#Striker x original Character

[drades-lair]

Fixing Fizz

It wasn’t lost on Calus how often he was finding himself at Asmodeus’s palace, the prince of Lust calling on the Dracony more and more for things he needed handled. Tonight, the tone Asmodeus gave off said he had a bigger mission for Calus to take on which left the Dracony in an uneasy state namely because he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“Calus~ nice to see you as usual,” Asmodeus chimed, emerging through the double ornate doors of his office.

“Always a pleasure,” Calus greeted in turn, walking past Asmodeus into his office.

“I know I’ve been asking a lot lately…I appreciate you indulging me,” Asmodeus stated, closing the office doors so as they’d not be interrupted.

“Not a problem, you’ve been paying me so it’s not like I’m not getting my worth,” Calus retorted with a chuckle, shrugging off his duster that he hung over the back of a high back chair before settling in it.

“Nonetheless…anyways, as you might have guessed I have something to ask of you once again,” Asmodeus chatted as he moved to the high back chair across from the one Calus sat down in, the flames of the fireplace flitting across the room.  

“I assumed so, yes,” Calus huffed a laugh in turn as Asmodeus sat across from the Dracony.

“I’m not going to waste your time so let me just get right into it, you have healing abilities…could you…say, regrow a limb using them?” Asmodeus inquired appearing a little hesitant in his inquiries.

“Um…well, short answer would be yes…however, it’s not as simple as that. I regrew a hand on someone once, but it took a lot out of me to do it,” Calus responded, arching a brow in suspicious curiosity.

“Alright, here’s the deal, mine and Fizz’s anniversary is coming up…I was hoping to do something unique…personal for him this year,” Asmodeus began to explain.

“And…where do I come in?” Calus wondered, turning his arched brow into a furrow.

“I was hoping that your abilities would allow you to regrow Fizz’s limbs,” Asmodeus bluntly stated, taking Calus off guard.

“Oh…wow…um…okay, that’s an entirely different ball of wax. Where to begin? First, I’ve not regrown entire limbs before using my abilities and even the hand I spoke about had leftover bone to work with not just gone. Second, the amount of time it’ll take to accomplish something like that would be…a year maybe more because I’d have to do segments… if at all,” Calus began to explain, tone slightly exasperated at the very thought.

“Time isn’t an issue, I’m sure Fizz would be fine with any amount of time it would take,” Asmodeus assured Calus.

“It’s not just time Asmodeus…in between segments Fizz will be in immense pain, I’m not just growing flesh and bone…it’s tendons and nerves and once again that’s if I can muster the strength to do it,” Calus continued to explain.

“I see…there’s no way you can do it in one session?” Asmodeus asked, face dropping at the realization.

“I don’t think so…I can do a lot with my abilities but…I can only do so much,” Calus reiterated, a look of sympathy crossing his features.

"I understand...and you're certain Fizzy would suffer intense pain?" Asmodeus checked.

"Yes, no matter what is given for the pain Fizz would still suffer some form of pain, I morally don't want to put him through that," Calus finished.

"Alright, Alright, I get it. Guess I'll go to plan B for a gift. Thank you for indulging me, Calus, and I'm sorry for wasting your time," Asmodeus relented, offering an understanding smile.

"Not a problem, sorry I couldn't help," Calus retorted as they both stood up, Calus grabbing his duster from the chair before heading towards the door with Asmodeus.

The two bid a thoughtful fair well then Calus left, little did he know this wasn't over. Later that evening Fizz returned to the palace to find Asmodeus had set up a romantic evening of wining and dinning. All in all, the evening was amazing as usual however upon returning to the bedroom Fizzarolli remembered he forgot to drop off a manifest from his recent outing to Ozzie's office. Slipping into the office on the way to the bedroom Fizz went straight to the desk where he placed the manifest on the large desks surface resulting in him accidently shuffling some papers around revealing a contract he'd not seen before, pulling the contract out Fizz read through it, eyes growing wide in shock at its contents. Written on the paper was an agreement that Asmodeus would pay a large sum of money along with supply goods to Calus should he agree and accomplish the task of regrowing Fizz's missing limbs. Fizz's heart pounded with disbelieving excitement, was there really a chance to get his arms and legs back? Continuing down the contract Fizz eventually reached the bottom where his heart dropped upon seeing that under Asmodeus's signature it said request refused. Why would Calus refuse? Fizzarolli wondered in his mind after all the Dracony always seemed like a good guy. Glancing around Fizz placed the contract on Asmodeus's desk but located the original on his computer and printed a copy that Fizz then folded to place in his pocket before continuing to the master bedroom where Ozzie was waiting for him.

…

Striker yawned in the process of making his way into the kitchen of the penthouse, stretching over his head. Grabbing a mug from the cupboard he started making a coffee just as Calus strode into the kitchen, coming up behind the imp to place his hands on his hips. Striker threw a sleepy smile over his shoulder at the Dracony before they shared a gentle kiss.

"Sleep well?" Calus inquired, grabbing his own mug.

"Yeah, for the most part," Striker responded.

"Glad to hear it, hmm?" Calus began to respond when the doorbell sounded causing him to glance towards the front door.

"Expectin' someone?" Striker wondered following Calus' gaze.

"No, I'll be back," Calus stated heading towards the front door.

Calus moved to the small white box on the wall next to the door, pressing the button to respond to the bell.

"Hello?" Calus asked into the speaker of the box.

"Um...hi, it's Fizzarolli, may I come up?" Fizz's voice asked over the call box.

"Oh, hello Fizzarolli. Yes, of course you can come up, one moment," Calus assured the imp. Pressing another button, waiting until the elevator light on the white box turned green indicating it would allow Fizz to come up to the penthouse suite. Sure enough after a few minutes there was a knock at the door prompting Calus to answer it.

"Hi Calus, sorry to interrupt your morning like this," Fizz stated as Calus opened the door.

"It's no problem, come on in," Calus acknowledged guiding Fizz inside before shutting the door behind him.

"Thanks, oh! Hi Striker," Fizz waved with a slight blush on his face upon noticing the pale imp standing partially naked in the kitchen making coffee.

"Hey Ya clown," Striker acknowledged, stirring his coffee.

"Um, I was hoping to talk to you about something Calus...alone," Fizz stated turning his attention to Calus who was working his way back into the kitchen.

"Alright...we can go to my office in a minute, would you like a coffee?" Calus offered.

"Sure," Fizz accepted.

Once Calus got them both a coffee, he showed Fizz to his office which was across from the staircase leading up to the pool behind the living area. After they were inside with the door closed Calus sat behind his dark wooden desk while Fizz took a seat in a high back chair on the opposite side. Calus casually sat back with a small huff as Fizz nervously toyed with the coffee in his hands.

"So... what’s this about?" Calus inquired casually taking a sip of his coffee.

