Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fizzarolli has always been an early riser. It’s something that was ingrained in him early on in his life. The dawn hours were for helping set up the circus, or practice, never for sleeping in. Even when he tries to ignore the urge and catch a few more z’s he can’t ever seem to stay asleep later than 8 AM.

Asmodeus on the other hand, could sleep the day away if he was left to his own devices. He was notorious for sleeping through his alarms before Fizz started staying the night, almost every day he would have to call his secretary and ask her to push back the morning appointments he always swore he’d be on time for. Fizz had gotten a gift basket after the first full week of no missed appointments in years.

It worked out well, Fizz was happy to wake up Asmodeus in all kinds of ways. His personal favorite was the air horn, but he’d guess Ozzie’s were the times he’d pepper him with kisses until the sin’s got no choice but to wake up and return the favor. Today Fizz is going for something more middle of the road. It’s the middle of the week, and both of them have a relatively lax schedule for the day aside from the evening when the club opens, so really he can let Ozzie sleep in a little.

He stretches up and kisses Oz’s forehead, surprised when realizes how warm it is. Fizz presses his forehead against the sin’s. He’s burning. Ozzie’s usually so good at regulating his own temperature, so to feel him unnaturally warm is a little worrying. Ozzie’s normal resting face is strange, his eyebrows screwed up like he’s uncomfortable. Ram and Bull are still asleep too, but even their faces seem troubled.

“Ozzie?” Fizz calls out tentatively, the sin grumbling but not responding otherwise. Fizz sits up properly, pulling back from where he’d stretched over Oz to sit on his chest.. He didn’t want to get the airhorn, but Ozzie usually woke up pretty easily once Fizz bugged him. “Ozzie!” He calls with more oomph, the sin groaning and turning onto his side. The imp yells in surprise as he’s sent toppling onto the bed, grunting as he makes contact with the plush mattress.

“Fizzy!” Ozzie gasps, sitting up in an instant and scooping Fizz into his hands. “I’m so sorry, I- I can’t believe I did that. Are you okay?” He tilts the imp around carefully, making sure he had no marks or bumps. Fizz chuckles and reaches a hand up to Oz’s face, cupping his cheek.

“I’m fine, Oz. No harm done. Are you okay, though? You’re super warm, and a little scatterbrained if that turn was anything to go by.” Ozzie deflates under Fizz’s questioning, groaning and flopping back down onto the bed.

“Actually… I feel kind of sick.”

“You can get sick?!” Fizz immediately shifts to proper concern, trying to crawl up to recheck Ozzie’s temperature but the sin’s large hands keep him in place on his chest. “Will you be okay? Do I need to call a doctor?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. It’s not like… a real sickness? Maybe I’m just burnt out.”

Fizz relaxes slightly and hums in thought. “Well, you have been really busy lately. The new line of harnesses with matching collars and leashes, the revamp on the stage at the club, oh and that whole disaster with the pipe bursting and you had to trash all that inventory, oh! Also-”

“Thank you Fizzy,” Ozzie interrupts him with a soft laugh. “Maybe I should just take it easy today. I don’t really feel up to getting out of bed yet. Is that okay?”

“Oz, you don’t have to ask me! You’re not feeling well, of course I want you to rest! I’ll go feed the quieves and give you a chance to sleep longer. If you need me just yell, I won’t be far, promise.” Fizz stretches up to give Ozzie a kiss on his forehead, still red hot, and then he stretches out of bed, but not before tucking Ozzie in. He quickly grabs a change of clothes along with his favorite cap so he won’t have to come bother Oz later when he needs to be presentable. As he leaves, he pulls the canopy fully closed, double checking the curtains and shifting one that had a small bit of light streaming through to fully envelop the room in darkness to ensure Oz the best sleep environment possible.

