Taglist: @kewwrites @mcueveryday @luna-kait @blueish-flower @berriblissful @chewifoxess @spectravondergeist8 @death-in-a-tar0t-card @lemonpuppet
TW: it's hell ? ... lecherous dudes, Canon typical violence, swearing, clowns, eventual smut, some canon typical religious overtones, alcohol consumption, lusty aesthetics, angst, feelings of despair.
Part 1 | Part 3
Hell-ish Heartbeats 💝💙💛 P.2
You weren't sure how long you sat there against the wall, crying until there were no tears left. Your eyes felt swollen and raw, your throat ached, and your body had progressed past "sore" into "every single muscle is staging a protest."
But eventually, the tears stopped. Not because you felt better—you definitely didn't feel better—but because your body simply ran out of the resources to keep producing them.
You wiped at your face with your sleeve, which was a mistake because your sleeve was covered in garbage juice and now your face smelled like rotten fruit and something that might have been old meat.
"Okay," you said to yourself, voice hoarse and shaky. "Okay. Get it together. You can't just... sit here forever."
Even if sitting here forever sounded really appealing right now.
You took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to think logically. You were stuck in some kind of nightmare. You had no idea how to get home. You were covered in trash. And you were very, very alone.
But you were alive. That had to count for something, right?
Your hands were shaking as you started going through your pockets, taking inventory of what you had. Maybe there was something useful. Maybe there was—
Your phone.
You pulled it out with trembling fingers, hope flaring in your chest.
The screen was cracked. Completely spider-webbed from one corner to the other. And when you pressed the power button, nothing happened. Dead. Or just broken. Either way, it was useless.
"Fuck," you whispered, shoving it back in your pocket anyway. What else were you going to do, throw it away?
Your keys were still there, jingling softly. Keys to an apartment in a dimension you couldn't reach. Keys to a life that felt impossibly far away.
You kept searching.
Your wallet was there, made of cheap leather that was now slightly damp. You pulled it out and opened it with numb fingers.
Twenty-five dollars. One twenty, and five ones. Your debit card, which would be absolutely useless here. Your driver's license with your photo looking back at you—you looked so normal in that picture, so blissfully unaware.
A punch card for the coffee shop near your work. Nine punches. One more and you'd have gotten a free latte.
The absurdity of it almost made you laugh. Or cry again. You weren't sure which.
Your other pocket yielded a pack of gum—spearmint, half-empty. Five pieces left.
So. You had twenty-five dollars that probably wouldn't work as currency here, some gum, a broken phone, useless keys, and the clothes on your back that were currently plastered with garbage.
"Great," you muttered. "Just great. I'm sure this will be super helpful."
You shoved everything back in your pockets and forced yourself to stand up. Your legs protested, shaky and weak, but they held.
You couldn't just stay in this alley. You had to... do something. Find someone who could help. Find a way home. Find anything that made sense.
Or at least find somewhere that wasn't next to a dumpster.
Stepping out of the alley felt like stepping onto an alien planet.
The street was wide and paved with something that looked like black glass, reflecting the neon lights in shifting patterns. Buildings rose up on either side, all curves and suggestive architecture, every surface covered in glowing advertisements that pulsed in time with the music.
And the music was everywhere. Bass so deep you felt it in your chest, mixing with synth and vocals that ranged from sultry to explicit. It created a soundscape that was overwhelming and disorienting and made it hard to think.
The sidewalks were packed with demons.
All kinds. All shapes. All sizes.
A couple walked past you, locked in an embrace that should have gotten them arrested for public indecency. The woman—at least, you thought it was a woman—had purple skin and four arms, all of which were occupied. Her partner was saying something in her ear that made her laugh, low and throaty.
You quickly looked away, face burning.
Another demon sauntered past, seven feet tall and built like a swimmer, with luminescent markings that pulsed along his skin in patterns that drew the eye downward. He winked at someone across the street and blew a kiss.
A group stumbled out of one of the establishments, laughing and groping and very clearly advertising what they were about to go do. One of them spotted you and called out something, you didnt quite catch it, but the tone and the hand gesture made the meaning pretty clear.