"Well...it's about this," Fizz nervously stated, setting his coffee on the desk before pulling the contract from his pocket, unfolding it to place on the desk in front of Calus. Arching a brow curiously Calus set his mug down to pick up the paper, giving it a once over causing his brow to slowly furrow.

"Asmodeus showed you this?" Calus questioned, peering over the top of the paper.

"N-No, I found it last night while I was placing something else on his desk," Fizz explained. Calus pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh before placing the contract on his desk again.

"Look Fizz, I know how it sounds but as I discussed with Asmodeus, I'm not morally comfortable performing the procedure on you and that's if I even have the capability of doing it in the first place," Calus briefly explained.

"What do you mean?" Fizz wondered furrowing his brow.

"Fizz, my healing abilities are powerful but performing something as intricate and lengthy as regrowing a limb will take a lot of energy...I'm not certain I have that sort of power in me and even if I did the amount of pain, it would cause you upon waking from the procedure would be...beyond excruciating," Calus explained further.

"Oh please, I was blown up for fucks sake, I'm sure I can handle any amount of pain and how do you know you can't? Have you ever tried?" Fizz shot back waving a dismissive hand at Calus' concern.

"I did regrow a hand once but Fizz we're talking about an entire limb with nothing to start with! I will need to extend the bone from your shoulder to rebuild and that's only after the robotic mechanisms were removed," Calus continued to explain.

"Then you can do it!" Fizz exclaimed seemingly ignoring everything Calus just said.

"Fizz, did you hear anything I just said?" Calus asked.

"I did! I don't care how much pain it causes me or how long it takes, I want you to do this for me! Please!" Fizz insisted slamming a fist on Calus' desk.

"Fizzarolli! For the last time, I won't put you or myself through that," Calus shot back getting an edge to his tone as he sat forwards. For a long moment, they simply stared at one another till eventually Fizz let out a deep sigh, gaze averting to the side.

"I didn't want to do this...but you leave me no choice. I need this...it's the one chance I have to get something back. If you don't agree to do this Calus...I'll expose Striker," Fizz stated, tone deepening to a threatening level.

"What did you just say?" Calus practically snarled, standing up to place both palms on the desk as he slightly leaned Fizz's way.

"You heard me, you have the protection of being royal blooded, but Striker is a wanted fugitive with a lot of enemies...and I have contacts, connections to expose him with," Fizz explained holding his ground as he met Calus’ gaze.

"Threats, blackmail...seriously Fizzarolli?" Calus retorted in a slightly disbelieving tone.

"If that's what it takes...I need this...now sign the contract," Fizz insisted pushing the contract towards Calus who stared for a moment at it. Eventually releasing a breath Calus reluctantly relented, opening a drawer to pull out a pen that he promptly used to sign the contract. Fizz's body relaxed as his face lit up in excitement, the two working out details on when, where, and how this was going to happen afterwards despite Calus’ continued displeasure towards the whole thing.

Calus called Asmodeus to inform the sin he'd changed his mind as well as tell him the procedure would take place in the king of lust’s palace infirmary one week from that day. Asmodeus was thrilled to hear it stating he'd tell Fizz when he returned as he was unaware Fizz was sitting with Calus at that very moment. Calus informed both Fizz and Asmodeus that he'd get Stolas to assist as the prince had a way with politics and herbal remedies for pain. Once everything was settled Fizz left Calus' penthouse. Calus released an exhausted sigh as he sat down next to Striker who eyed his mate suspiciously. Calus gave Striker a false reassuring smile that apparently worked because the imp returned to watching TV, leaving Calus to worry silently about what was to come…this whole thing wasn't going to end well.

…

One-week later Calus made his way to Asmodeus’ palace, moving straight to the basement where the infirmary was located. Fizz sat waiting on the treatment table clad in a pair of black shorts to keep his torso naked, the plan was to do his left arm this time thus Asmodeus was preparing to remove the mechanical attachments he’d originally installed once Fizz was put under then Calus would come in immediately afterwards to start regrowing the limb. Stolas was also present, busily preparing his various potions although he looked uncertain, Calus hang his duster up on a coat rack near the door, a pensive expression upon his features.

“Now, you’re certain you want this Fizzy Frog? I-I don’t like the idea of you being in pain,” Asmodeus asked, tone thick with concern.

“Yes, Ozz, I want this…I need this…I lost so much in that fire…” Fizz assured Asmodeus, hanging his head towards the end as he stared at his mechanical hand.

“Alright, as long as you’re prepared,” Asmodeus stated, continuing to get things prepared.

“Calus, might I have a word?” Stolas inquired walking up to the Dracony while Asmodeus was distracted by Fizz.  

“Sure,” Calus agreed, walking with Stolas out of the infirmary to the hallway.

“Calus, are you certain about this?” Stolas asked once they were alone in the hallway, expression one of concern.  

“Yes, we’ll get this over with hopefully in two sessions,” Calus flatly stated, attempting to hide his uncertainties behind his usual confident stoic nature.  

“Hmm, shouldn’t you take at least a day in between to rest?” Stolas wondered, his look of concern knitting its way deeper onto his features.

“I’ll be fine,” Calus once again flatly stated, grabbing the door handle to return into the infirmary.

“Are we ready to begin?” Asmodeus asked once Calus returned.

“Yeah, let’s get this going,” Calus confirmed with Stolas following behind him.  

Stolas grabbed a bottle that he handed to Fizz with the instruction to drink the whole thing which he did with a gagging noise. Taking back the bottle Stolas gestured for Fizz to lay down on the treatment table which again he obeyed, there was already an IV hooked up to Fizz’s collar bone along with monitors that gave off steady beeping noises. Stolas injected a substance into the IV line that moments later resulted in Fizz falling asleep promptly allowing Asmodeus to start his portion of the procedure while Calus waited in the wings, grimacing at this entire concept, however if it meant protecting Striker then so be it. They’d started early in the morning however by the time Calus was able to step in for his part it was early afternoon, at first Calus easily rebuilt Fizz’s limb but, as he neared Fizz’s elbow area which was the finishing spot for the day he was beginning to struggle. Finishing the procedure in the late evening, Calus pulled his hands from Fizz’s arm after making certain to seal the end, panting slightly with sweat trickling down his temples and his legs shook slightly causing him to hold onto the table for a moment before managing the strength to head for the infirmary doors.

“Calus? Are you alright?” Stolas asked after the Dracony as Asmodeus moved to bandage Fizz’s new limb.

“I’m fine…I just need to rest before tomorrow’s session,” Calus responded, putting on a façade of confidence, managing a small reassuring smile over his shoulder before leaving the infirmary.