Fizz is left alone, full of energy, and slightly hungry. This is typically a recipe for disaster, but he’s got to keep it together today. Ozzie is sick! He can fend for himself, he’s been working on his cooking a little, with close supervision. He’ll make himself something easy, and maybe even throw something together for Ozzie. Surely the sin will be starving by the time he wakes up. First, though, come the quieves.

The quieves are delighted to see him, as they always are. Fizzarolli lays down on the ground and lets them surround him, his girls showering him with kisses and sniffing at every last inch of him. He greets them all with a good morning kiss, one by one, and then he fills their food bowls. As they eat he changes clothes, pulling on the pink and blue striped cap as well as a pair of comfy pink joggers and a yellow crop top. Nothing special, but he doesn’t plan to go much farther than around the block.

Once the babies have all eaten he gets them all into their harnesses and leashes, and then it’s out for a walk. Ozzie and he have come to an agreement that Fizz is safe without an escort within the confines of the Lust ring or with Blitzø so he tries to take the opportunity to walk the quieves himself whenever he can. The girls are energetic as always, really Fizz calls it a walk but it’s more like a ride with how the girls tug him around the streets of lust with ease when he pops out his shoe wheels.

They only go back up once the girls have tired themselves out, the nine of them clambering into a pile on the floor in their wing of the palace to sleep despite having dozens of different bedding options. Fizz checks their water bowls and then he’s off to go feed himself next. The quieves were easy, if only he was as simple.

It used to be easy when he was on the regimen Mammon insisted on to keep him trim. Not fun, not tasty, but easy at least. Now his possibilities are endless, which is a bit much for him. Usually, he leaves it up to Oz, since he does all the cooking anyway and Fizz will eat anything. One less decision makes his day just that much easier.

He could make eggs, or cereal, or oatmeal, or pancakes, hell, he could do burgers! Who’s here to stop him? The thought sends a pang of sadness through him but he snaps out of it quickly, reminding himself that Ozzie is here, he just needs to rest. Fizz can handle a day alone. He’s had plenty of them. Maybe not in the last few years, but he can manage to keep himself occupied, surely.

He ends up looking up a randomizer to choose for him and lands on oatmeal. Boring, but easy at least. Fizz makes himself a big bowl of it, adds sliced strawberries, a handful of flaked almonds, and drizzles honey across the top and settles at their kitchen table to eat. The silence feels almost unbearable. Is he really this clingy now? It hasn’t even been a full hour yet since he left Oz to sleep. He’s got to get a grip.

Breakfast is spent lazily shoveling oatmeal into his mouth as he flicks through his phone, hopping from one app to the next, desperate to find something to distract himself with. It works for a little while when he stumbles across a video of a hellhound going through her fur maintenance routine. Does Fizz have any hair or fur on his body whatsoever? No. Does he end up sitting through 23 minutes of it while he finishes his breakfast? Yes. Once his bowl is empty he closes out and flips back to Sinstagram to see everyone’s morning updates.

There’s plenty, and he scrolls and likes everyone on his feed, pausing at a picture of Loona and her morning coffee to comment that her eyeliner is sharp enough to kill. Blitzø hasn’t updated any posts but his story from last night had been a creepshot of Stolas from outside his balcony so Fizz has a good idea of what he’s been up to.

This is boring. He’s bored. What the fuck did he used to do when he was bored? It’s strange, but when Fizz tries to think about it, he’s not sure when the last time he was bored was. He’d always been entertained when he was little by Blitzø and the rest of the circus, and his time in Mammon’s grasp he’d been far too busy to ever even think about being bored. Maybe the hospital was the only time he'd had far too much time on his recently turned nonexistent hands and nothing to spend it on but the shitty cable TV he could get in his hospital room.

He needs to busy himself with something. He’s already fed himself, now what about Ozzie? The sin could probably sleep another couple of hours, so Fizz had plenty of time to make him something good. The imp pulls up voogle and starts to look for recipes to re-energize people. Ozzie isn’t sick sick so it’s not like he has to stick to something bland or boring which means Fizz can get a little experimental if he wants.

