while keeping everything slow and intimate.

“There we go… nice and easy. You ok babe ?”

"Yea.. M'ok" You nodded, eyes half-lidded.

Fizz carefully cupped your cheek with one mechanical hand and gently guided your head back and down to the pillows below. His glowing pink eyes searched yours with adoring intensity before he nuzzled his face softly against your nose—an affectionate little rub, warm and playful.

“Our gorgeous little cutie,” he whispered, voice raspy and thick with emotion. “Wanna see your face, gotta make sure I’m doing this jussstttt right.”

He started moving then—very shallow, careful rolls of his hips. Barely pulling out before pressing back in, keeping himself nestled deep inside you with gentle, thrusts that rocked you both together.

Ozzie leaned in closer from your other side, his massive frame radiating warmth. His deep, velvety voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper meant only for Fizz—something soft and encouraging that you can't make out.

Whatever it was, Fizz’s expression lit up instantly, the nervous tension melting from his shoulders as a grateful little smile tugged at his lips. He nodded once, eyes never leaving your face.

“Got it, Oz,” Fizz murmured back, voice thick with affection.

One of his mechanical hands slid between your bodies. His fingertips found your sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing slow, gentle circles. The added stimulation sent a fresh wave of heat building low in your belly—warm, coiling pleasure that made you flutter around him.

Fizz groaned softly, forehead resting against yours as he kept up those tender thrusts and the steady rub of his fingers. “That feel good, cutie?" His voice was raspy and adoring, full of that rapid-fire warmth even when he was trying to stay gentle.

"So good—ahh—So fucking good" you groaned, arching into Fizz as the heat in your belly tightening deliciously with every rock of his hips and every careful circle of his fingers.

Ozzie’s finger stayed on your thigh, holding you gently while he pressing slow kisses to your shoulder, cheek, forehead and Fizz's mouth, murmuring low words of praise that wrapped around both of you.

“Beautiful indeed,” Ozzie rumbled softly, his tone full of sensual approval. “Froggie is taking such good care of you…You’re a marvel little one.”

Fizz nuzzled his nose against yours, breath mingling in warm little puffs as his fingers kept up their gentle rhythm and his hips continued rolling into you in waves. “Hear that? Oz thinks we’re beautiful too,” he whispered, voice trembling with pleasure. “But you — you’re the most beautiful thing in any ring. Our cutie…We’ve got you babe.”

The pleasure continued to build low in your belly, sweet and steady, fueled by Fizz’s careful touches, his soft praises, and the reassuring presence of Ozzie beside you.

Ozzie’s massive finger gently brushed along your cheek, warm and grounding. “That’s it, little one,” he murmured, voice deep and velvety with affection. “You’re doing so well.”

You leaned into his touch with a soft sigh, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. Little sounds spilled from your mouth without control—as your hips rocked up to meet Fizz’s thrusts.

“Ah— nghhh… Fizzy…”

Fizz’s pink eyes were locked on your face, drinking in every flutter of your lashes and every little sound you made. “Fuck, cutie— those sounds… you’re making the prettiest noises for me,” he panted, voice raspy and full of wonder. “Keep going, please. I’ve got you. I’ve got you right here.”

Your hands slid to his mechanical ones. You laced your fingers with his, holding on tight as the pleasure crested higher. The slow drag of Fizz inside you, the steady rub of his fingers, Ozzie’s warm praise and gentle touch on your cheek—everything was building together to a perfect crescendo.

Until your vision suddenly went white a powerful wave of pleasure crashed through you, your body clenching tight around Fizz as those sounds peaked into a broken, breathless moan. Your back arched, fingers squeezing his hands hard while the orgasm rolled through you in long, shuddering waves.

Fizz followed right after you with a choked, ecstatic whimper. His hips stuttered in a few final thrusts as he spilled deep inside you, warm and pulsing. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, trembling hard against you, mechanical arms wrapping tight around your body as he rode out his own release.

For a long moment the three of you stayed locked together, breathing hard in the warm, quiet afterglow.

Ozzie’s deep voice rumbled with pride and affection. “There we go… you did so good froggie,” he cooed softly to Fizz, his large hand stroking gently down Fizz’s back. “So attentive, so careful with our little one. You made her feel so loved and safe. You did everything just right.”

Fizz let out a shaky, happy laugh against your neck, still buried inside you. “Yeah? Cutie you sounded so pretty when you—wait…” He pulled back slightly, blinking down at your face when he realized you weren’t responding. Your eyes were closed, body limp and relaxed in his arms.

“Cutie?” Fizz’s voice turned worried. He gently squeezed your hand, then brushed his mechanical fingers over your cheek. “Hey… you okay? Come on, open those eyes for us?”

When you didn’t stir, Fizz’s tail flicked anxiously.

“Oz? She’s not waking up. OZZIE, SHIT— shit, did I go too far? She was making all those cute sounds and then she just…”

Ozzie’s expression flickered with worry, his glowing eyes narrowing for half a second as he leaned in closer. One large hand came up to rest lightly on your forehead, checking your temperature and breathing.

“Easy, froggie,” he said, voice still mostly calm but with a protective edge. “She’s breathing fine. Just—give her a second. You were so gentle with her… she’s...she'll be ok."

Fizz nodded quickly, still looking anxious as he pressed soft kisses to your temple and cheeks. “Okay… okay, yeah. Come on, cutie. Wake up for me? I need to see those eyes. Please I I—don’t scare me like this…”

"Little one," Ozzie said, his voice closer now, his large finger brushing hair back from your forehead. "Can you hear us?"

You tried to respond, tried to open your eyes, but your body felt like it was made of lead, refusing to let you respond.

"She's not responding," Fizz said, the worry ramping up in his voice. "Oz, what if I—what if we did too much? What if I hurt her somehow? What if—"

"Fizz, breathe," Ozzie interrupted firmly. "Look at her face. Does she look distressed?"

There was a pause. "No," Fizz admitted. "She looks... peaceful. Happy, even."

"Exactly," Ozzie said. "Humans need more rest than demons do, especially after intense experiences. She's fine. Just give her a moment."

You felt Fizz's hand on your face again, gentle and worried. "Cutie? Can you wake up for us? Just for a second? Just so I know you're okay?"

With monumental effort, you managed to crack your eyes open slightly. The world was blurry, and you felt boneless, completely wrung out. "Mmph," you managed eloquently.

"Oh thank fuck," Fizz breathed, and you felt him press a kiss to your forehead. "You scared me, cutie. You were so out of it."

"Tired," you mumbled, your words slurring together. "So tired. Happy though. Very happy."

"That's good," Ozzie said warmly, his finger still stroking your hair. "That's very good, little one. But we should get you cleaned up before you fall asleep properly. Think you can stay awake for a bath?"

"Bath?" you repeated, trying to process the word through the fog in your brain.

"Yeah, bath," Fizz said, and you could hear the smile in his voice now that his panic was fading. "Get you all clean and comfortable. Then you can sleep as much as you want."

"'Kay," you agreed, though you made no move to actually get up.

Fizz laughed softly. "I don't think she's capable of walking right now, Oz."

"I can carry her," Ozzie said, and you felt yourself being carefully lifted, cradled against his warm chest. "Come on, little one. Bath time."

The bathroom was as excessive as everything else in the palace—enormous, with a tub that could easily fit Ozzie's massive frame. The tub was large and heart-shaped you found it both ridiculous and charming.

Fizz was already moving ahead, turning on the water and adjusting the temperature. "Not too hot," he muttered to himself. "Our cutie can't handle the same temperatures we can. Warm but not scalding. OoOOoooh maybe some of these bath oils? And these little bath thingy's they smell like butterscotch!"

You watched him through half-closed eyes, touched by how attentive he was being, Ozzie set you down carefully on the edge of the tub, keeping one hand on you to make sure you didn't topple over. "Think you can manage from here, Froggie, or do you need help?"

"Help," you slurred, too tired to be embarrassed. "Please."

"I've got her," Fizz said, moving to your side. "You go get snacks or something, Oz. We're gonna be a minute."

Ozzie hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to help and wanting to feed you both "Alright," Ozzie said finally. "I'll be right back. Fizz, if you need anything—"

"I'll yell," Fizz promised. "Now go. We're fine."

Once Ozzie left, Fizz turned his full attention to you. "Into the tub, cutie," he said softly, helping you step into the warm water. "There we go. Careful."