“Hmm,” Stolas could tell something was up with Calus however if the Dracony wasn’t willing to tell him then there was nothing he could do for him other then what he was brought to Asmodeus’ palace to do. Turning around he moved to assist Asmodeus with Fizz’s aftercare.

…

The instant Calus was in his guest room he plopped onto the bed and passed out; his energy had been drained significantly as he’d predicted. Ideally Stolas was correct, Calus should take a day or two between sessions to recover unfortunately knowing the pain that the procedure was going to cause to Fizz… he had no choice but to do them back-to-back. The next morning Calus drug himself into the infirmary where Fizz was waiting although he looked absolutely wrecked, wreathing in pain on the table as Asmodeus tried to tend him with concern on his face.

“Rough night?” Calus inquired.

“Yes, the potions didn’t work really well,” Stolas informed Calus.

“As I figured…the quicker we get this finished the quicker he’ll find ease,” Calus stated, wearily moving towards the treatment table.

With that statement Stolas proceeded to put Fizz back asleep promptly allowing the Dracony to immediately start the second session however all too quickly it became clear that ten hours of rest wasn’t enough to recharge Calus’ strength even remotely. Calus’ vision began to blur causing him to shake his head in hopes of clearing it away, his hands began to shake as well till eventually the bluish glow faded from under his hands and he swayed before grabbing the tables edge to stabilize himself. Stolas immediately ran to Calus’ side, placing a hand on the Dracony’s shoulder as Calus brought a hand over half his face, panting heavily while a trickle of blood trailed from his nose.

“Calus!? Are you alright?” Stolas asked in alarm.

“I…I can’t finish it…not today…I…I need to sit down…” Calus stammered, staggering away from the treatment table.

“Asmodeus, stitch up Fizzarolli’s wound while I take care of Calus,” Stolas instructed earning him a nod of understanding from Asmodeus.

Calus made it a mere two steps from the treatment table before his leg’s gave way sending him towards the ground. Stolas cursed under his breath as Calus hit the floor unconscious, he was barely breathing, pulse weak, Calus had pushed himself beyond his limits which could spell death for the Dracony. Stolas worked to stabilize Calus as much as possible on the floor till Asmodeus was able to help him move the Dracony to one of the recovery beds across the room, stripping him of his shirt to allow for easier treatment…what little they could provide. Calus was beyond exhausted having pushed himself past his limits which for a Dracony was dangerous considering their magic came from their soul unlike others like Stolas or Asmodeus who pull from the environment of hell itself as well as their individual specializations. Short of giving Calus some life support there was little that could be done all Stolas could hope for was that Calus could rest and regain his strength. Sighing heavily Stolas took out his phone in preparation to call Striker to inform him of what happened unaware the imp wasn’t informed of everything regarding the situation. Striker was understandably upset declaring he was on the way immediately leaving Stolas nothing further to do except help Asmodeus tend to Fizz while they wait.

…

A couple hours later Striker arrived at Asmodeus’s palace, fuming as he stormed to the infirmary promptly flinging the doors open upon arriving.

“Where the fuck is he!?” Striker exclaimed causing Stolas and Asmodeus to jerk towards the infirmary doors.

“Take it easy Striker,” Stolas gently tried to calm the imp, moving closer to him with his hands raised in a submissive manner.

“Take it easy my fuckin’ ass! What happened?” Striker barked.

“Calus overexerted himself and collapsed…he’s over there,” Stolas explained, gesturing towards the left side of the room where a series of recovery beds were lined up against the wall with partitions separating them and one that wrapped around the entire bed. Through the partitions thin cloth Striker could make out a figure on the bed.

Striker’s expression immediately shifted to concern as he rushed towards the bed in question, moving around the partition where he stopped short upon seeing Calus. Striker tried to draw breath into his lungs, but they refused to accept the gesture, his mate lay on the stark white bed with a mask over his face providing oxygen, an IV line in one arm and a series of monitors that set Striker’s anxiety a blaze.

“Is he gonna be alright?” Striker asked in a quiet tone, a hand reaching out to gently lay on Calus’s shoulder.

“Depends…when Dracony use their abilities it’s not like traditional magic, it comes directly from their souls. All we can do is wait to see if his soul can recover from such a severe drain,” Stolas explained with a look of sympathy upon his features.

“Why would he do this? Surely Calus knew,” Striker questioned, brow furrowing as he looked over Calus.

“I’m not certain, something seemed…off, before we started the procedure,” Stolas admitted.

“So, where’s the clown?” Striker wondered noticing Fizz was no where in the room.

“He was taken to their private quarters so Asmodeus could easily help him through recovery while I remained to take care of Calus,” Stolas explained.

“Humph, Ya mean so I didn’t rip him a new one,” Striker corrected with a small snarl.

“That was a secondary reason,” Stolas admitted with a little chuckle.

…

Meanwhile up in the private master suite Fizz started to come around only to be surprised at having no hand yet, the pain was still intense however it seemed to have eased up a bit now that he had more of his arm back. Asmodeus comforted the imp as he managed to sit up with a pained groan.  

“Why…why don’t I have a hand yet?” Fizz wondered.

“There was…complications, Fizz, Calus collapsed and is now unconscious in the infirmary,” Asmodeus informed the imp who suddenly grew quiet with a shocked look on his features. Fizz recalled in that moment what Calus had tried to tell him about potentially not having the ability to complete the procedures.

“Is…he, okay?” Fizz wondered, hanging his head slightly upon realizing this was more then likely his fault.

“We’re not certain, he’s not doing well at the moment,” Asmodeus answered causing Fizz’s expression to drop even further as he realized his tunnel vision might have gotten Calus seriously hurt.

“Shit, Ozzie…I have to tell you something,” Fizz stated, tone hesitant.

“Hmm? What is it Fizzy Frog?” Asmodeus asked in turn, arching a brow in confusion.

Fizzarolli went about explaining everything that took place between the imp and Calus over a week ago including how he blackmailed Calus with Striker. Asmodeus listen tentatively to Fizz’s story, eyes growing wide with realization and shock.

“Fizz…why would you...?” Asmodeus stammered for a moment once the imp went silent.

“Because Oz…I lost so much in that fire…this was my one chance to get just a little of it back, but I didn’t listen to Calus, I got too hyper focused on my own selfish reasons,” Fizz continued, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he gave a small sniffle.  

“Okay, okay, do you still have the contract?” Asmodeus inquired.

“Yeah, it’s in my safe,” Fizz stated pointing to his little safe under his vanity across the master bedroom.

Asmodeus went to the safe, punching in the code to open it allowing the sin to retrieve the contract which he quickly looked over before releasing a relieved sigh.

“You never got my physical signature on this,” Asmodeus pointed out.

“No, I thought the digital one was enough,” Fizz retorted with a confused furrow of his brow.