After checking the contents of the fridge and pantry he settles on a recipe for a Moroccan chicken stew they have most of the ingredients for already. He’ll just figure something out for the rest, no biggie. The first step is to toast the almonds, simple enough. He grabs a pan, tosses the remainder of the almonds they have into it, and cranks up the heat before turning back to his phone. The next step will be to saute some vegetables in the same pan but they’ll have to be chopped first.

Fizz grabs an onion and sets it on the cutting board, grabbing a large knife and getting to work. The papery peel crunches as the knife cuts in and he wonders for a moment if he should’ve removed it first. Well, too late now. He starts to chop up the onion, grateful for once that he’s got metal for hands now or he would have most certainly sliced his finger with how he’d been holding the onion then. His eyes start to burn the further into chopping he gets until it’s so bad they begin to tear up. He wipes at them only to get some kind of residue from the onion in them he hadn’t realized stuck to his hand and sends him doubling over as he hisses in pain and tries to rub his eyes clean with the back of his arm.

“Fucking onion, stupid, fucking…” He mutters to himself, stumbling to the sink and rinsing his hands clean and then his eyes. They still hurt but at least he can open them again. Fizz returns to the recipe on his phone, reading it over. Butter in the pan, then the onion, fuck, he has to chop the garlic too. He’ll throw the butter in first, give it time to melt. The almonds look… fine? They still look like almonds, he’s not sure what he expected, really.

Fizz tosses in a pad of butter and turns back to the cutting board, grabbing a bulb of garlic. How the fuck do you use garlic? The outside feels papery like the onion did, so he tries to peel it like he should’ve before and it’s a success, revealing small cloves of the garlic within. They’re tiny already, does he actually need to chop them? He’s got to get this stuff sauteing. It’ll be fine, Ozzie’s so big it’ll probably taste better in bigger bites.

He dumps the onion, peel and all, into the pan with the almonds and butter, and then the whole garlic cloves as well. What next? He looks at the recipe again and panics when he realizes he’d missed adding some spices. Well, he’ll do it now. Fizz checks the list again as he grabs containers from the spice rack. Cinnamon, paprika, cumin, haha. Chili powder. They don’t have chili powder. Fine, he’ll sub it for something else. Chilis were hot, right? So hot sauce will work just fine, probably.

Measuring everything out sounds tedious so instead he shakes the spices in at his own discretion, along with half a bottle of the first hot sauce he finds in the fridge. Then he’s back to looking at his phone for the next steps while he twists the hob dial to lower the heat and instead accidentally turns it the wrong way and to the highest level. The stuff in the pan can just sit for a bit while he reads further down, so he turns away from the stove and leans against the table as he reads the next steps.

A few minutes pass and something acrid passes his nose. His face scrunches up at the terrible smell and he looks up from his phone to find that the room has gotten a lot smokier than he remembers it being. Fizz twists to look at the stove and shrieks at the sight that awaits him. The contents of the pan are completely charred, smoke billowing from the mess and the flames licking at the sides of the pan from the burner.

“Fuck!”

He stands there blankly for a few moments, trying to think of a way to salvage this, but it’s too far gone. Fizz sighs heavily and turns the stove off, yanking the pan off the hot burner and onto a cool one and slamming a lid on top to keep in the smoke. “Man… and it was going so well before this, too!” Fizz sniffles, eyes starting to burn again but this time from the smoke. He flicks the fan on and opens one of the windows, coughing slightly as he steps out to let the kitchen clear out.

While he waits, Fizz goes to check on Ozzie, making sure his antics haven’t disturbed his lover. Asmodeus is fast asleep when he peeks in, turned away from the door and snoring softly. Well, at least one thing is still going right. He creeps back out quietly, shutting the door behind him and flopping onto the living room couch in defeat. How does every cooking attempt he does alone end up in smoke? Even Blitzø can cook!