The water was perfect—warm enough to soothe your tired muscles but not so hot it was uncomfortable. You sank into it with a grateful sigh, feeling the tension drain from your body.

Fizz climbed in after you, settling so you were facing each other. The scars that covered his body were still visible in the soft light, along with the seems where his mechanical limbs connected.

"Gonna get you cleaned up," Fizz said, reaching for a soft washcloth and soap. "Just relax, okay? Let me take care of you."

He started with your shoulders, the cloth moving in gentle circles, washing away the sweat and evidence of your affections.

"You were so beautiful tonight," Fizz said quietly as he worked. "So responsive and trusting and perfect. I can't believe I get to have this. Get to have you."

You felt more alert now, the warm water and Fizz's gentle ministrations bringing you back to fuller consciousness. And with that awareness came a desire—to care for him the way he was caring for you.

"Fizzy?" you said softly.

"Yeah, cutie?"

"Can I... can I help? With you?" Your face felt hot despite the bath water. "I want to take care of you too."

Fizz's hands stilled for a moment, and when you looked at his face, his expression was soft and a little surprised. "You want to?"

"Yes," you said. "Please?"

"Okay," Fizz said, his voice rough with emotion. "Yeah, okay."

You reached for the washcloth, adding more soap with slightly shaking hands. Fizz watched you, his eyes following your every movement.

Starting with his shoulders—careful around the parts where metal met flesh—you began to wash him with the same gentle care he'd shown you. His skin was warm under your touch, scarred but alive, and you felt him shiver slightly as you worked.

"Is this okay?" you asked.

"More than okay," Fizz breathed. "Nobody's ever... I mean, Ozzie helps sometimes, but you're..." He trailed off, seeming unable to find the words.

You moved the cloth lower, washing his chest, being extra careful around the more damaged areas. Fizz watched you the whole time, his expression open and vulnerable in a way you'd rarely seen.

"You don't have to be that careful around the scars," Fizz said quietly. "They don't hurt. I can't feel that much there, actually."

"I know," you said. "But I want to be gentle anyway. Because you deserve gentleness."

Fizz made a small, choked sound, and when you looked up, his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"You're determined to make me cry tonight," he said, his voice wavering. "That's not fair, cutie."

"Sorry," you said, continuing your gentle ministrations.

"Don't be," Fizz said. "I just—I'm not used to being taken care of like this, by anyone other then Ozzie. Being treated like I'm worth being careful with."

"You are," you said firmly. "You're worth all the care in the world, Fizzy."

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead and you stayed like that for a long moment, the water warm around you both, sharing breath and space and something that felt too big to name.

Eventually, you finished washing him, and he finished washing you, and you both just sat there in the water, facing each other, hands loosely clasped between you.

"Thank you," Fizz said softly. "For tonight. For trusting me. For letting me be close to you."

"Thank you for being gentle," you replied. "For being patient with me. For letting Ozzie help guide you."

"Couldn't have done it without him," Fizz admitted. "Or you."

Before you could respond, the bathroom door opened and Ozzie returned, carrying a tray laden with snacks and drinks. His eyes took in the scene—you and Fizz in the bath, facing each other, clearly having shared something tender—and his expression went impossibly soft.

"Well," Ozzie said, his voice warm with approval. "Don't you two look like a picture."

"We're pruning," Fizz said, but he was smiling.

"Beautifully pruning," Ozzie corrected, setting the tray down on the counter. "That was quite the show earlier. Both of you were magnificent."

You felt your face heat up, and Fizz laughed.

"She's blushing," Fizz observed. "Even after everything we just did, she's blushing."

"It's endearing," Ozzie said, moving closer to the tub. "And I mean what I said. You were both wonderful. Fizz, you were attentive and communicative. And little one, you were responsive and trusting and absolutely radiant."

"Stop," you protested weakly, covering your face with your hands.

"Never," Ozzie said, clearly amused. "You're going to have to get used to being praised, little one. Because both Froggie and I plan to do it frequently."

"So frequently," Fizz agreed, grinning. "Like, all the time. It's going to be annoying how much we tell you how amazing you are."

"I think I'll find a way to live with that," you admitted, lowering your hands.

"Good," Ozzie said, satisfaction clear in his voice. "Now, are you two going to stay in there until you turn into raisins, or would you like to get out and have some snacks?"

"Snacks sound good," Fizz said, already moving to help you stand. "Come on, cutie. Let's get dried off."

Ozzie helped too, producing impossibly soft towels that he wrapped around both of you. Fizz's mechanical limbs made quick work of drying himself, and then he helped you, his touches still gentle and careful.

Once you were both dry and wrapped in comfortable robes, Ozzie guided you both back to the bedroom, where he set the snacks on a low table near the bed.

The snacks were perfect—light enough not to be heavy on your stomach. You and Fizz settled on the bed, Ozzie joining you, and the three of you shared food and quiet conversation, the intimacy of earlier shifting into something softer, more domestic.

"This is nice," you said, already feeling your eyes getting heavy again.

"Sleep, little one," Ozzie said gently, noticing. "You've had a long day. A good day, but long."

"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.

You blinked your eyes open slowly, vision slightly blurry with sleep, and let out a soft groan as you tried to process where you were. The room was dim—heavy curtains blocking out most of the lust's perpetual glow—but you could make out shapes moving in the darkness.

Your eyes focused slowly, and you realized Fizz was across the room by the dresser, in his costume, carefully packing items into a suitcase. His movements were precise and quiet, clearly trying not to wake anyone.

He was wearing his jester hat.

The thought drifted through your sleep-drunk brain—has he ever taken that off? You'd never seen him without it. Not once. Even last night, when you'd all fallen asleep together, he'd been wearing it.

But the thought slipped away as quickly as it had come, replaced by the more immediate realization that Fizz was packing. Right. The tour. The kids shows in Greed. He was leaving today.

A couple of weeks worth of shows, he'd said.

You must have made some sound—a soft noise of displeasure at the thought—because Fizz's head snapped toward the bed, his eyes widening when he saw you watching him.

"Oh shit," he whispered, wincing. "Sorry, cutie. I was trying not to wake you."

You just stared at him, still too sleep-fuzzy to form words, and watched as he carefully set down the shirt he'd been folding and made his way over to the bed.

"I'm so sorry," he cooed, his voice dropping into that baby-talk tone as he settled on the edge of the mattress. "Did I wake you up? I was being so quiet! Well, quiet for me, which admittedly isn't very quiet, but still!"

One of his mechanical hands came up, gently carding through your hair, pushing the messy strands back from your face with surprising tenderness. His touch was careful, almost reverent.

"Go back to sleep, okay?" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You don't have to get up yet."

But you were more awake now, and the reality of the situation was setting in. Fizz was leaving. For two weeks. That was... that was a really long time.

"Don't wanna," you mumbled, your voice rough with sleep. Your hand reached up, fumbling slightly, until you caught his wrist. "Don't go."

"Aw, cutie," Fizz said, and there was something achingly soft in his voice. "I have to. Contract and all that. Mammon's gonna be a dick if I bail."

"Don't care," you said stubbornly, tugging on his wrist. "Stay."

Fizz laughed quietly, the sound warm and fond. "You're very cute when you're sleepy, you know that?"

"M'not cute," you protested. "M'serious. Stay."

"Tell you what," Fizz said, letting you pull him down closer. "How about one more kiss and then I promise to call you every single day I'm gone?"

You considered this, your sleep-addled brain trying to decide if that was an acceptable compromise. Before you could answer, you were pulling him down further, until his face was level with yours, and pressing your lips to his.

The kiss was soft and unhurried, sweet in a way that made your chest ache. Fizz made a small sound of surprise before melting into it, one hand coming up to cup your face.

When you finally pulled apart, Fizz was grinning at you with an expression that was somehow both playful and unbearably tender.

"Okay," he said softly. "That was a pretty compelling argument for staying."

"Then stay," you mumbled, already trying to pull him back down.

"Can't, cutie. Contractual obligations are a bitch."

The bed shifted beneath you, and a deep, rumbling voice said, "What's going on?"

You realized, with a start, that you'd been sleeping against Ozzie this entire time. He was warm—that explained the heat—and solid, and you'd apparently been using his bicep as a pillow for most of the night.

"Sorry," Fizz said, not sounding sorry at all. "Our girl is trying to convince me not to go on tour by being unreasonably adorable."