"Oh my god," you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself and walking faster.
Every building you passed was some variation on the same theme. Nightclubs with names like "The Velvet Rope" and "Euphoria." Boutiques advertising costumes and toys and things you didn't want to think about too hard. Hotels with hourly rates displayed in neon. Restaurants with names that were barely disguised innuendos.
A demon couple was pressed up against a wall just ahead of you, and you had to step into the street to get around them. They didn't even notice you. Or care.
"Excuse me," you mumbled uselessly.
The further you walked, the more overwhelming it became. The sounds, the sights, the smells—everything was designed to assault the senses in the most literal way possible. Your face felt like it was permanently on fire from blushing.
A sign ahead advertised "Couple's Massages" with a picture that made very clear what kind of massages they were. Next to it, "The Honey Pot" promised "The Sweetest Sin You'll Ever Taste." Across the street, "Seventh Heaven" had a line out the door of demons in various states of dress and undress.
You kept your eyes fixed firmly on the ground and kept walking.
You had no plan. No destination. You were just moving because standing still felt dangerous. Maybe you'd find... what? A police station? A church? That seemed unlikely. A hotel or a shelter where you could clean up and think?
With twenty-five dollars that probably didn't even work here?
You were so screwed.
You'd been walking for maybe twenty minutes—though time felt weird here, stretched and compressed in ways that didn't make sense—when you turned a corner and nearly walked into a massive crowd.
The street had opened again, clearly a main road, and at its center stood a building that made every other establishment look understated by comparison.
It was huge. Three stories at least, all curved walls and dramatic architecture. The entire facade was covered in lights—that pulsed and swirled in hypnotic patterns. And at the top, in letters that must have been fifteen feet high "OZZIE'S"
Fuck, FUCK ... You'd gone in a circle, a perfect little loop.
The entrance to this 'OZZIE'S' was grand—massive double doors thrown open to reveal a glimpse of the interior. Red carpet. Gold railings. Blues and Magenta's across walls. More lights. A line of demons stretched from the doors halfway around the building, all dressed in their finest, which ranged from elegant evening wear to outfits that barely qualified as clothing.
Two massive bouncers flanked the entrance, checking people as they entered. They were both easily eight feet tall, built like brick walls, with horns that could probably gore someone.
As you watched, a demon couple approached—they were holding hands and gazing at each other with obvious adoration. The bouncers waved them through without a second glance.
A single demon tried to enter behind them. The bouncer's hand came down on his shoulder like a vice.
"Couples only," the bouncer rumbled. "You know the rules."
"But I have a reservation!" the demon protested.
"Couples. Only." The bouncer physically turned him around and gave him a gentle shove back toward the street. "Come back when you've got a date."
Oh.
That was a problem.
Because for some reason—some absolutely insane, probably stupid reason—you found yourself drawn to that building. Maybe it was because it was the biggest, most prominent establishment you'd seen. Maybe it was because the name "Ozzie's" had a ring of legitimacy to it, like it might be safer than some back-alley club.
Or maybe you were just desperate for anything that felt like shelter.
The crowd around the entrance was thick, demons milling about, some waiting in line, others just hanging around. You edged closer, trying to stay inconspicuous, which was hard when you were the only person there covered in garbage and not draped all over a partner.
You studied the entrance, looking for... what? A way to sneak in? That was insane. You've actually gone insane. You couldn't just sneak into what was clearly an exclusive club.
Could you?
The bouncers were focused on the main entrance, checking couples as they came up. But there were other doors along the side of the building. Service entrances, maybe? You edged around the crowd, pulling the hood of your jacket up, trying to look purposeful, like you belonged here.
One of the side doors was propped open slightly. Through the gap, you could see what looked like a service corridor—plain walls, no fancy decorations. And no one guarding it.
Your heart hammered in your chest.
This was stupid. This was so, so stupid.
But where else were you going to go?
You glanced around. No one was paying attention to you—they were all focused on their partners or on getting inside or on the various public displays happening around you.
You slipped through the door.
The service corridor was blessedly quiet compared to the chaos outside. The music was muffled here, just a distant thump of bass. The walls were plain concrete, lit by buzzing fluorescent lights that flickered occasionally.