Blitzø can cook. Fizz pauses on that thought for a moment more and then he’s on his phone, ringing flooding his ear.

“Hullo?”

“Blitzø, you gotta help me.”

“Huh? Fizz? What’s wrong, are you hurt, where are you?”

“Ozzie is sick! I tried to make him some stew but it burnt up and I’m so shit in the kitchen but I need to provide for my man! Do you think you could swing by and help me make something?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line and then a long, drawn-out sigh. “Is something wrong, darling?” Fizz can hear the faint voice of Stolas on the other end, far from the mic.

“No, s’fine. Oz is sick apparently, I didn’t know sins could do that.”

“Neither did I.”

“Well, Fizz is trying to cook him something and I know he’s immortal or some shit but I feel like there’s still a chance he might die if I don’t intervene and make sure he gets something edible. Izzat okay? Sorry, I know we-”

“Go to Fizzarolli, darling. Nothing more needs to be said. I’ll see you later.”

There’s a soft smacking sound and then Blitzø is back on the phone properly. “Don’t fucking go in that kitchen again until I get there. I’m gonna buy some ingredients and we’re making what I say, alright?”

“Ugh, fine. Thanks, Blitzø. See you soon.”

Blitzø hangs up without a goodbye and Fizz sighs and grabs the remote. He’s not even allowed in his own damn kitchen now? Well, so long as Ozzie gets something good out of it, he’ll listen. It takes about twenty minutes before a portal opens up in front of the TV and Blitzø steps out of it, hands laden with plastic bags full of ingredients. The imp grins at him, and despite the mood he’s been in, Fizz grins back.

“What’s good, Fizz? Not Oz, apparently.”

The grin drops immediately and Blitzø laughs at his own joke, wandering towards the kitchen. Fizz jumps up from the couch to follow, arms crossed petulantly over his chest. “Not funny, Blitzø. He’s sick, I think just from working too hard. You know how it is.”

“Mm.” Blitzø’s smile dims a bit as he sets the bags on the kitchen table and turns to look at the pan Fizz left on the stove. “Satan’s taint, are those whole cloves of fucking garlic in there? You trying to scare off a fucking vampire or something?”

“The recipe asked for garlic! Ozzie’s big, I thought it’d be fine.”

Blitzø snorts and sets the pan to the side before turning back to the bags and starting to empty them. “I’m starting to think you burning that shit was something looking out for Ozzie, no fucking way he would’ve gotten out of eating that and not gotten food poisoning.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” Fizz grumbles and sits on the opposite side of the table, unloading the bag closest to him. Blitzø has brought a variety of different things, so much so that Fizz has no idea what they’ll be making just from the components alone. “Okay, maybe it was. I got a little distracted.”

“Shocker there. Where do you keep your pots?”

Fizz points out a cabinet and Blitzø opens it, pulling out a wide deep-set pot and setting it on the stove. Then he turns back to Fizz and grabs a bag of potatoes, pushing them towards him. “I’m putting you on potato duty. I can trust you won’t find a way to set them on fire, right?”

“Stupid,” Fizz mutters as he takes the potatoes, stretching his hand to the drawer he knew the peeler to be in and grabbing it. “Am I just peeling them or what?”

“We’ll cut them after but I’ll show you how first and then you can go. Put some music on too.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the jester replies with sarcasm, purposefully ignoring how Blitzø’s tail turns stiff for a moment with arousal at the name. Fizz doesn’t want to know what he and the owl get up to. Grabbing his phone, he throws on a playlist he’s sure will work for Blitzø’s punk taste and then gets to peeling.

Blitzø is at the stove, doing something he can’t see, but he can smell after a little while. “Bacon?” He asks quizzically, only getting a grin over the other imp’s shoulder before he turns his attention back to it. Once the bacon is done, Blitzø removes it and sets it on a plate with a paper towel, and turns off the stove. He turns back to Fizz, an onion in hand and Fizz watches him carefully peel away the outer layer before setting it on the cutting board and taking a knife to it.