"I see that," Ozzie said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice. One of his large hands came to rest on your back, the touch grounding. "How's that working out for you, little one?"

"Not good," you admitted, your face still buried against what you now realized was Ozzie's chest. "He's being stubborn."

"He has a contract," Ozzie pointed out gently. "As much as I'd love to keep him here too."

You finally lifted your head to look at them both—Fizz perched on the edge of the bed, looking fond and amused, and Ozzie propped up slightly against the headboard, his eyes soft in the low light.

"This is unfair," you said. "I just got used to having both of you around and now one of you is leaving."

"Just for two weeks," Fizz promised. "And I'm gonna call so much you'll get sick of me."

"Impossible," you said immediately.

"Aw, you say that now," Fizz teased. "Wait until I'm calling you at 3 AM because I can't sleep and want to tell you about the weird dream I had."

"I wouldn't mind," you said honestly.

Something shifted in Fizz's expression—something soft and vulnerable that was quickly covered by his usual grin. "Careful, cutie. Say stuff like that and I might actually do it."

"Good," you said.

Ozzie's hand was still on your back, his thumpad, drawing soothing circles. "We should get up," he said reluctantly. "I'll make breakfast, and we have a proper send-off for Fizz. With food and coffee and maybe some dignity."

"I don't do dignity," Fizz protested.

"I'm aware," Ozzie said dryly. "But we can at least try."

Breakfast turned out to be a chaotic affair, but in the best way.

Ozzie made pancakes—actual, fluffy, delicious pancakes—while Fizz flitted around the kitchen like a hyperactive hummingbird, stealing bites of batter and generally being a menace.

You sat at the counter, still in your clothes from the night before, watching them move around each other with the ease of long practice. They had a rhythm, these two. Ozzie would reach for something and Fizz would already be handing it to him. Fizz would start to tip over a bowl and Ozzie would steady it without looking.

It was beautiful, in a way. Intimate. You felt privileged to witness it.

"Okay, so," Fizz was saying, gesticulating wildly with a piece of bacon. "The first show is tonight, which means I'll probably be exhausted and grumpy. The second show is tomorrow afternoon, which means I'll be exhausted and even grumpier. By day three I'll probably be questioning all my life choices."

"So business as usual," Ozzie said, flipping a pancake with practiced ease.

"Exactly!" Fizz said cheerfully. "But with more screaming children."

"You love performing for kids," you pointed out.

"I do," Fizz admitted. "They're honest. If your joke sucks, they let you know immediately. It's refreshing." He paused. "Also they're way easier to impress than adult audiences. Set something on fire and they lose their minds."

"Please don't set anything on fire," Ozzie said.

"I make no promises," Fizz said, then caught Ozzie's expression. "Fine, fine. I promise to only set things on fire in a controlled and professional manner."

"Better," Ozzie said, sliding a plate of pancakes toward you.

You picked up your fork, but found yourself watching Fizz instead of eating. He was so animated, so full of energy, even this early in the morning. The thought of the palace without that energy for two whole weeks felt wrong.

"You're staring, cutie," Fizz said, noticing your attention.

"Sorry," you said, not sounding sorry at all. "I'm just... gonna miss you."

Fizz's expression went soft. "Gonna miss you too. Both of you." He looked at Ozzie. "Try not to burn the palace down while I'm gone?"

"I think I can manage," Ozzie said dryly.

"And you," Fizz pointed at you with his bacon, "try not to let Ozzie work too much. He's gonna try to bury himself in paperwork the second I leave. It's what he does when he's stressed."

"I do not—" Ozzie started.

"You absolutely do," Fizz interrupted. "You're a workaholic and we all know it."

"Pot, kettle," Ozzie shot back.

"Yeah, but I'm a fun workaholic," Fizz said. "You're a boring workaholic. There's a difference."

You couldn't help but smile at their bickering. This was normal. This was them. And you were going to miss this specific flavor of chaos so much.

After breakfast, after the dishes were cleared and Fizz had triple-checked his suitcase, it was finally time.

The three of you stood in the entryway, Fizz's suitcase by the door, and nobody seemed to want to be the first to actually say goodbye.

"So," Fizz said finally, his usual manic energy tempered by something more genuine. "This is it. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours."

"You did the math?" you asked.

"I did the math," Fizz confirmed. "I'm gonna be counting down every single one of them."

Ozzie stepped forward, pulling Fizz into a hug that looked like it might crack ribs if Ozzie wasn't being careful. "Call when you get there," he said, his voice low. "And after every show. And if Mammon gives you any shit—"

"I'll handle it Oz," Fizz promised. "I always do."

"I know," Ozzie said. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

They kissed—a proper kiss, deep and lingering, the kind that spoke of years together and promises to come back.

Then Fizz turned to you, and his expression shifted into something playful. "Come here, cutie. Can't leave without a proper goodbye from my favorite human."

You stepped forward, and Fizz immediately pulled you into a hug, lifting you slightly off your feet. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tighter than was probably necessary.

"Two weeks," Fizz murmured into your hair. "I'll be back before you know it."

"It's gonna feel like forever," you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

"Yeah," Fizz agreed. "Yeah, it is."

He set you down gently, but kept his hands on your waist. "Hey. Look at me."

You looked up, meeting his mismatched eyes.

"I'm coming back," he said firmly. "Two weeks, and then I'm coming home. To both of you. Okay?"

"Okay," you whispered.

"Good," Fizz said, and then he was kissing you—quick and sweet and full of promise. "Take care of Ozzie for me. Make sure he actually sleeps and eats and doesn't just work himself to death."

"I will," you promised.

"And take care of yourself too," Fizz added. "Don't let the palace get too quiet. Play music. Bother the Quevies. Raid the kitchen. Whatever you need to do."

"Okay," you said again.

Fizz pulled back, his hands lingering for just a moment longer before he finally, reluctantly, let go. He grabbed his suitcase, shot one more grin at both of you, and headed for the door.

"Don't have too much fun without me!" he called over his shoulder.

And then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that seemed far too loud in the sudden silence.

You and Ozzie stood there for a long moment, just staring at the door.

"Well," Ozzie said finally. "That's that."

"Yeah," you agreed quietly.

The palace felt emptier already.

The first thing you noticed about Ozzie without Fizz around was how much attention he paid to you.

It wasn't that he'd been inattentive before—far from it. But with Fizz gone, that focus that was usually split between the two of you was now entirely concentrated on you, and it was... intense.

"What do you want for lunch?" he asked that first afternoon, appearing in the doorway of the living room where you'd been reading.

"Oh, I can make something," you said, already starting to get up.

"I didn't ask if you could make something," Ozzie said, his tone gentle but firm. "I asked what you wanted. I'm making it."

"I don't want to be a bother—"

"Little one," Ozzie interrupted, moving into the room. Even trying to be casual, his presence was enormous, commanding. "You are not, and have never been, a bother. Now. What sounds good?"

You ended up with a grilled cheese sandwich that was somehow the best grilled cheese you'd ever had, made with cheeses you couldn't pronounce and bread that was probably too fancy for a simple sandwich.

"You didn't have to go this fancy," you said, taking another bite.

"I wanted to," Ozzie said simply, watching you eat with an expression that was impossibly soft. "Besides, Gotta spoil someone."

It continued like that throughout the day. Ozzie checking in on you, asking if you needed anything, making sure you were comfortable. It was attentive and sweet and occasionally overwhelming in the best way.

"I'm going to the club tonight," Ozzie said that evening, voice a low, velvet rumble as he adjusted his jacket in the mirror. "Need to check on operations, do some hosting. You want to come with me?"

"To the club?" you asked, surprised. "I mean, I've been there for open mic night, but..."

"But you've never seen me actually work," Ozzie finished, turning to face you with a slow, wicked grin. "Run the show. Be the host. The full Asmodeus experience." He paused, something almost vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "I'd like you to see that side of me. If you're interested, little one."

"I'm interested," you said immediately.

Ozzie's smile was brilliant. "Good. Wear something nice. I'll make sure you have the best seat in the house."

A few hours later, you were settled in the private balcony booth—the same one from open mic night—but this time you were alone. Porchi had brought you a drink "On the house, Princess,"

You scoffed as he winked setting the drink down with exaggerated flair before vanishing back into the chaos.