“No Fizzy, my digital signature can stand in temporarily, but I must physically sign for a contract to be binding. This is a good thing though as it means Calus is under no obligation,” Asmodeus explained.

“That’s good…I mean it, but…do you think he’d be able to eventually finish just this arm?” Fizz wondered looking honestly relieved to hear he’d not locked Calus into this.

“I’m…not sure…first he needs to recover,” Asmodeus reminded Fizz, who gave a small understanding nod.

“In the meantime, you’ll stay in here, Striker is in the infirmary with Calus and from what I understand he is…unimpressed to say the least,” Asmodeus informed Fizz causing the imp to swallow hard.

…

One week after everything went to shit Striker sat on the medical bed beside the one Calus was laying on, flipping through his phone with one eye continuously on Calus. The sound of the double ornate doors to the infirmary opening catching his attention momentarily, revealing Fizz entering through them with a sorrowful look upon his features. Striker had one leg crooked upwards that he draped the arm that was holding his phone over, scowling at the clown imp as he approached even starting to subtly rattle his tail the closer Fizz got. Fizz swallowed around the lump in his throat, despite Striker not having his signature hat nor jacket on he still somehow looked intimidating, glowing yellow eyes narrowing towards the other imp.  

“How is Calus?” Fizz hesitantly asked stopping at the foot of Calus’ bed.

“Humph, still unconscious and weak,” Striker retorted, glancing over at his mate briefly before returning his disgruntled gaze to Fizz.  

“I- I came to apologize, I’m so sorry for what happened to Calus…this is all my fault,” Fizz apologized, hanging his head, averting his gaze from Striker’s intense one.

“I appreciate the apology but, as much as I’d like ta blame Ya for all this… in the end Calus agreed ta do it,” Striker stated with a growl that faded into a small sigh.

“You don’t understand…it IS all my fault, you see I…” Fizz began explaining what he’d done to Striker whose tail began to rattle ferociously as he clenched his claws and clenched his teeth in anger.

“Ya did what!?” Striker exclaimed, snarling in anger as he stood from where he was sitting with hands clenching into fists.

“Like I said I’m really, really sorry…I don’t expect you to forgive me or anything…AH!” Fizz exclaimed as he hit the ground, Striker looming over top of him with a death grip on the other imp’s arms.

“You little attention whore! How fuckin’ dare Ya!?” Striker growled out, grip getting tighter causing Fizz to whimper.

“I-I’m sorry…” Fizz apologized again, looking away.

“S-Striker…” Calus’ quiet tone drew both imp’s attention instantly however it caused Striker’s demeanour to change as if someone flipped a switch. 

“Calus!?” Striker exclaimed, abandoning Fizz on the floor to immediately run to Calus’ side, one hand landing on the Dracony’s shoulder. Calus shifted his head to the side to look at Striker with a small acknowledging smile on his face.

“H-how long have I been out?” Calus wondered, clearing his throat a bit.  

“Over a week, try ta rest,” Striker encouraged, tone gentle.

“A week…shit…” Calus breathed out, seeming to struggle with each word.

“It’s fine, I’m just glad Yer awake,” Striker stated returning the smile till that is Fizz managed to stand back up, entering Calus’ line of sight.  

“Fizz…?” Calus questioned moments before Striker snarled.

“Get out!” Striker exclaimed in a low possessive growl.

Fizz took the warning to heart, backing up slowly till he could leave the infirmary while Striker continued to hiss with his tail rattling when a gentle hand cupped his cheek. Striker jerked slightly in surprise, looking down at Calus and instantly settling as his expression softened.

“Hush Striker…what did I miss?” Calus encouraged.

“Fizz told me everythin’…what he made Ya do...,” Striker briefly explained, tone growing more aggravated by the second.

“Hmm…he did, did he…then you know I’m bound by contract to full fill the procedure…I just…don’t know when I’ll be able to try again,” Calus admitted, rubbing Striker’s cheek with his thumb.

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about that right now…just…get better…” Striker insisted, placing his hand over Calus’, brow furrowing upwards in a combination of relief and concern.

Calus continued to nap on and off for the rest of the day, waking from one just as Asmodeus was walking into the infirmary with Stolas.

“Good to see you’re awake Calus,” Stolas stated walking over to the Dracony’s bedside while Striker kept an eye on them from the other bed, his possessive protective nature running in overdrive by this point.

“Hmm, I’m sorry I couldn’t finish the procedure Oz…once I’m able too I’ll finish it,” Calus stated with a groan as he attempted to sit up.  

“Nah, Calus! Don’t!” Striker exclaimed, beginning to move off the bed only to stop when Asmodeus beat him to it.

“Relax…there’s no need, if you feel capable and wish too then you can however the contract is nonbinding,” Asmodeus assured Calus resulting in a stunned expression to cross the Dracony’s face as the Lustful sin gently laid a hand on his shoulder to encourage him to remain laying down.  

“What do you mean? I signed a contract agreeing to do this…” Calus reiterated, furrowing his brow in confusion.  

“The contract wasn’t properly signed by me thus you have no obligation,” Asmodeus reassured the Dracony.

“Really? Well, that’s good…what about Striker? I’m going to take it Fizz told you everything,” Calus inquired, concern seeping its way into his tone.  

“No harm will come to either of you and yes, me and Fizzy had a long conversation about all this…for what it’s worth I’m sorry this happened,” Asmodeus offered, glancing over at Striker momentarily.

“That’s good, I appreciate the…apology,” Calus stated, voice growing weary as he laid back allowing Stolas to check a few things.

“Alright, you should get some more rest I’ll return later to check again on you,” Stolas stated with a nod which Calus returned.

Calus didn’t fight Stolas on the suggestion simply allowing himself to fall back asleep, mind too exhausted to stay awake any longer. Fizz opted to avoid the infirmary or more accurately avoided Striker for the rest of the time he was in the palace waiting for Calus to recuperate, a three-week process that barely saw the Dracony back on his feet. The duo managed to leave the palace unfortunately Calus couldn’t return to work for a further two weeks when he started feeling remotely like himself again. Much to Striker’s displeasure after six long months of recovering Calus did return to Asmodeus’ palace to complete the regrowth of Fizz’s left limb, afterwards making it perfectly clear he’d be unable to do any more. Fizz was grateful to have at least one of his arms back assuring Calus he’d not be calling on him to do anything further much to everyone’s relief.   