You stood there for a moment, back pressed against the door, heart racing.
You'd just snuck into a demon nightclub.
"What the fuck am I doing?" you whispered.
But you couldn't go back out there. Not yet. In here, at least you were out of sight. You could catch your breath. Figure out your next move.
You started walking, following the corridor as it wound through what was clearly the behind-the-scenes area of the club. You passed doors labeled "Storage" and "Staff Only" and "Electrical." Voices drifted from some of them—demons chatting, laughing, working.
You walked quickly, quietly, trying to look like you belonged here even though you absolutely did not.
The corridor eventually opened up into a wider hallway, and suddenly you could hear the music much more clearly. And voices. Lots of voices. The sounds of a crowd.
You found yourself at the edge of a curtain. Through a gap, you could see the main floor of the club.
It was spectacular.
The interior was even more lavish than the exterior suggested. The ceiling soared overhead, covered in lights that shifted through colors. Chandeliers dripped with crystals. The walls were draped in rich fabrics—deep bluess and purples and golds. Curved booths lined the edges of the space, each one private and intimate.
And at the center, a stage. Currently empty, but clearly the focal point of the room.
The floor was packed with couples. Drinking, touching, kissing. The energy was electric, charged with an atmosphere that made your skin prickle.
This was a mistake. You needed to leave. You needed to—
"Can I help you?"
You nearly jumped out of your skin.
A server stood behind you, carrying a tray of drinks. She was tall and curvy, with skin a deep crimson and horns that curved back from her forehead. Her outfit was... minimal. And she was looking at you with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.
"I—I was just—" you stammered.
"Are you lost, honey?" Her expression softened slightly. "You look lost. And no offense, but you smell like a dumpster."
Your face burned. "I... yes. Both. I'm both lost and I fell in a dumpster."
She raised an eyebrow. "Rough night?"
"You have no idea."
She studied you for a moment, then sighed. "Look, you can't be back here. This is staff only. And even if you got onto the main floor, the bouncers would kick you out in a heartbeat. Couples only rule."
"I know, I just—" What? What was your excuse? "I just needed somewhere to... I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll leave."
"Wait." She shifted the tray to one hand. "Are you okay? Like, actually okay? You do—and I'm not trying to be rude—but you look pretty rough."
The genuine concern in her voice almost made you start crying again.
"I'm... it's complicated."
"Isn't it always?" She glanced around, then made a decision. "Okay, look. I'm not supposed to do this, but you look like you're about to fall over. There's a booth in the back corner—way in the back, where no one sits because the view's crap. You can hide out there for a bit, catch your breath. But keep your head down, and if anyone asks, you're waiting for your date, got it?"
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.
"Come on."
She led you through the curtain and along the edge of the room, staying out of the main flow of traffic. The booth she indicated was exactly as advertised—tucked into the far back corner, partially hidden by a decorative pillar. The view of the stage was partially obscured, but you could still see most of it.
"Thank you," you managed. "Really. Thank you so much."
"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. I could get fired." But she smiled. "Try to blend in, okay?"
She disappeared back into the crowd, and you slid into the booth, making yourself as small as possible.
The seat was upholstered in velvet, soft and luxurious. The table was polished wood with a candle centerpiece that cast dancing shadows. It was the nicest place you'd sat in hours.
You were in Ozzie's. Somehow. Against all odds and probability.
Now what?
You'd been sitting there for maybe ten minutes, trying to become one with the upholstery, when the lights suddenly dimmed.
The crowd noise changed, shifting from conversation to excited murmuring. Couples moved toward there seats, drinks in hand, settling into better viewing positions.
Something was about to happen.
Spotlights burst to life, crisscrossing the stage in patterns of blue and pink. Music swelled—something jazzy and energetic with a burlesque edge. Smoke billowed from hidden machines, and through it, a figure emerged.
Your blood ran cold.
It was the robot clown from Loo Loo Land.
Same height. Same build. Same mechanical movements. Green and pink stripes spiraling across his form. Jester's hat with bells that jingled.
No.
No, no, no.