The club was packed, the energy electric in a way open mic night hadn't been. This was prime time at Ozzie's, and the crowd was here for sin in full swing.

And then Ozzie took the stage.

He was enormous—a commanding presence that made the whole room feel smaller. His expression bright under the spotlights, shadows shifting across the dancers and tables. His voice boomed effortlessly, deep and sinful, every word dripping with that theatrical flair that was pure Asmodeus.

"Welcome, welcome, WELCOME to Ozzie's!" he purred, drawing out the word like he was tasting it. The crowd erupted. "Hell's premier establishment for lust, debauchery, and whatever filthy little fantasy gets your blood pumping! I'm your host, the one, the only, the Sin of Lust himself—Asmodeus!"

This wasn't the Ozzie who stressed cooked and fussed over you and Fizz.

This was the showman—seductive, shameless, larger than life. He moved like liquid, gesturing wide as he introduced the first act.

"Now, I know what you're all here for," he continued, voice dropping to a husky growl that sent shivers through the room. "You're here to indulge. To let loose. To celebrate every throbbing, aching urge that makes lust so goddamn delicious." He leaned forward "So give in, darlings. Let it build. Let it burn."

A wolf-whistle cut through the noise. Ozzie's grin turned almost predatory as he zeroed in on the source.

"Ohhh, I like you," he drawled, pointing with one clawed finger. "Bold, beautiful, horny little hellborn. Someone get them a drink on the house—and make it the good stuff. Anyone brave enough to catcall the King of Lust deserves a reward... or at least a good buzz."

The crowd roared approval. Throughout the night, he worked them like a master—flirtatious quips, suggestive commentary, innuendos that landed like punches wrapped in silk. "Come on, don't be shy—show me what you've got!" Or, spotting a couple getting handsy: "Look at that—just how I like it. Keep going, babes, remember in desire we trust!"

Yet every so often, his gaze flicked upward to your booth. Just a second—long enough for those glowing eyes to find you, soften, and remind you: this was still your Ozzie under the performance.

During a brief lull between acts, his attention shifted fully to the balcony level. His voice carried that same seductive purr, but now aimed higher.

"We have some very special guests tonight," he announced, eyes locking on you. "Including someone who's been watching very intently all evening."

Your face burned as heads turned, trying to spot you in the shadows.

"Now, now," Ozzie continued, playful but firm, raising a hand to hush the curious murmurs. "Don't go looking. Some guests deserve their privacy. But know this—" his tone dipped, warm and intimate despite the mic, "—even the Sin of Lust has people he wants to impress. People who get the real show when the lights go down."

The crowd ate it up—cheers, whistles, a few knowing laughs. You buried your face in your hands, mortified and thrilled.

When you peeked again, Ozzie was grinning straight at you from the stage, teasing and affectionate in equal measure.

After the final act, after the crowd thinned and the club quieted to a low hum of cleanup, Ozzie found you still in the booth. He ducked through the entrance—careful not to clip his head on the frame—and settled beside you, or rather took up the entire space next to you, the custom furniture barely containing his frame.

"So," he said, voice back to its usual deep warmth, no performance left. "What did you think, little one?"

"You're really good," you said honestly. "The hosting. The performance. You had everyone completely captivated."

"Yeah?" There was a hint of shyness in it now, despite the earlier swagger. "It didn't make you uncomfortable? The flirting, the innuendos, all that... showmanship?"

"No," you said, thinking it over. "It was... actually pretty attractive. Watching you be so confident and in control. It's different from how you are with me, but it's still you."

"Different how?" he asked, genuinely curious, leaning down so his face was closer to yours.

"With me and Fizz, you're gentle," you said softly. "Careful. Sweet. Up there, you're commanding. Seductive. Powerful."

You paused, suddenly shy "I i-kinda like both versions."

Ozzie's face brightened, a pleased rumble vibrating through his chest. He reached out, one massive finger gently tracing your cheek.

"Good," he murmured, voice low and sincere. "Because you are the only one who gets this side of me. You and Fizz both—you're my priority. No one else even comes close."

You swallowed, warmth blooming in your chest. "I know, Ozzie."

He leaned in, pressing a slow, careful kiss to your forehead—warm, steady and grounding. "Good. Now come on, little one. Let's go home. It's late"

That night, after you'd changed into your pajamas, you found yourself back in Fizz and Ozzie's bed.

Ozzie was already in bed, propped up against the headboard with his laptop, his frame making the massive custom mattress look almost normal-sized. He looked up when you climbed in beside him, those glowing eyes softening as they landed on you.

"Fizz should be done with his show by now," he said, voice a low, resonant rumble that vibrated through the room. "Want to call him, little one?"

"Yes," you said immediately, settling in next to him—though "next to" was generous, even sitting up, you barely reached his ribs.

Ozzie pulled up a video call program and hit Fizz's contact. It rang twice before Fizz's face appeared on screen, grinning wide and slightly flushed from performing, jester makeup still perfect despite the sweat.

"Hey!" Fizz said, his voice bright with that post-show high. "There's my favorite people! Miss me yet?"

"Desperately," Ozzie said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "The palace is far too quiet without you bouncing off the walls."

"I've been gone for like, eight hours," Fizz pointed out, but he was beaming.

"Longest eight hours of my life," you said, only half-joking.

Fizz's expression went impossibly soft. "Aw, cutie. You're gonna make me emotional."

"How was the show?" Ozzie asked.

"Fucking amazing," Fizz said, energy ramping right back up. "The kids were so into it. I did the balloon animals bit and this one kid made something that looked like an eldritch horror I was so proud! It was adorable. Mammon was thrilled—said it was 'prime merchandising material.' Had me sign like fifty extra posters afterward. You know how he gets."

"Sounds like it went well," Ozzie said, smiling, though his eyes narrowed just a fraction at the mention of Mammon.

"It really did," Fizz agreed. He shifted, revealing a hotel room behind him that looked cheap and impersonal. "Though I'm already sick of this place. The bed is nowhere near as comfortable as ours."

"Nothing is as comfortable as our bed, Froggie" Ozzie said. "I had it custom made for a reason."

"Touchè" Fizz said. Then his gaze focused on you, head tilting. "You look sleepy, cutie. What time is it there?"

Before you could respond, a loud, grating voice cut through off-screen. "Fizzarolli! Get your ass over here! We need to discuss tomorrow's merchandising setup—chop chop, my boy!"

Mammon. Even through the screen, his voice made your skin crawl.

Fizz's grin faltered for half a second before snapping back into place, practiced and bright. "Duty calls. Gotta go make the Mammon happy—can't keep the King of Greed waiting."

"Be careful," Ozzie said, voice carrying that quiet undercurrent of concern he tried to mask with nonchalance.

"Always am," Fizz replied, but it sounded automatic. "I'll call tomorrow after the next show—maybe even sneak in a quick vid of the new routine if Mammon lets me."

"Take care of yourself Froggie," Ozzie said.

"Miss you, talk tomorrow" you added sleepily.

Fizz's eyes went impossibly soft. "Get some sleep, cutie. And hey—don't let Ozzie hog all the blankets, yeah?"

The call ended, leaving the screen blank and that strange ache back in your chest.

"You okay, little one?" Ozzie asked, gentler now, closing the laptop and setting it aside.

"Yeah," you said. "I just...should we visit him ? Before the two weeks are up. I don't like the idea of him being alone with Mammon for that long. He tries so hard to impress him, even when it seems like he's asking ... too much."

Something warm flickered in Ozzie's expression—surprise melting into quiet pride. "You want to go to Greed? Crash his tour?"

"If that's okay," you said, eyes already heavy. "I just...maybe I'm overthinking...I just think... he shouldn't be alone. And I miss him already."

"We can do that," Ozzie murmured, voice like velvet. "I'll arrange it. Mammon won't like the interruption, but he can kiss my feathered ass if he thinks he gets to keep Fizz running ragged without pushback."

"Good," you mumbled, Ozzie's warmth was right there, solid and immense, and you gravitated toward it without thinking.

"Come here, little one," he said, shifting his massive frame so he could pull you in properly.

You ended up curled up against his side, your entire body fitting easily against his chest like you were made to slot there. His heartbeat—strong, steady—thrummed beneath your ear, a deep bass you could feel more than hear. One enormous arm draped over you, careful not to crush, hand splaying across your back with fingers that could span your whole torso.

You let out a small, contented sigh.