[hlkproductions]

while i'm terribly shy about showing ocs i make for things i've got a love-hate relationship with, i can't help but feel too many positive emotions whenever i draw alastor interacting with things that crank up other aspects of him left unexplored. sheba's one such thing, whose design is so.... -grabby hands- yknow? fun. so im biting the bullet and showing her off. she and another character, Glory, have been in my back pocket since april/may.

anyway, the rundown i have for sheba is she is in alastor's employ alongside husker and niffty. lent out to the hotel as a bellhop / lobby boy, her history with the radio demon lies in a contract made while she was still alive. her servitude and loyalty is exchanged for protection from the things and people she died to free herself of, with a little added "bonus" of accessing a thimble's worth of alastor's power when she's, as he puts it, shut out her weaknesses.

once a sacrificial lamb of a cult she carries a lot of wounds when it comes to trusting others or opening up to the concept of friendship and family. thanks to handing over one of her teeth for that bit of power, sheba cannot use profanities and has to be creative with her curse words.

[river-mort]

Finally created my art goetia Gremory - daughter of Vepar, who is mermaid, and Paimon, one of his form which looks like a goddamn flying eye. She study, seek and guarde ancient treasures but her main ability a future vision - ability noone in hell has, both blessing and curse. A limited, painful skill that also made her one of weakest demons because her other magic abilities are pretty weak.She became a constant target of kidnapping, and because of that she lives in isolated castle pretty far from everyone, only most powerful demons know about her existence. Even Stolas didnt know about her for a long time

I still should work on colors i think, but thats all i came with for few days of stressful tryings

[theclowntoon]

more of these losers ‼️‼️ HAPPY HOLIDAYS FOLKS!!! ft my friend @litwiknart’s oc neff!

[theazureangel]

Problematic Trio

[munchqin]

Sometimes we dont get what we want🌹

Here you have another helluva design :D

I will upload some of her lore later if you all will want me to

but lets do not rush

I will only spoil that its CRAZY

[pirateandie]

I FORGOT I HAD TUMBLR. Um.. Ive been into helluva boss recently so heres my OC Bandit :3 (shipped with Striker bc um.. FUCK YEAH GAY PPL)

ok thank you byebye

ill post OP again soon

[trashartgalleries]

My experience with Mario Strikers since I got it 2 days ago...

My and my lil bro crack jokes whenever I play... and I tend to rage when I see the A.I. pull some bullshit 🤣

[vincent-marie]

"Small Sanctuary"

6/7 of my illustrations for my fic "A Fine Line." If "Keep Dancin', Darlin'" was the first one I started working on, this was the second one.

Special Shoutout to wanderingquill for joining my After Hours tier on my Patreon.❤️ Thank you so much for your support.

Support artists for free by sharing & reblogging, but NOT reposting.

[runnerguitar]

❣️Show Me How You Feel❣️

The first of the Valentine's day Commissions! For an anonymous client! Featuring their OC getting a smooch by Asher from Omega Strikers ! Lucky Guy!

[drades-lair]

Milking

Fandom: HelluvaBoss

Pairing: Striker/Original male character

Rating: M

Note: This was inspired by the post by Twiggietime on twitter https://twitter.com/Twiggietime/status/1717403420758274216

"Why are we here?" Striker groused, halting Bombproof along side Calus and Aurora.

"I told you, we're here to do some chores," Calus chuckled, dismounting Aurora.

"I know that I meant why are we doin' farm chores?" Striker corrected, dismounting Bombproof as well.

"Because this is what we were hired to do, you know I do a little of everything," Calus explained, guiding Aurora to a pasture where they were told to put their hell steeds.

"Fine, what are we doin'?" Striker asked with a conceded eyeroll.

"Fence mending, feeding, hell steed brushing, finally we gotta clean up the barn," Calus revealed.

"Guess I'll take the steeds while Ya do the fences then we can feed the animals before cleanin' the barn together," Striker suggested.

Calus agreed allowing them to get started, everything going smoothly as both lost clothing along the way leaving the duo shirtless as they cleaned the barn. Cleaning the one corner Striker's rake hit a small metal bottle he recognized as a milking machine.

"They have hell cows at one point?" Striker inquired with a chuckle as he lightly kicked the bottle like machine.

"Yeah, they had a couple a little while ago," Calus confirmed, turning to look at what Striker was referring to.

Continuing their work, the barn started getting hot in more ways than one as the duo started checking one another out. Once they were mostly finished Calus checked the time on his phone revealing they were a couple hours ahead of schedule. Smirking the Dracony crept up behind Striker, playfully grabbing the imp from behind, securing his arms behind his back. Striker yelped in surprise at first then chuckled while playfully struggling against Calus' grip. Guiding Striker to a bale of hay Calus pressed Striker to his knees then bent him over it, stealing the rope on Striker's belt to secure the imp's hands behind his back. Striker chuckled into a moan as the Dracony's mouth nipped along his shoulder blades to his neck, tongue lathing at the mating mark in his nape. Calus reached a hand underneath Striker to undo the imp's jeans allowing him to pull them down to his mid thighs, massaging gingerly at his firm ass while continuing to mouth down the centre of Striker's back. Striker hummed in approval, back arching up against Calus like a cat while his tail wrapped around the Dracony's waist.

Calus rubbed his hand along Striker's cheeks, slipping between his legs to gingerly squeeze at the imp's hanging balls. Striker's breathing started to pick up, moans flowing freely as Calus worked him up little by little however just as he was feeling that tension in his lower abdomen grow Calus stopped having gotten an idea. Striker turned his head to see what Calus was doing only to become further confused by the Dracony grabbing the milking machine from earlier.

"What Ya think Ya doin'?" Striker inquired with a hint of nervousness in his tone.

"Relax, I've got an idea," Calus smirked placing the machine by Striker's hip. Striker shuddered a little as Calus grabbed the base of his cock then he watched as Calus grabbed the cup on the end of the hose leading to the milking machine.

"Calus? What the fuck...are Ya...yikes!" Striker yelped mid sentence as Calus slid the cup over Striker's cock, impressed it fit over the imp's spines.

"I said relax, I've seen this done before," Calus assured his mate right before turning on the milking machine. Striker gave a yelping groan as the machine started to suck at his cock in an alternating fashion, thighs quivering.

“That feel good, Babe?” Calus asked, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Striker’s entrance as he took a knee beside his trembling mate.

“Oh fuck! Y-Yes…Ugh!” Striker panted out, tail rattling intensely.

“Sshh…breath babe…breath, that’s it…” Calus calmly whispered, rimming Striker’s hole slowly as the imp’s hips started rocking.

Striker bit down on his bottom lip with a series of whimpering moans when his orgasm was wrenched from his body causing him to release a high-pitched whine. Calus switched off the milking machine but had to leave the cup on Striker till the imp’s spines relaxed, releasing his mate’s arms in the meanwhile to allow him to get more comfortable. Once the cup was removed Striker pulled his pants back up only to turn around to see Calus resting on another bale of hay, pants open with his hard cock out. Striker took the hint, crawling over to settle between Calus’ thighs, hands resting on them as he sized the Dracony’s cock up. A moment later Striker wrapped a hand around the base of Calus’ cock giving it a firm stroke upwards, twisting his wrist near the head before smoothing back down his shaft eliciting a throaty, humming moan from the Dracony who leaned back on his hands to allow Striker to just do what he wanted too. Striker licked a strip up the underside of Calus’ cock to the head where he slid his mouth over it, the imp had a sensitive gag reflex which prevented him from giving a full blow job, but he could still give partial ones. Striker massaged Calus’ shaft near the base till his knot popped free allowing him to knead the Dracony’s balls while sucking the head of his cock, drawing out soft moans from his mate who looked down at the imp through hooded eyes.