You pressed yourself back into the booth, heart hammering. How had it found you? How did it get here? Was it going to—
"HELLOOOO LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" the figure called out, voice bright and energetic.
Wait.
The voice was wrong. It was similar—same pitch, same cadence—but it was... organic. Real. Not synthetic.
"Are you ready to get your FREAK on tonight?!"
The crowd roared its approval.
You peered out from your hiding spot, studying the figure more carefully.
He wasn't a robot. He was flesh and blood—or whatever demons had. The movements were similar to that robot clown's, but they were smoother, more natural. His face, while it bore a similar jester-like appearance, was expressive in ways the robot's never could be.
His eyes weren't mechanical. They were real, bright and mischievous, scanning the crowd with genuine personality behind them.
This wasn't a robot.
This was... someone else. Someone he'd been based on?
"I'm your host for tonight, the one, the only, FIZZAROLLI!" He swept into an elaborate bow, limbs bending in ways that suggested he was either incredibly flexible or had some kind of... extendable ability? "And boy oh boy, do we have a show for you tonight!"
He bounced across the stage—literally bounced, his legs acting like springs. The crowd ate it up.
"But first, I need to make sure you're all warmed up! Can't have you pulling something important!" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and the crowd laughed. "So I'm gonna need a volunteer! Someone to help me with a little... audience participation!"
Oh no.
"Now I know what you're thinking," Fizzarolli continued, prowling the stage. "Fizz, I'm here with my smoking hot date, I don't wanna leave them!" He clutched his chest dramatically. "And I get it, I do! But this'll only take a minute, and think of how impressed they'll be when you tell them you were on stage with THE Fizzarolli!"
His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a victim.
You sank lower in your seat.
Don't look here. Don't look here. Don't—
His eyes locked onto your booth.
For a moment, you thought maybe he was looking at someone else. Maybe he was looking past you. Maybe—
A grin spread across his face, wide and delighted.
"Oh! OH! I see someone trying to hide back there! Don't think I can't see you!"
Fuck.
"Come on, don't be shy!"
The spotlight swung toward your booth, and suddenly you were illuminated like a moth pinned to a board. The entire club turned to look at you.
You shook your head frantically.
"Aw, come on! The crowd wants to see you! Don't you, folks?"
The crowd cheered encouragingly.
"I'll make it quick, I promise! Well... I mean, I'll try. Sometimes I get carried away!" He laughed. "But seriously, come on up here!"
You remained frozen.
Fizzarolli's expression shifted slightly—something calculating crossed his features. Then he was moving, bouncing off the stage and through the crowd with surprising speed.
Before you could even think to run, he was at your booth.
Up close, he was even more striking. The stripes weren't just green and pink—they had gradients, shifting between shades. His eyes were intense—yellow sclera, pink irises. And his smile, while big, wasn't threatening like the robot's. It was performative. Charming, even.
"There you are!" He reached out a hand—his arms extended, stretching like taffy, and you yelped in surprise. "Don't worry, I don't bite! Much. That's a joke! Come on, let's give them a show!"
His hand closed around your wrist—and before you could protest, he was pulling you out of the booth and toward the stage.
"Wait, I can't—I don't—" you stammered, but the crowd was already applauding.
"Too late! You're already committed!" He hauled you up onto the stage with him. "Look at this little cutie, folks! Let's give her a round of applause!"
The spotlight was blinding. The crowd was a sea of faces. Your heart was trying to escape through your throat.
As you stumbled onto the stage, you realized with a start that you were almost exactly at eye level with him. He was shorter than you'd expected—just under your height, actually.
"Now," Fizzarolli said, still holding your wrist. "What's your name, sugar?"
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your mind was completely blank.
"I-i don't know—"
"I dont know! Sounds exotic—I like it!" He winked at the crowd.
What followed was possibly the most surreal hour of your life—and considering where your day had gone, that was saying something.
Fizzarolli was a professional. That much was immediately clear. Even though you were clearly terrified and had no idea what you were doing, he worked around it, incorporating your nervousness into the act like it was planned.
"Okay, Cutie, I'm gonna need you to stand riiiight here." He positioned you center stage. "Perfect! Now, don't move. Seriously, don't even twitch."