Ozzie didn't speak. He just held you, thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over your spine through the pajama fabric. Giving you room to settle.

After a minute, you tilted your head up to look at him—way up, past his feathery chest to those eyes watching you with something quiet and careful.

"Is this... okay?" you asked softly. "Me being in your bed while Fizz is gone? I don't want to overstep."

Ozzie's lips curved, amused and fond. "Overstep?" he repeated, voice deep enough to sink into. "You're all curled up. If anything, you're being too polite about it."

Your face heated, but you didn't pull away. "Well it is your bed."

Ozzie's eyes softened further. He lifted his free hand—index finger gentle as it brushed hair from your forehead.

"First," he said, "it's our bed. Fizzy's too—always will be. But the space doesn't vanish when he's off playing golden boy for that greedy fucker." His tone sharpened briefly on Mammon, then smoothed.

"Second... you're not a guest. You're here. With us. Nothing physical has happened yet sure, but that doesn't make this—" he squeezed you just a fraction closer, and your entitlement to take up space in our lives—any less real." He rolled slightly, tucking you more securely against him, deliberate, but not pushy.

"I like having you here," he continued, quieter. "I like how small you feel against me. I like the way your breathing evens out when you're close like this. And I appreciate that you miss Fizz enough to worry about him burning himself out for someone who doesn't fucking deserve it."

You swallowed, throat tight in the best way. "So... it's okay if I stay? Like this?"

Ozzie leaned down and pressed a slow, warm kiss to your forehead. Nothing heated, just steady affection. "More than okay." He paused, a hint of his theatrical flair slipping back in. "Besides, I want you right here, stealing my warmth and asking sleepy questions."

You laughed softly against his chest, muffled. "Alright alright."

"You're the most precious thing when you're half-asleep and overthinking." His hand slid up cover you like a living blanket.

"Now hush. Close those eyes. Fizz'll be back before you know it, and until then... I've got you covered, little one."

You relaxed fully into him then, your eyelids drooped, your voice mumbled, barely above a whisper.

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.

"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."

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."

And now here it was. Forgotten.

You checked the time. He'd left about an hour ago, which meant he was probably already at the factory dealing with whatever crisis or meeting had come up. You could leave it, let him fend for himself, but... no. You'd made it specifically so he wouldn't have to skip a meal.

"Fizz!" you called out, grabbing the container. "I'm heading out for a bit!"

There was a sound of bells jingling, and then Fizz was bounding across the room, his mechanical limbs extending and retracting to propel him toward you with impressive speed. Before you could brace yourself, his arms were wrapping around you from behind, lifting you slightly off your feet.

"Aww, where's my widdle cutie going?" he cooed in that baby-talk voice, nuzzling against your neck in a way that made you squirm and giggle. "Is she leaving me all alone? In this big empty palace? With nothing to do but pine away?"

"Fizz!" you protested through your laughter, trying to swat at him with your free hand. "Stop! That tickles!"

"Does it?" He nuzzled harder, his breath warm against your skin. "I had no idea! This is brand new information!"

"You're ridiculous," you said, still giggling as you managed to twist enough to see his grin.

"I'm delightful," he corrected, finally setting you back on your feet but keeping his arms loosely around you. "Where are you going, anyway?"

"Ozzie forgot his lunch," you said, holding up the container. "I'm just running it down to the factory."

"Aww, look at you being all domestic and shit," Fizz teased, but his expression had gone soft. "Your adorable."

"It's just lunch," you said, feeling your face heat.

"Uh-huh. Sure." Fizz pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before releasing you. "Just be careful down there, yeah? The factory's huge. Don't get lost. And watch out for the sex toys," He paused, his grin turning wicked. "Actually, you know what? I'd be extra careful ... they might attack."

"That's not as funny as you think it is," you said dryly.

"It was brillant," Fizz said cheerfully. "Now go, before Ozzie starves to death from lack of your carefully prepared meal. Very tragic. I'd have to write a ballad."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling as you headed toward the door that led to the factory. How bad could it be? It was a factory. Manufacturing and stuff. Probably just a lot of machinery and assembly lines, Ozzie was serious about his domain you where certain it would all be very professional, very normal business operations.

Right?

The factory entrance was marked by a set of heavy double doors with Asmodeus's logo emblazoned on them—You pushed through them and immediately found yourself in a sleek reception area.

It was professional. Polished floors, modern furniture, a large desk where a succubus sat typing away at a computer. She looked up when you entered, her expression shifting from bored to intrigued.

"Oh! Hello there," she said, standing. She was tall and gorgeous in that effortless way demons often were, with long dark hair and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You must be the little guest everyone's been whispering about."

"I'm just here to drop off lunch for Ozzie—I mean, Asmodeus," you said quickly, holding up the container like evidence.

"Look how adorable you are," the succubus said, and something about her tone made it not sound like a compliment. "I'm Monica, the receptionist. Your welcome to take his lunch right to him, I'll even give you a tour."

"Oh, that's okay," you said. "I can just—"

"Nonsense!" Monica was already coming around the desk, her smile widening in a way that showed just a few too many teeth. "I insist. Besides, you've come all this way. The least I can do is give you a little tour. Show you exactly what we do here. I'm sure you're just dying to know what fun things we actually make."

The way she said 'fun' made something uncomfortable twist in your stomach, but you couldn't think of a polite way to refuse. "I mean... I don't want to be any trouble?"

"No trouble at all," Monica said, her tone sweet but her eyes calculating. "Follow me! I'll make sure you get the full experience."

She led you through another set of doors, and you found yourself in what appeared to be a main hallway. It was wide and well-lit, with various doors branching off on either side.

"So this is the main production facility," Monica explained as she walked. "We manufacture a variety of products here. Very popular products. Very in-demand. I'm sure a sweet little thing like you can't even imagine what kind of items we're talking about."

There was something condescending in her voice, like she was talking to a child.

"This way," Monica said, turning down a corridor that seemed to branch away from the main path. "Let me show you where the magic happens."

Monica pushed open the first door with a flourish. "This is our design department!"

The room was full of workstations, each occupied by demons sketching, modeling, and discussing various designs. It took you a moment to process what you were seeing, and when you did, your face immediately went hot.

They were designing toys. Adult toys. Very extravagant adult toys.

"Oh, don't be shy!" Monica said, noticing your reaction and clearly delighting in it. "This is where we come up with all our innovative designs. See that one?" She pointed to a designer's screen showing a 3D model of something so large that it made your eyes widen. "That's based on anatomical scans of actual demons. Very realistic. Very detailed. We call it the 'Devil's Delight.' Guess why?"

You couldn't answer, too busy trying not to stare at the screen.

"The ridges are designed to hit all the right spots," Monica continued, her voice cheerful and educational like she was discussing furniture design. "And see how it curves? That's for deeper penetration. Really gets right in there."

"I—um—" you managed.

"Oh, and this one!" Monica moved to another workstation. "This is our tentacle line. Very popular with the adventurous crowd. The suckers actually create a vacuum sensation. Feels like it's trying to pull out your—well, you can imagine."

You could not, in fact, imagine, and you desperately didn't want to.

One of the designers looked up, noticed your red face, and grinned. "First time seeing the design process, huh?"

"She's with the boss," Monica said, her tone making it sound like an accusation. "Just showing her around. Making sure she understands what we do here."

"Ah," the designer said, their grin widening. "Well, welcome to the fun factory!"

Monica laughed, high and sharp. "Oh, I'm sure she'll adjust. Won't you, sweetie?"

You managed a weak nod, clutching Ozzie's lunch container tighter.

"Come on," Monica said, already heading for another door. "So much more to see!"

The next room was the testing department, and you immediately wished you'd stayed in design.

"Quality control!" Monica announced. "Very important. Can't sell a product that doesn't work properly."

There were demons in lab coats operating various devices, taking notes, discussing technical specifications. The devices themselves were displayed on testing rigs, and you tried very hard not to look directly at them.

"See, we have to test for durability," Monica was explaining, picking up what looked like a bright purple object with more features than your phone. "This baby has to withstand repeated use, various... fluids, temperature changes. We run it for hours to make sure it won't break down when customers are right in the middle of of it all."

She pressed a button and the thing started vibrating with a sound that reminded you of a chainsaw and made you want to disappear into the floor.