“Fu-ck…Striker…I’m…close…” Calus warned, breath hitching between words.

Striker pulled off the head of Calus’ cock to start rapidly stroking his shaft while wrapping his tail around the base just above Calus’ knot, rattling steadily causing Calus to groan loudly. Moments later Calus came, spurts of cum splashing up onto his stomach only to ooze down over Striker’s hand as well as his tail, continuing to knead the Dracony’s knot to encourage it to release the rest of Calus’ load over the next few minutes. Once the duo were finished cleaning up they finished their job in the barn, put their shirts, jackets and hats back on, got paid then took off for home where perhaps a milking machine might be on the purchase list in the foreseeable future.     

[mr-tsuyo]

ARKE STRIKES BACK

Learned how to do the Mario strikers style thanks to this video, It's easier  to do than you expect!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4gB9X4YMg4

[theclowntoon]

MY HELLUVA OC MISSSYYY ART DUMPPPPP🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

^ art in top left by @litwiknart

i luv my oc missy sm

[asocialangel]

alphabet boy

NSFW alphabet for my time skip, pro striker Isagi !!

For some reason the more i wrote the more detailed i got haha, hope you like it, i reinterpreted some tropes cause i can, credits to the original owner for the template. You can ask in the comments or ask-box for other characters or other animes if u want ! 

Nice reading, you simp ;)

afab!reader / fem!reader x isagi. Smut, pretty vanilla tho

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Isagi is not the type to go straight for a shower after finishing. He will lay first, still breathless, hugging you tight. He’ll throw corny sentences around like “yeah, that was good” because he truly loved it and wants to thank you. When you get up to get cleaned up, he'll follow you and wash up too and he’ll tidy up the bed. When everything is settled he makes sure you fall asleep to his sweet words while he cuddles you. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner���s)

His favorite thing about you is your thighs. He adores how soft they are. It took him a while to admit it, but his biggest dream was to fall asleep head resting there. Now, he always gifts you short shorts or tight socks to highlight your beautiful thighs. 

About himself, he’s pretty confident in his arms. He knows you love them, how muscular they are, the way his veins kinda pop out when he crosses them. Therefore he puts on thigh shirts and works ‘em out with extra attention so they look perfect.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Isagi loves cumming on you. He was so happy when you told him you were on birth control. Because after getting both checked for STDs, that meant you could do it raw. He loves feeling his cum go inside you, inside your pussy or inside your mouth. He prefers it even more when he gets to paint you white. He loves cumming on your belly, your thighs and your beautiful face. He hates it when you put his perfect cum to waste when you spit instead of swallowing. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Once, you forgot panties at his place. And instead of, idk, smelling them, sending you a teasing picture, or even getting off to them, like a normal boyfriend would, HE TRIED THEM ON. I am not sure what went thru his mind but obviously, he broke some seams and just threw them away and never mentioned them again. That day he concluded he will never be into cross-dressing.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He learnt most of it with you. Before you started seeing each other, he had had a few one night stands -not surprising for a famous football player- but he hadn't really learnt the beauty of the arts. Let's say it was trial and error. With your experience and your feedback, he keeps getting better. Still has a margin for improvement tho ;).

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

It’s rather basic, but he loves to be on top. More precisely, he loves to pin you down while your legs are on his shoulders, you're practically folded in half while he goes at it. He loves seeing you rock back and forth to his movements, and towering you gives him a good view of your beautiful face. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious at the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Depending on his mood, he can be the sun and the moon. It’s 50/50, really. Sometimes he is pretty serious and intense, and sometimes he will crack jokes and laugh and have fun ! He knows how to read the room and goes for the mood you are in. You love getting such different sides of him, cause his concentrated vibe is just as good as when he wants to make you laugh. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Isagi will keep it simple. He trims his hair down there because he prefers it that way and finds it more sanitary. As for the rest of his body, he doesn't have a lot of hair. He prefers to have his armpits shaved. And he doesn't expect anything precise of you, just your own choices and preferences.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be really romantic. Again, he’s gonna analyze the mood you want with his meta-eyes 😜 that was so corny i’m sorry. 😻 Back to business. 😹 He knows you love being praised as much as being degraded, so when he feels like it and when you feel like it, he will be really romantic, really sweet and reassuring. Thanks to him, you got to experience the iconic rose petals in the bathtub with candles moment. Even when he’s rough, he always loves to end it on a caring note. So imo, it’s 50/50, again. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He used to do it… a lot… while thinking of you… Look, he didn't have a girlfriend and you were everything he wanted. But now, I mean, you do it for him. Honestly, it’s not the thing that turns him on the most, you just jerking him off. He prefers when you also get pleasure. Instead, he looves to finger you, seeing you at his mercy, begging for more. He prefers it that way, so he's in control ;) 

Once, he caught you masturbating. You were so horny and he was training -as always- so you just thought “it’s gonna be quick” and did it. Well he got let off earlier and just caught you in your shared bed, going at it. “Babe ?” you were so startled and screamed, you hadn’t heard him enter. Then you guys just both started laughing really hard, and he quickly came to help you. It’s a fun memory between the two of you. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

To me, Isagi is into multiple things, but it remains pretty tame. First of all, he discovered after a certain halloween that he really liked when you were dressed up as a nurse. Even if it was a nurse covered in blood, it just tingled something in him, the tight dress, the garters on your thighs, the cutest little cap you were wearing… Yeah he definitely needed your assistance that day. So now he will sometimes, very rarely cause he is shy about it for some reason, ask you to wear it again or roleplay as a nurse. 

Other than that, he lovesss restraining your hands. He loves it because you look at him with the prettiest puppy eyes that ask him to let go. But he keeps control. You can only look at him deeper while your body moves up and down, chest taking agitated breaths. 