He squints preemptively, expecting the pain to start, only to find that there’s only a mild irritation to his eyes this time, even as Blitzø chops the onion almost fully into bits. “Hey, why didn’t that make us cry?”

The other imp holds up the remaining small section of onion. “Depends what side of the onion you start cutting on! It’s better to leave the stem untouched as long as you can.”

“Why the fuck do you know that?”

Blitzø returns his attention to the onion, cheeks flushing slightly. “Stols taught me, can’t really take the credit. He’s been super into cooking since we became…. Official.” It’s a little funny to see how much Blitzø cringes at using the term even almost a year in. “Wanted to be able to cook for us, so we’ve been trying a lot of recipes out.”

“Is this one of the ones you guys found?”

Blitzø grins wide. “Nope. This is one that’s been in my head for decades.”

Fizz hums in thought, grabbing another potato and beginning to peel. Blitzø meanwhile is unpeeling a garlic bulb, popping out a few cloves, and then peeling them as well. Fizz watches wide-eyed, he hadn’t realized the cloves themselves also had their own peels. Maybe Blitzø was right and his fucking up the first attempt was for the best.

By the time Fizz finishes peeling all the potatoes Blitzø has minced the garlic into the tiniest pieces Fizz has ever seen, and put the onions in the pot along with some butter on medium heat. He leaves it to cook itself and shows Fizz how to cut the potatoes. He wants them in small cubes, which seems insane until Blitzø shows him how easy it is to achieve. Fizz cuts the remaining potatoes himself, then heads over to watch Blitzø cook.

As he does, something familiar rises to his mind and he almost bursts with excitement as he asks, “Is this that soup your mom used to make us?”

The pride on Blitzø’s face is almost blinding, the imp’s tail waving behind him happily as he adds the garlic to the pot and stirs. “Yup. Not a perfect replica, of course, but pretty damn close if I do say so myself.”

Fizz’s stomach pangs with excitement. He hasn’t had anything from his circus days in a very, very long time. He’d never bothered to hang around in the kitchen when anyone cooked back then, far more interested in the completed product than he was in seeing how it all came together. Tilla used to make this soup any time anyone in the circus was sick. She’d make these giant batches of it and everyone could have at least a little bowl of it even if they were feeling fine.

“This is gonna be so good,” Fizz mumbles, not missing how Blitzø’s tail wags behind him. Then Blitzø looks up and over at the remaining ingredients.

“Fizz, can you get out a measuring cup and some measuring spoons?”

The clown obeys quickly, pulling them both out from where they’d been stored and setting them on the counter by Blitzø. “Alright, perf, now get me a third cup of the flour. Using the spoons, not the glass.” Fizz pauses where he’d been about to grab the glass and pivots, looking through the spoons until he finds one marked ⅓ cup and scoops into the flour. He levels the top, something Ozzie taught him, and passes it to Blitzø who sprinkles it in the pot bit by bit until the cup is empty and the flour’s melted into everything.

“Okay Fizz, next up is your potatoes. Dump ‘em in and stir while I measure some shit.”

Fizz takes over at the pot, carefully dumping his bowl of diced potatoes in and stirring as instructed. When Blitzø returns he’s got a measuring cup full of something he dumps in as well, and then returns with another cup full and dumps that as well. “You got milk, right?” Blitzø doesn’t bother waiting for an answer as he tugs open the fridge, pulling out the milk inside and pouring that into the cup. Fizz watches him until the other imp’s head shoots up and glares at him. “Keep stirring!”