"Hear that? That's the motor. Multiple speeds, multiple patterns. This one has a setting called 'earthquake' make you see stars—I have seven of them." Monica's smile was sharp as she watched your reaction. "Want to hold it? Feel how strong it is?"

"No!" you said quickly. "No, thank you, I'm fine."

"Suit yourself," Monica said, setting it down. "Though I'd think someone staying with the Sin of Lust would be a little more curious about these things."

There was definitely mockery in her voice now, thinly veiled behind false sweetness.

"Let's continue," she said brightly.

The packaging department was somehow worse. The boxes were decorated with explicit images and text that made your face burn hotter with each passing second.

She grabbed a box. "And this one is our bestseller. 'The Asmodeus Special.' Named after the boss himself. Modeled after his... proportions. Very popular. Especially with demons who want to say they've 'been with' a Sin but don't want to deal with the actual size difference." She looked at you pointedly. "Must be quite the challenge for someone your size, huh?"

You felt your face go from red to probably purple.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed!" Monica said, her fake sympathy grating. "I'm sure you two will figure something out. Or maybe you haven't gotten there yet? Hard to tell."

The materials storage area was a nightmare of technical specifications and detailed explanations.

"This is our silicone," Monica said, running her hand over large containers of the material. "Medical grade. Body safe. We have it in various firmness levels. Soft, medium, firm, extra firm. Depends what customers want. Some like it realistic and giving, others want something that feels like it could break them in half."

She picked up a sample. "Feel this one. Go ahead, don't be shy."

You reluctantly touched it, and Monica laughed at your expression.

"That's the extra firm. Popular with size queens. The kind of people who think 'if it doesn't hurt a little, what's the point?'" She set it down. "We also have temperature-reactive materials. Gets warm with body heat. Makes it feel more... alive."

Every room was worse than the last, and Monica's commentary got more explicit and pointed with each stop. She watched your reactions like a hawk, clearly enjoying your discomfort while maintaining a veneer of helpfulness.

Finally, she led you to the showroom, and you felt your soul try to leave your body.

"And here's our pride and joy!" Monica announced. "The showroom! Every product we've ever made, displayed for posterity!"

The room was enormous, with products displayed on walls, in cases, on pedestals like they were art pieces. Each one had a little placard describing its features, its history, sometimes customer testimonials that made you want to dig a hole and live in it.

"This one," Monica said, pointing to a particularly elaborate piece that looked like it required an engineering degree to operate, "was Asmodeus's personal design. Revolutionary when it came out. See all these attachments? Each one does something different. You can customize the experience. Very popular. We sell out constantly."

She moved to another display. "And this is from our 'Sinful Seven' collection. Seven products, each one representing a different sin. The Lust one is, of course, our most popular. Has settings that are supposed to make you insatiable. Like, can't-stop-won't-stop level of need."

You were gripping the lunch container so hard your knuckles were white.

"Oh, and you'll love this," Monica continued, moving to a display case. "These are our couple's items. Designed for two people to use together. See this one? Both parties can feel it at the same time. Very intimate. Great for bonding." Her eyes glinted. "I'm sure that'll be useful for you eventually. When you're ready to actually participate in all this."

The implication was clear and mean, too inexperienced to really be part of this world.

"Monica."

The voice was deep, authoritative, and very, very familiar. You turned to see Ozzie standing in the doorway of the showroom, and his flames were bright as they flickered across his usually feather soft mane.

"Oh! Sir!" Monica's entire demeanor shifted, her mockery disappearing behind a mask of professionalism. "I was just giving your guest a comprehensive tour—"

"I can see that," Ozzie said, his voice dangerously level. "And I'm sure it was very... thorough. You can return to reception. Now."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command from the Sin of Lust himself, and Monica's smile faltered.

"Of course," Monica said, shooting you one last look that said she'd accomplished exactly what she'd set out to do before leaving.

Ozzie watched her go, his flames dampening, then turned his attention to you. You were still standing in the middle of the showroom, clutching his lunch container, your face probably the color of a tomato.

"Hey Babe," he said gently, moving closer. "Are you alright?"

"I brought your lunch," you said, your voice small. "You forgot it."

"Did I ?," Ozzie asked, taking the container carefully. "Thank you. That was very thoughtful." He paused, studying your expression. "Wanna tell me what just happened? You look shell-shocked."

"I just—" You gestured vaguely at the showroom around you. "I didn't expect—I mean I know what you make obviously, but I didn't think about—and she showed me everything and explained everything and there were so many—"

You couldn't finish the sentence, too flustered and overwhelmed.

Ozzie's expression dimmed and when he spoke, his voice was carefully gentle. "Monica took you on a grand tour, didn't she?"

"She was very thorough," you managed.

"I'm going to have a word with her about that," Ozzie said, and there was an edge to his voice that suggested that 'word' would not be pleasant. "You came to bring me lunch. You didn't need to see all of... this." He gestured at the showroom.

"It's okay," you said automatically, then stopped. "Actually, no, it's not okay. I was really uncomfortable and she kept going and I didn't know how to make her stop without being rude."

"You're allowed to be rude when someone's making you uncomfortable," Ozzie said firmly. "Especially here. In my factory. Where you should feel safe."

"I just wasn't expecting it to be so... explicit," you admitted.

"This is a sex toy factory, little one," Ozzie said, and there was a hint of amusement in his voice now. "Explicit kind of comes with the territory."

"I know," you said, feeling your face heat again. "I just didn't expect to see it all rapid fire and at once and now I can't un-see any of it and—" You stopped, taking a breath. "Sorry. I'm being weird."

"You just got ambushed babe," Ozzie corrected gently. "You weren't ready for all that. It's not weird, that's normal." He paused. "Do you want me to walk you back? Or do you need a minute?"

"I need several minutes," you admitted. "Maybe a cold shower."

Ozzie's laugh was warm and rumbling. "Fair enough. Come on, my office is quieter. You can sit while I eat this delicious food, you really did spoil me."

You followed him gratefully, very deliberately not looking at any of the displays as you left the showroom.

Ozzie's factory office was a blessed relief after the chaos of the factory floor. It was large but comfortable, decorated in dark blues and golds, with a massive desk and several seating areas clearly designed for meetings with people of various sizes.

You sank into one of the chairs that was actually your height, finally feeling like you could breathe again.

"I'm sorry," Ozzie said, settling into his own chair behind the desk. "Monica shouldn't have done that. She knows better."

"Why did she?" you asked.

Ozzie was quiet for a moment. "Because you're new. Because you're human. Because she probably thought it would be funny to watch you squirm." His flames flickered with annoyance. "And because I have to make it explicitly clear that you're off-limits for that kind of hazing."

"Off-limits?" you repeated.

"You're with us," Ozzie said firmly. "That means you get the same respect and consideration that Fizz and I get. No exceptions. No 'harmless fun' at your expense."

Something warm bloomed in your chest at his protectiveness. "Thanks Oz."

"Don't thank me for basic decency," Ozzie said. "This is your home too now. You shouldn't have had to deal with that kind of shit."

You were quiet for a moment, processing. Then, because you couldn't help it: "So... you really design some of those yourself?"

Ozzie's face brightened with enthusiasm. "Some. It's part of the business. Making sure products meet certain standards of quality and innovation."

"The one Monica pointed out—is it really made from your—"

"Is very popular, but no its not modelled after me." Ozzie interrupted, but there was amusement in his voice now.

Despite everything, you felt a smile tug at your lips. "Oh, ok ... good"

You sat in comfortable silence, your heartbeat finally returning to normal, the mortification fading into something more manageable.

After you left, Ozzie sat at his desk for a long moment, staring at the lunch container you'd brought him. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Hey Big Daddy," Fizz's voice came through. "What's up?"

"Monica took her on the full fucking tour," Ozzie said without preamble.

There was a beat of silence. "She fucking what?"

"Design, testing, packaging, materials, and the damn showroom," Ozzie said, his flames flickering with renewed irritation. "Every detail. Watched her squirm the whole time like it was entertainment."

"That bitch," Fizz said, and he sounded pissed. "I knew Monica was petty but I didn't think she'd pull that shit. Where is she now?"

"Back at reception," Ozzie said. "I'm dealing with her later. But Fizz, our girl showed up at my office looking so out of sorts.'"

"Fuck," Fizz said, his anger shifting to concern. "How bad?"

"Bad enough that I don't think she's gonna want to set foot in this factory ever again," Ozzie said. "And I can't even blame her. Monica made it as uncomfortable as possible while pretending to be helpful."