"Why?" you managed to squeak out.
"Oh, you'll see!" That probably should have worried you more.
He bounced away, pulling juggling clubs from seemingly nowhere. "Now, folks, some of you might know I also work in the circus! True story! And one of my specialties is—"
He threw the first club. It spun through the air, passing so close to your head you felt the breeze, and he caught it with his other hand without even looking.
"—juggling around people who really, really hope I don't fuck up!"
The crowd laughed. You made a sound that might have been a whimper.
"Don't worry!" Another club, passing on your other side. "I've only hit someone, like, twice! This month!"
"Oh my god," you whispered.
"And they barely needed stitches!"
More clubs joined the pattern. Four, five, six. They spun through the air around you in a dizzying display, coming close enough that you could feel each of them whooshing past but never quite touching you.
You stood perfectly still, barely breathing, convinced you were about to be concussed by a juggling club.
But Fizzarolli never missed. His hands moved in a blur, snatching clubs out of the air and sending them back up in an endless cascade. And while he juggled, he kept up a running commentary that had the crowd in stitches.
"You know what I love about juggling? The existential dread on people's faces! Look at this cutie here! Absolutely certain she's about to die! It's beautiful!"
You couldn't even be offended. He was right.
"But see, here's the thing—" He caught all the clubs in rapid succession, one after another, until he held them all in his extended arms. "—when you've been doing this as long as I have, it's like breathing! I could do this in my sleep! While drunk! While high! While—well, you get the idea!"
He tossed all the clubs behind him without looking, and they landed perfectly in a waiting bucket you hadn't even seen.
"Let's hear it for our gorgeous volunteer folks! She didn't faint OR piss herself! That's a new record!"
The crowd applauded. You were shaking.
Fizzarolli bounded over to you, threw an arm around your shoulders. "You did great! Seriously, you were perfect! I mean, you looked like you were about to have a heart attack, but that's what made it funny!"
"Can I... can I sit down now?" you managed.
"Of course! But first—" He spun you to face the crowd, his arm still around you. "One more round of applause for our brave volunteer!"
The crowd cheered. You caught glimpses of smiling faces, demons raising glasses in salute.
"You can head back to your seat now! Or the bar! First drink's on the house for being such a good sport!"
He released you, and you stumbled off the stage on shaky legs. A server appeared out of nowhere and pressed a glass of water into your hands. You took it gratefully and made your way back to your booth as Fizzarolli launched into the next part of his act.
You collapsed into the seat and downed half the water in one go.
What the fuck just happened?
Above the crowd, in a private booth that was more luxurious than most people's apartments, Asmodeus lounged on a velvet couch and watched his boyfriend perform.
He was magnificent, as always. Fizz had the crowd eating out of his hand—working them into a frenzy before the main show even started. It was a gift, really, the way he could read a room and adjust his performance on the fly.
Ozzie took a sip of his drink—something expensive and burning—and smiled.
The door burst open with Fizzarolli's trademark energy.
"Did you SEE that? Did you SEE? I fucking nailed it!" Fizz bounced into the room, practically vibrating with post-performance energy. "That one guy in the third row almost fell out of his chair! And the couple by the bar were so into it they—well, let's just say security's gonna have to hose down that section!"
"I saw, babe." Ozzie's voice was deep and warm, amused. "You were perfect, as always."
"Damn right I was!" Fizz flopped onto the couch next to him, sprawling across Ozzie's lap like a cat. "Though I gotta say, that volunteer I pulled up? Cutest fucking thing I've seen all week."
Ozzie raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"She was so scared!" Fizz laughed, but it wasn't mean. "Like a little puppy that doesn't know if they're gonna get pet or kicked. Just standing there shaking, trying so hard not to bolt. It was adorable."
"Since when do you go for adorable?" Ozzie teased, running a finger down one of Fizz's arms affectionately. "Usually you like them confident. Bratty, even."
"Hey, I appreciate all types!" Fizz protested. "But seriously, Ozzie, you should've seen her up close. So, cute and like, basically my height, which you know doesn't happen often with non-imps. And soft-looking. Not like... demon soft. Different."