The jester jolts when he realizes he’d paused, turning back to the pot and sighing as he begins stirring again. Blitzø adds the milk, and then he’s got a tiny carton of heavy cream he empties into the pot as well. Fizz watches as Blitzø then measures out salt and pepper using the tiny spoons, dumping those in before grabbing a container from the things he’d brought. Chili powder! He’s glad Blitzø thought to buy it, hopefully he and Oz can keep it for future cooking experiments.

Fizz keeps stirring until Blitzø tells him he can stop, then Blitzø sighs with satisfaction and leans back against the counter. “Gotta let the potatoes boil, then we’re almost done.” Fizz takes that as a sign to hop up on the counter nearest to him and sit.

“So, how have you and Stolas been?”

“Good, he keeps bitching we’ve gotta do another double date soon, been meaning to ask you. Once your rooster’s back to his normal self, of course.”

“Sounds fun! Got any ideas?”

They spend the remaining time waiting chatting about date options until a timer Fizz didn’t even know had been set goes off and Blitzø returns to the pot and lowers the heat to a simmer. “Hey, you got one of those fancy stick blender thingies? Or a regular blender works too.”

“Umm…” Fizz gets up and peers through a few drawers and cabinets before pulling out something. “Is this it?” Blitzø looks over and grins, grabbing it.

“Yup! We’re gonna blend the soup, just a bit. Don’t want it all smooth.”

Blitzø blends the soup a bit while Fizz watches, fascinated. “Alright Fizz, last up we add some sour cream and bacon and let it simmer for another 15 minutes and then it’s done!”

Blitzø lets Fizz drop in the heaping spoonfuls of sour cream and crumble the bacon, then they give it a good stir and return to date planning until the next timer goes off. The kitchen smells incredible, just the scent alone has Fizz’s stomach aching even though it’s only been an hour since he last ate. When the timer goes off Blitzø searches the cabinets until he finds the bowls, pulling a few down while he shoots a text off with his free hand.

Fizz makes a perfect bowl, topping it with extra bacon, sour cream, and cheddar cheese. He’s about to head out to bring it to Ozzie when Blitzø snags his arm and stops him. “Not gonna try our hard work first, Fizz? C’mon, don’t make me eat alone!”

“But Oz-”

“Is probably still sleeping! How about you go check? If he’s awake, bring him the soup, otherwise, we’ll eat first.”

Fizzarolli sighs and sets the bowl down, scurrying off to the bedroom to check on his lover. Ozzie is exactly where he’d been the last time Fizz checked, and his snoring has gotten even louder. Well, it’s not like he isn’t dying to try the soup and see how similar Blitzø’s gotten to his mom’s recipe.

When he returns to the kitchen Stolas is there, a portal still open behind him as he bends low to talk with Blitzø in quiet voices. When Fizz is noticed, Stolas straightens up, giving him a kind smile. “Good morning, Fizzarolli. I’d heard Asmodeus is under the weather, thought I’d drop off a tonic I’ve made with some of the herbs from my garden. It’s sure to help him regain his energy.” The owl hands Fizz a small bottle, something scribbled on a tag around the neck of it that Fizz can’t really read.

“Thanks, Stolas!” He grins and sets the bottle carefully down. “Gonna join us for some soup?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, I’d merely come to drop that off-”

“C’mon, stay! There’s a ton of it, me and Ozzie would take forever finishing it off alone.”

The owl clacks his beak, looking at Blitzø for confirmation it’s okay and then the portal behind him closes. “Well, it has been some time since Blitzy’s made this.” The three of them make their bowls, Fizz taking the one he’d originally made for Ozzie, and sit down at the kitchen table, Blitzø in the middle.

Fizz takes his first spoonful. Immediately the taste is overwhelming with how similar it is to the many bowls of potato soup he’d consumed in his childhood. A gentle flavor, savory and creamy, memories springing to mind of him, Blitzø, and Barbie sitting at a tiny table made for children. Tilla came and filled their bowls as many times as they asked, even when Fizz and Blitzø ended up with stomach aches afterward. Food wasn’t always plentiful at the circus, so Tilla always remained firm that the children should get to eat their fill whenever they had excess.