"So what do we do?" Fizz asked.

"We talk to her," Ozzie said. "Tonight. About what we actually do, what it means. Because I think part of why it was so overwhelming is she doesn't fully get what this stuff can do, Monica seem to show her the most extreme end."

"You wanna have the sex talk with our girl," Fizz deadpaned.

"I wanna have the your partners use these and here's what that actually looks like talk," Ozzie corrected. "She gets it in theory she needs to understand its different in practice. After today, she's probably got a million questions she's too embarrassed to ask."

"Fair," Fizz said. "So what's the plan?"

"Invite her to our room tonight," Ozzie said. "Show her our stuff. Make it personal instead of industrial. Let her see it in context instead of watching some brainless employee wave dildos in her face while making snide comments."

"Show her our toy collection while she's still processing an entire factory of toys," Fizz said slowly. "Bold strategy."

"You got a better one, Froggie?"

"Actually no," Fizz admitted. "That's probably the move. Our space, our stuff, no judgy succubus making her feel like shit. Plus she can ask whatever she wants without worrying about looking stupid."

"Exactly," Ozzie said.

"When?" Fizz asked.

"After dinner," Ozzie said. "Casual. No pressure. Just us."

"Right," Fizz said. "Totally casual. 'Hey cutie, wanna see our dick collection?' Very smooth."

"Fizzy, Hush " Ozzie warned, but there was affection in his voice.

"Make me," Fizz shot back. "Oh wait, you can't. You're at work. Guess you're stuck listening to me be a little shit."

"Why am I with you again?"

"Because I'm devastatingly charming and incredible in bed," Fizz said cheerfully. "Also because I found our girl for us and she made you lunch. Specifically for you. Because she knew you'd forget to eat."

"I know," Ozzie said quietly.

"We're keeping her forever, right?" Fizz asked, his voice going soft. "Like, this is it? Because I don't think I can handle the alternative."

"We're keeping her," Ozzie confirmed. "Long as she'll have us."

"Good," Fizz said. "Now get back to work and I'll prep her for tonight."

Dinner that night was a relatively quiet affair. You'd made pasta, one of the few things you could make that translated well to Hell's ingredients, the three of you ate together in the kitchen like always.

You didn't bring up the factory tour. Neither did they. But you could feel them watching you, exchanging glances when they thought you weren't looking.

Finally, as you were clearing plates, Ozzie said casually, "Hey, little one, would you want to hang out in our room for a bit tonight? Just the three of us?"

You paused, plate in hand. "Your room?"

"Yeah," Fizz chimed in, his tone carefully light. "We thought it might be nice. More comfortable than the living room. Plus, our bed is stupid comfortable and I've been wanting to show it off to you."

"Oh," you said, processing. "I mean... yeah? That sounds nice?"

"Great!" Fizz said, bouncing slightly. "Finish up here and then come join us. No rush."

They disappeared down the hallway, leaving you to finish the dishes with a slightly confused but not unpleasant feeling.

When you finally made your way to their room, you knocked softly on the door.

"Come innnn!" Fizz called.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Their bedroom was large—of course it was, given Ozzie's size—but it was also surprisingly cozy. Bright colors, soft lighting, and the star of the room, the biggest bed you'd ever seen. It was circular, piled high with pillows and blankets, and looked like something out of a luxury hotel.

"Holy shit," you said before you could stop yourself. "That bed is huge."

"Right?" Fizz was already sprawled across it, looking very pleased with himself. "It's custom made. Has to be, for Ozzie's size. But it also means there's room for like, six people. Very convenient for sleepovers."

Ozzie was sitting on his side of the bed, and he gestured to the space between them. "Come on, little one. It's just as comfortable as it looks."

You climbed up—which involved climbing a small staircase of pink stars a given considering your height differences—you immediately sank into the mattress with a sound of surprise.

"Oh wow," you said. "This must be like sleeping on a cloud."

"Told you," Fizz said smugly. "Ozzie doesn't do anything halfway. Including beds."

You settled in between them, very aware of how close they both were, how intimate this felt despite being fully clothed and just sitting.

"So," Ozzie said carefully, "I wanted to talk to you about today. About the factory."

Your stomach immediately tensed. "Oh. Yeah."

"Monica is getting written up," Ozzie continued. "That was completely inappropriate and it won't happen again. But more than that, I realized that you probably have questions."

"I mean, I know what you do," you said quietly. "You run a club and a factory that makes... products for that industry."

"Sex toys," Fizz said bluntly. "We can say it out loud. Sex toys. Dildos. Vibrators. All manner of things designed to make people feel good."

Your face heated but you nodded. "Yeah. Those."

"And I think seeing them in an industrial context was overwhelming," Ozzie said gently. "Because it's a lot. It's clinical and removed from the actual purpose."

"Which is pleasure," Fizz added. "The whole point is making people feel good. Helping them explore what they like, what feels nice, what brings them outta there she'll. That's what Ozzie's whole King of Lust sithick is about."

"I know," you said. "Intellectually, I know that. It's just... a lot to process when you're seeing hundreds of toys at once with detailed explanations about features."

"Would it help," Ozzie said slowly, "to see it in a different context? To understand what this looks like for us personally, rather than industrially?"

You looked at him, uncertain what he meant.

Fizz sat up, moving to his side of the bed. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small box. "We have our own," he said simply. "Things we use. Together and separately. And I think maybe showing you that—in our space, in our context—might make it less scary?"

"You want to show me your sex toys," you said, your voice coming out higher than intended.

"Only if you're comfortable," Ozzie said immediately. "There's no pressure. But you're with us now. Part of our lives. And this is part of who we are. I don't want you to feel like you have to avoid certain parts of us or be worried about what you might see. I want you to understand it."

"Okay," you said finally. "Alright, go on... show me."

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

Fizz opened the box carefully, and you realized it was organized. Neat. Everything had its place.

"So," Fizz said, pulling out the first item, "this is pretty basic. Standard vibrator. Nothing fancy."

He held it up, and you noticed it was sleek and simple—nothing like the elaborate monstrosities you'd seen at the factory.

"We use this one a lot," Fizz continued casually. "Good for warm-up, good for when you want something straightforward. Ozzie uses it on me when he wants me all desperate and begging like a..."

"Fizzy," Ozzie said, but there was amusement in his voice.

"What? I'm being educational!" Fizz grinned at you. "She should know what we actually do with these things, not just that they exist."

Your face was definitely red, but you found yourself curious despite the embarrassment. "So you... use it on each other?"

"Sometimes," Ozzie said, pulling out another item from his side of the bed. "Sometimes separately. Depends on the mood." He held up what looked like a more complex but spongy looking device. "This one's designed for couples. See the shape? Lets both people feel good simultaneously."

"Oh," you said, tilting your head to study it. "That's... actually kind of clever." Giving it a squeeze between your palms and watching it compress.

"Right?" Fizz said, bouncing slightly. "It's all about the engineering. Making sure everything works together." He pulled out another item. "This one's Ozzie's design. One of his prototypes before it went into production."

"You test them?" you asked Ozzie.

"Can't sell something I wouldn't use myself," Ozzie said with a shrug. "If it's not good enough for me and Fizz, it's not good enough for customers."

Fizz was still rummaging through the box, pulling out items and explaining them with the same casual energy he brought to everything. "Oh, and this one's fun. Got these attachments—see? Each one does something different. We spent a whole weekend testing all the combinations."

"A very productive weekend," Ozzie added, and there was heat in his voice that made your face burn hotter.

"Very productive," Fizz agreed with a wicked grin. He set that one aside and pulled out something smaller. "And these are just for me. Ozzie's too big for them but they're perfect for in my—"

"She gets the idea," Ozzie interrupted, though he was smiling.

"Does she though?" Fizz asked innocently. "I wanna make sure she understands. Communication is important in relationships."

You were trying very hard not to combust, but there was something... nice about this. The casual way they talked about it, the lack of judgment, the clear comfort they had with each other and with you.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

Fizz reached back into the box and pulled out several small bottles, his grin turning mischievous. "Oh, and these! Can't forget the lube."

"Fizz—" Ozzie started.

"What? It's important!" Fizz held up one of the bottles. "This isn't just regular lube, this is the good shit. Flavored." He waggled his eyebrows before reading the label. "This one's strawberry. We also have—" he grabbed another bottle, "—cherry, watermelon, and this one that's supposed to taste like chocolate but honestly just tastes like disappointment."