And obviously, Isagi is BIG into praise. He just needs you to tell him how good he is, how amazing you are feeling thanks to him. It gets him so hard and keeps him going.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

For starters, he loves the bed. Basic but comfortable. When you are finished you can just rest for a few minutes before cleaning up. And he likes that the world of sweet sleep and sultry nights get mixed up in your common bed. It’s metaphorical to him, now you both share everything. Then, he likes the kitchen counter, it feels freakier to him. It rhymes with unplanned sex, because when you end up on the kitchen counter, your legs around his back, it’s often because he grabbed your ass while you were making coffee. Something about your domestic life getting spiced up makes him really appreciate the rare but precious kitchen sex. Finally, he loves shower sex. How he can perfectly see your wet body arching. The way your wet hair gets in your face, the way you only have his hair to grip because everything else is too slippery. He is always down for some backshots in a shower, no matter where you guys are. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your positive words. No seriously he cannot get enough of your compliments and seeing you feel so good thanks to him. As for what turns him on, it’s simple: you in tight clothes. Something about being able to imagine your flesh under the fabric, seeing your underboob when you’re wearing an awfully cropped top, getting to see your ass in tight jeans… If you feel bold enough to wear his jersey and nothing else, you will have to endure his hands going over every inch of your skin. He loves seeing you in revealing clothes. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Isagi would NOT want to share you. Forget about threesomes and anything close to it. He is very selfish and it would absolutely shatter his ego to see you getting off to someone other than him. Egoist-da isagi yoichi 👹 (sorry again…). Also it turns him off when you do a baby voice, just sayin. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ooh now he is a sucker (no pun intended) for you giving him blow jobs. You do it so well, very few things come close to how he feels when you look up to him, teary-eyed, and swallow. On his end, he is more than okay with giving you head, it’s just not his favorite. It doesn't especially turn him on, but he is more than happy to make you feel great. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Again, this really depends. If he is in his romantic act, he will go slow and sensual, making sure to caress you all the while. I think he does have a little preference for rough sex. But nothing too rough, like he will never come close to hurting you or handling in a way that isn't delicate. He likes it rude with it but he will hold you like you are made of glass. He loves to rock his hips back and forth quickly, and to finger you super fast. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Isagi is always down for a quickie. No matter where you are or where you have to be, he will make time for you (and for his needs but he always blames it on you being horny and not him being so hard you could see his bulge through his clothes). If you have time, he definitely prefers to take time and not burn any steps, but he also loves the highs of a quickie. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Most of the new things you guys tried were because you brought them up. He is always down to try, but most of the time it does not procure him anything more special than what you guys were already used to. At the end of the day, he likes it simple. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has such a high sex-drive oh my days. He could go for it every single day. The thing is, when YOU are in the mood, you want to do it time and time again, but he doesn't have the facilities to handle so many rounds back-to-back. So you guys are not always on the same page. For a single round tho, he has pretty highs stamina, he can cum rather quick but over time he learnt to delay it because he really loves to cum *after* you. I would say he lasts an average amount of time. When you guys don't do it for a hot moment though, he comes embarrassingly fast. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

This man gets jealous of an inanimate object. He does NOT want you using toys when, in his own words, “you have him”. Obviously it’s not a formal prohibition but he gets really pouty when you mention vibrators and stuff. Therefore it goes without saying that he doesn't really want extra toys to come between the two of you when you are having sex. And to be fair, you really don't need them, it’s good enough as is. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

SUCH A TEASER do not play around with him, HE ALWAYS WINS. He loves to tease you about everything ! He will turn you on in public then claim it wasn't on purpose and that he can’t do anything about it as there are people around. He will also make low-key jokes about you to his friends in front of you, but the innuendos are so subtle that only you understand them. It gets you so flustered that he tells his freaking friends about it but if you react you will make it a bigger thing than it is. He also loves to touch you around, supposedly innocently, like his hands on your hips to get you out of the way, pressing your ass on the counter to reach for the coffee from behind you, you name it… He knows your sensitive spots and plays around with them, only to claim it wasn't on purpose. 

Because he turns you on then leaves you high and dry, you have to BEG him to actually release the pressure he built in. Even in bed, he loves edging you, it makes him giggle to see you struggle and he loves thinking he’s the one to control when you cum and when you don't just yet. So yeah, biggest teaser. And don’t try to tease him back as revenge, he will tease you ten times harder if that's even do-able. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Low key (emphasis on the low-key) a whiner. To be fair, he doesn't really make much noise, but on lucky days you will hear him paint like the little baby girl he is. He doesn't really grunt either, he just breathes loudly in your ear. And he talks a lott. Like he is always saying something, asking you how you feel, teasing you, adoring you. After a bit, you put it together that he really, really likes hearing you moan, his name particularly. So you are kind enough to moan more, more sexily, more in his ear, and more is name. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Isagi told Bachira when he did it for the first time with you, as he should to his bestie. Thing is he disclosed pretty personal stuff about YOU to him. So the day after, bachira greeted him, accompanied by chigiri and other teammates, a cake that read: “congratulations on finding yourself a squirter”... Yeah… He never told you about it and it’s better like this, and since then he learnt to keep storytimes succinct.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Apart from his beautiful toned muscles, nun special. His underwear is so basic, like black and dark blue hues. Since he got rich and famous, he only buys luxury brands but the truth is he is not knowledgeable at all so he keeps it simple. He doesn't know jack shit about girls underwear either, but he is a simp for you in lingerie. So he gives you allowance money for you to go buy cute and sexy and expensive nightwear. He loves cumming on it so you often have to buy some new ones. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty average honestly ! Maybe a little bit more than others, but he is not part of the ‘rabbit’ line of bllk (Aiku i’m looking at you). He can defo hold it in and would rather wait to see you again than to jerk off alone in a hotel room. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Never faster than you ! He loves to see you doze off, clinging to him, peaceful and tired. 

[signedkoko]

Signed with Love - Helluva Cast

What is this? - A valentines gift to my lovely readers! Its valentines/love letters from your favourites 🖤

Characters - Blitzo | Fizzarolli | Loona | Millie | Moxxie | Stolas | Striker | Verosika | Wally Wackford

Series Parts Hazbin Cast - Here! Overlords & Sins - Here!

Dear, Hey, Whats up

Oh what the hell, just be my valentine, we both know its about time I just fuckin ask.

I can't promise anything lavish, but what I do have is a kitchen and a comfortable couch. Maybe you can try showing me how to bake and we can eat what we make while watching some shitty romcoms.

Whatever makes you happy,

Oh come on, you know who wrote this.

Heeellloooooo!

I know you are usually the one to ask, but this year I wanted to change things up a little! Be my valentine?

While we could go somewhere crowded and wait forever for food, I thought maybe this year we could stay home, order a bunch of takeout, and spend time together?

And of course, I love you,

"Froggie"

Don't freak out,

I swear this isn't a ransom note, I just wasn't sure how else to ask you to be my valentine.

You know how we both wanted to go to the lovesick festival but ti was sold out? Well, don't ask how but I got tickets. Now we can go watch idiots get drunk and pass out in front of their girlfriends, and enjoy a bunch of our fav bands.

Outfit theme: Hot as fuck?

X Loona

Hi sweetie!