Something drips into his soup and pauses Fizz mid-bite as he looks around, only to realize that he’s crying. Big fat tears have begun streaming down his face without him even noticing. Blitzø’s eyes are on him, something unspoken there as he pats Fizz’s back gently. Stolas reaches over and offers a handkerchief, a fancy frilly thing with lace around the edges. Fizz takes it and dabs his eyes dry, sniffling.

“What the fuck,” he murmurs, and Blitzø laughs.

“I wasn’t sure if that would happen, sorry, maybe I should’ve warned you.”

Fizz looks at him confused. “Why would you even think that?”

“Because Blitzy cried the first time as well,” Stolas offers, even as Blitzø spins in his chair to glare at him but the owl merely smiles and cups his face. “I’d been privileged enough to be there when Blitzø perfected the recipe.”

Fizz turns back to the soup and takes another spoonful, sighing around it at the continued comfort and warmth it gave. “It’s perfect, Blitzø. Thanks for sharing it with me again.”

The trio takes their time eating, and once their bowls are empty and their bellies filled, Stolas and Blitzø leave, and Fizz prepares one more bowl for Ozzie. He grabs the tonic before he heads to the bedroom, opening the door slowly. Ozzie’s still snoozing, so he sets the bowl down and heads to the curtains, opening them slightly, just enough to bring in some light without being blinding.

Then he crawls into bed and up onto the sin, pressing his forehead to Ozzie’s. It’s not as warm as before, but still a bit more than normal. He’ll take it. “Ozzie,” he calls out softly, caressing the sin’s face. “Gotta wake up babe, I brought you something.” It takes another couple of tries before the sin breathes deeply and his eyes open, a slow smile spreading across his face at the sight of Fizz.

“Hi baby, missed you.”

Fizz flushes as he hugs Ozzie, nuzzling into his mane. “Missed you too, Ozzie.” He pulls away so Oz can sit up, stretching and grabbing the bowl and bottle he’d come in with. “I made you lunch!”

Ozzie’s soft expression immediately stiffens as he takes in the bowl in Fizz’s hands. “You made that?” The doubt in the sin’s voice is palpable and Fizz pouts.

“Well, Blitzø maybe came and helped. And by helped I mean did most of the work, but still. Oh, and Stolas dropped off this tonic for you, said it’d help re-energize you.”

Asmodeus takes the bottle in his hands, peering at the label and humming in interest before he pops the top off and drains it. “Eugh,” he shudders, face screwing up in disgust. “Fuck, remind me to trust Stolas’ tonics as much as I trust your solo cooking.”

“Alright, leave the jokes to the clown, asshole, and eat the damn soup.”

Oz chuckles and grins as Fizz takes a spoonful and stretches up to hold it in front of his face. “I can feed myself, baby,” he teases, but he takes the spoonful anyway. His eyes light up as he does, looking down with surprise at Fizz. “You guys really made this? It’s delicious!”

The jester beams with pride, scooping up another spoonful and stretching it up to Oz who takes it eagerly. “It’s a recreation of one of Blitzø’s mom’s recipes. We used to have it all the time when we were little. It’s fucking awesome, right?”

Ozzie hums in agreement, lips closing around another spoonful. They empty the bowl like this, Fizz feeding him until nothing remains. Ozzie peers down at the bowl, frowning when he realizes it’s empty. “Is there more?”

Fizz grins. “Still got over half a pot. Wanna get cozy on the couch and I’ll bring you some more? We can watch trash TV and let the quieves join and do a cuddle pile?”

“Please,” Ozzie smiles happily, sliding out of bed once Fizz has stepped off of him. “Thanks for all this, Fizzy.”

“Of course, babe!” The imp replies with a grin, stretching his legs up so he can nuzzle Oz’s forehead before they head to the living room. “Anything for you.”