"The chocolate one is terrible," Ozzie confirmed. "We threw out the first bottle."

"But we kept buying it to test," Fizz added. "You know, for science. To make sure it wasn't just a bad batch."

"It was always bad," Ozzie said.

"Fucking terrible," Fizz agreed. "But these other ones?" He waggled the strawberry bottle. "These are actually good. Want to try?"

"What kind of try?" you squeaked.

"Just taste it," Fizz said, already squeezing a small amount onto his finger. "It's safe, I promise. Edible. That's actually the whole point."

Before you could respond, he held his finger up to your mouth. "Just lick it. Trust me."

You hesitated, then cautiously licked the small drop off his finger. It actually did taste like strawberry—sweet and artificial, but not unpleasant.

"See?" Fizz said triumphantly. "Convenient and tasty."

"The watermelon one's better," Ozzie added, pulling out that bottle. "Here." He squeezed a small amount onto his own finger—which was significantly larger than Fizz's—and offered it to you.

Your face was absolutely burning, but you found yourself leaning forward to taste it. Ozzie was right—it was better. Sweeter, but less artificial.

"Verdict?" Fizz asked, grinning at your expression.

"It's... actually pretty good," you admitted.

"Told you!" Fizz set the bottles aside. "We go through these pretty fast. Turns out making things more fun also makes them taste better. Who knew?"

"Everyone knew," Ozzie said dryly. "That's why they exist."

"Shh, I'm having a moment," Fizz said. He was digging deeper into the box now. "Oh! Can't forget these."

He pulled out what looked like soft cuffs—padded, with adjustable straps.

Your eyes widened. "Are those—"

"Restraints, yup," Fizz said cheerfully. "Very beginner-friendly ones though. See the padding? Won't leave marks at all. And check this out—" He demonstrated the quick-release mechanism. "One pull and they come right off. Safety first and all that."

"Why would you need a quick release?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

"Sometimes you panic," Ozzie said simply. "Sometimes what felt good a minute ago suddenly doesn't feel good anymore. Sometimes there's an emergency—fire alarm, phone call, someone knocking on the door, because someone who shall remain nameless," Ozzie raised a brow at Fizz "forgot about the Sushi boat they ordered"

"Come on Oz, that was one time!" Fizz protested.

"Oh," you laughed softly. "That's... actually really thoughtful."

"Who do you think coined the term 'Consent is sexy'," Fizz asked with a wicked grin. "And part of consent is being able to stop whenever you want." He held up the cuffs. "These are designed for fun, not for actual restraint. Want to see how easy they are to get out of?"

"Um ... sure," you said.

"Watch this," Fizz said. Before you could process what was happening, he'd fastened one of the cuffs around his own wrist. "See? Snug but not tight. Comfortable. Could wear these for a while without any problems." He tugged experimentally. "Can't pull out by accident, which is you know ... the point. Buttttt—" He reached up with his hand and pulled the release mechanism. The cuff fell open immediately. "Ta-da ...Easy out whenever you want."

"Huh," you said, studying the mechanism. "That is pretty clever."

"Want to try?" Fizz offered, holding out the cuff.

"I—what?"

"Just to see how it feels," Fizz said. "No pressure. Just so you know it's not scary. Ozzie can put it on you and you can take it off yourself. See how the release works."

You hesitated, looking between Fizz's encouraging expression and Ozzie's careful, patient one.

"Only if you want to," Ozzie said quietly. "No pressure, little one."

"Okay," you said finally, holding out your wrist.

Ozzie took the cuff gently, his large hands careful as he fastened it around your wrist. It was soft, padded, and surprisingly comfortable—not tight or restrictive, just... there.

"How does it feel?" Ozzie asked.

"Weird," you admitted. "But not bad weird. Just... different."

"Now try the release," Fizz encouraged.

You found the mechanism—a simple pull loop—and tugged. The cuff immediately opened, falling away from your wrist.

"See?" Fizz said. "Easy. Nothing scary about it. Just a thing that exists for people who like that kind of play."

"Do you like it?" you asked before you could stop yourself.

"Sometimes," Fizz said with a shrug. "Depends on the mood. Sometimes it's hot to not be able to touch, to just have to take whatever the Big Guy's giving. Makes everything more intense. But sometimes I want my hands free so I can grab onto him or touch myself or whatever. It's about variety, you know?"

"And knowing what we like changes depending on the situation," Ozzie added. "There's no one right way to do any of this. It's all about communication and checking in."

Fizz was already pulling out more items. "Oh, and we've got blindfolds—" he held up a soft, silky one, "—which are fun for sensory stuff. Makes everything feel more intense when you can't see what's coming."

"Literally and figuratively," Ozzie snorted, and Fizz barked out his own laugh almost falling off the bed.

"And these," Fizz continued, pulling out what looked like feathers and some kind of small wheel, "are for sensation play. The feathers tickle, and this—" he held up the wheel, "—is a Wartenberg wheel. Looks scary, but it's actually just tingly. Here, give me your arm."

You extended your arm hesitantly, and Fizz rolled the wheel across your inner forearm. It felt strange—not painful, just a prickling sensation that made your skin tingle.

"See?" Fizz said. "Good for when you want to mix things up, keep things interesting."

"Can I ask you something?" you said quietly.

"Anything," Ozzie said immediately.

"Is this—" You gestured vaguely at the items spread across the bed. "Is this something you'd want... eventually? With me?"

"If you want to," Ozzie said, his voice gentle. "There's no expectation, but eventually, if you're interested, we'd love to share this part of our lives with you."

"We're not gonna push you into anything," Fizz added, shifting closer to you on the bed.

You nodded, processing.

"There's more to a relationship than sex. More to lust than physical stuff." Ozzie continued simply.

"Though the physical stuff is pretty great," Fizz added, then caught Ozzie's look. "What? I'm just saying! It's one aspect of many aspects! We're well-rounded!"

Despite everything, you laughed. "You're still ridiculous."

"I'm honest," Fizz corrected unusually serious for once. He reached out, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. "But seriously, cutie. We're happy... just like this."

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

As if to prove his point, Fizz shifted even closer, casually draping one of his mechanical arms around your waist. The touch was becoming so natural now—comfortable and warm. You found yourself leaning into it without thinking.

"Sides," Fizz continued, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair, "we're already way ahead of schedule with this relationship thing. You're in our bed, letting me play with your hair. That's pretty damn hot even without any of the fun stuff."

"He's right," Ozzie said, and you felt the bed shift as he moved closer to your other side. One large hand came to rest gently on your back—just resting there, warm and solid and grounding. "You being here, willing to understand this part of us—that matters more than any blind physical act could."

You were surrounded by them now, Fizz pressed against your side with his arm around your waist, Ozzie's hand on your back, and it felt... safe. Intimate, yes, but in a way that didn't feel overwhelming.

"You two really have thought of everything," you observed.

"We've had a lot of time to figure out what works," Ozzie said. "And what doesn't. Trial and error."

"Lots of trials," Fizz added with a wicked grin. "Very thorough testing process."

"Fizz," Ozzie warned, but there was affection in his tone.

"What? I'm just saying we're very dedicated to quality!" Fizz said innocently. Then he looked at Ozzie, and something shifted in his expression—something heated and playful. "Speaking of..."

Fizz stretched across you to reach Ozzie. You found yourself between them as Fizz pulled Ozzie into a kiss.

It was casual and familiar—the kind of kiss that spoke of years together, of knowing exactly what the other person liked.

You watched, frozen, as Fizz's hand came up to cup Ozzie's face, as Ozzie's fingers ghosted Fizz's jaw.

When they pulled apart, both of them were smiling.

"Missed you today," Fizz said softly.

"I was gone for eight hours," Ozzie pointed out.

"Eight hours too long," Fizz said dramatically, then seemed to remember you were there. "Oh, shit, sorry cutie. Didn't mean to just start making out over you."

"It's okay," you said, your voice coming out smaller than intended. Your heart was doing complicated things in your chest.

Ozzie's attention shifted to you, his expression softening. "You alright, little one?"

"Yeah, I just—" You swallowed. "That was really—really kind of—hot."

"Mmmm—how about you let me show you one more thing?" Ozzie laughed.

"Okay," you said, curious now.

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•