"Different how?"
Fizz sat up slightly, his expression thoughtful. "I don't know. She just... didn't feel like they belonged here. And not in the 'wrong club' way. More like... fundamentally wrong place." He shook his head. "I'm probably overthinking it. But she was cute! In that 'lost puppy' kind of way. Reminded me of the quieves, actually. All big eyes and nervous energy."
Ozzie's expression shifted, a grin spreading across his features. "The quieves? Really?"
"What?"
"Froggy, honey, babe, light of my extremely long life—" Ozzie's grin got wider. "You're blushing."
"I am not—" Fizz touched his face. His cheeks were definitely warmer than usual. "Oh. Huh."
"You thought she was cute."
"I mean, yeah, objectively—"
"You're blushing about someone being cute." Ozzie's tone was playfully incredulous. "You. The demon who literally performs in a lust club every night. Who's seen every body type, every species, every possible combination thereof. And you're blushing about a scared little thing in the back booth."
"Okay, first of all, fuck you." Fizz pointed at him without any real heat. "Second, it's not like that. I just thought she was... you know. Sweet? In a weird way?"
"Uh-huh."
"Also, can we talk about the fact that she's alone? In Ozzie's? How did she even get past the bouncers?"
"Good question." Ozzie pulled out his phone and typed something quickly. "I'm asking security now."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment while they waited for a response. Fizz had curled back into Ozzie's side, his jester hat bells jingling softly as he shifted, and the larger demon absently stroked his back.
"You know," Ozzie said slowly, "I don't think I've ever seen you this interested in someone of the, ah, fairer sex? Usually you're all about the pretty boys."
"I can contain multitudes," Fizz said dramatically. "I'm a complex imp with varied tastes."
"You told me last week that women were 'nice to look at but not really your thing.'"
"Well maybe this one's different! I don't know! She was just—" He made a frustrated noise. "She looked so lost, Ozzie. And scared. Like she'd stumbled into the wrong dimension and didn't know how to get home."
Ozzie's phone buzzed.
"Hm. Security says there's no record of them coming through the front. No reservation, no name on the list."
"So she snuck in."
"Apparently."
Fizz sat up fully now, looking at Ozzie with an expression that the King of Lust knew all too well. It was the same expression Fizz got when they'd first found the quieves—a stray pack of the hell equivalent of puppies that had somehow ended up in Lust. The same expression that had resulted in them now having a pack of the yapping creatures living in their home.
It was the 'can we keep it?' expression.
"Fizzy," Ozzie said warningly.
"I'm just saying, maybe we should check on her? Just to make sure she's okay? She's probably still out there, all alone in that booth, confused and scared and alone—did I mention alone?"
"You want to invite a random demon who snuck into our club backstage."
"When you say it like that it sounds weird."
"It IS weird."
"But also kind of nice?"
Ozzie sighed, but he was smiling. This was why he loved Fizz—his boyfriend had the biggest heart of any demon he'd ever met, hidden under all the crass jokes and performer's bravado.
"Fine. But if they turn out to be some kind of stalker, you're dealing with it."
"Deal!" Fizz bounced up, excited. "I'll send someone to invite her back! Oh, this is gonna be interesting!"
"That's one word for it," Ozzie muttered, but he was already curious himself.
Something about this situation felt... unusual. And in a realm of sin and excess, unusual was always worth investigating.
Five minutes later, you looked up from where you'd been staring at your water glass, trying to process the last hour of your life, to find a server—different from the one who'd helped you earlier—standing there with a professional smile.
"Excuse me," she said politely. "Mr. Fizzarolli and Mr. Asmodeus request your presence backstage."
You blinked. "I'm sorry, who?"
"The owners they'd like to speak with you. If you're willing."
Your brain struggled to process this. "Owners? Like... the owners of the club?"
"The very same," the server confirmed. "Will you come?"
You should say no. This was definitely a trap or a trick or something bad. You should absolutely, definitely say no.
"Um," you said instead. "Okay?"
What in the hell were you doing?
The server smiled. "Excellent. Follow me, please."
And because your decision-making skills had apparently completely abandoned you somewhere around the second fall, you followed her.