I know technically it's your turn for valentines this year, but I know you've been busy and I wanted to surprise you!

My parents called and told me they need someone to house sit while they are away for the week, so we could enjoy valentines on the ranch and I can show you my home! Especially the food and festivals I always tell you about.

Happy Valentines ❣

Millie

Hi dear ❣

Maybe it's getting old by now, but for yet another year I would love to have you as my valentine.

I don't know where I'd be without you, you make my hellish work at least a tad bit bearable and inspire me every day. I've already had to erase several rambles, so I'll save the rest of the sweet talk for the date. Just be ready in formal attire for 6, because we have a show to catch!

I'm sure you'll look amazing ❣

— Moxx

To the sweetest one I know,

I've been inspired by the books I've been reading to handwrite a letter to you, so you have something to keep for memory sake.

To have you by my side for another valentines is a dream come true, last year you pulled together such an amazing evening that I can only hope to outdo tonight. I would like to take you to see the stars, I know you've always asked and I believe it is about time.

Thank you for being mine,

Prince Stolas

Howdy darlin'

While originally I wasn't going to be home on time, I made sure to finish up this mission early so I can be there with ya for valentines. I'd call, but I know you swoon for romantic gestures, dontcha?

I'll handle all the details of our outing, just relax and don't worry your pretty head about a darn thing.

Can't wait to get home and see you again,

Who else?

Miss me?

I had to head out for a gig early, so sorry I couldn't catch you at the door before I left! I hope this note will suffice in the mean time.

Since I can't bring you, I have a limo headed to pick you up around five, that should give you time to get ready for the concert! Your pass is with the driver, and you've got front row seats, kay? I better see you cheering for me ❣

Happy valentines day,

Mayday 💋

Greetings, I say I say,

It's not everyday sheepish imps such as myself get such a heavenly opportunity to court a sweet thing like yourself!

For you, and you only my dear, I will spend such a lucritive holiday with my one and only. Should you accept, I am pleased to inform you that we have been invited to Ozzie's! Isn't he the kindest?

x x x x x x x

W. WACKFORD

Authors Note - Okay be honest with me WHO ARE WE ACCEPTING A LETTER FROM?? I gotta know,,, This is the last of the valentines series, I hope you all enjoyed!

[irisintheafterglow]

love me from your point of view

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: ariana grande - "pov"

summary: you teach sakusa kiyoomi how to love, in spite of the cameras and the gossip.

wc: 8.45k

cw/tags: pro!sakusa x rockstar!reader, fem!reader in mind but no specific pronouns used, strangers to lovers, character study, explicit language, minor injury (blood/glass tw), mentions of drinking and alcohol, angst with happy ending <3

note: this is my contribution for the lovely sel's "and there's something, this feeling" collab to celebrate one year of @seiwas ! this is the longest fic i've written to date because i tried my best to go a character-driven route that i've always admired sel for rather than my usual plot-driven route. i hope you like this and happiest of anniversaries my wonderful sel :))))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated :) check out the rest of sel's event here!

Sakusa Kiyoomi hated cameras. Unfortunately, in his line of work, they were essentially gnats buzzing constantly around his head. They were always trying to make him do something, look here or there, pose with his shoulders angling this way or that. After the commands came the interrogations, nosy reporters sniffing around his private life for something sellable. Then there were the phone cameras and the fans behind them, and they could be a hit or miss depending on if they respected his boundaries. When he was in highschool, he could get away with avoiding socialization; but now, as a striker for one of the most famous teams in the country, socialization was a required skill. 

“I’m happy you agreed to go with us, Sakusa,” Bokuto says for the fifth time since they parked at the venue in the heart of Tokyo. It was a little irritating, the way they kept thanking him for his presence like he’d back out if they didn’t continue expressing their gratitude. He couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to; Atsumu insisted on being the one behind the wheel and the car narrowly avoided a collision after Hinata said he’d missed the exit. “We know you’re still a little grumpy because of the drive, so don’t feel the need to talk to us right now.” 

“Hey, if you wanted to leave so badly, you could just call a car,” Atsumu points out, “but I know you secretly like spending time with us.” Sakusa fixes his teammate with a stare that could be perceived as a grimace, but his friends know him better than that. Sakusa wasn’t angry, he was bored. It was originally Bokuto and Hinata’s idea to see some artist he didn’t listen to in concert, saying that it was ‘a once in a lifetime experience’ and that the artist hadn’t played in the country in over a decade. He was vaguely aware of some songs, mostly because his teammates cranked the speaker volume during conditioning. Still, it wasn’t his ideal Saturday night, especially before a big game. “And, guess what?”

“Holy shit, box seats!” 

“We have our own bathroom!” Bokuto and Hinata’s shouts of excitement drown out the rest of Atsumu’s sentence and the security guards are barely able to open the doors as they tumble into the private section. 

“Yo, Shoyo. Be careful of that railing or you’ll fall into the general audience,” Atsumu warns while Hinata willfully ignores him, staring out over the crowds slowly filing into their seats. “Pretty cool, ain’t it?” Sakusa nods once, approaching the balcony and then deciding against it when he catches the telltale flash of a phone camera. Like clockwork, he and the other Jackals would be on every update page within ten minutes. A small object appears from behind the balcony wall, floating upwards in a thin arc before falling back to the seats below.

“The hell are they doing?”

“Sakusa, fans are trying to give us bracelets,” Bokuto beams, holding up his forearm halfway-covered in colorful beads. “Apparently it’s a tradition with this artist.”

“I don’t like gifts,” Sakusa deadpans, his mouth taut in a frown. “Tell them I can’t take it.”

“Too late,” Atsumu says, snagging a vibrant purple bracelet as it’s tossed upwards. He looks down at the eager fans below and claps, gesturing for them to throw more. “We’re already taking ‘em, so they’re gonna wonder why you’re not taking them too.”

“If they’re real fans, they’ll know I don’t like gifts,” he counters with narrowed eyes. 

“C’mon, Sakusa. Take one, at least,” Hinata says. His shorter teammate carefully pulls one off and slides it onto his wrist. The pattern alternates between yellow and lime green beads, with letter beads in the center spelling ‘NOKMLYDANOEW.’ It looked like Bokuto and Akaashi’s cat stepped on their computer keyboard. “The letters are an acronym for a song, I think. It’s an inside thing with the artist,” Hinata explains, leaning his bracelet-covered arms against the railing and waving to excited fans. 

“I’m gonna see if they have time to meet us backstage. The fans’ll go berserk.” Bokuto’s words make Sakusa’s eye twitch involuntarily. Staying longer than expected of him was a surefire way to make him irritated and they knew that. 

“Yeah, they’re not the only ones who will benefit from a little meet and greet,” Atsumu whispers cryptically and it’s impossible not to see the way he looks Sakusa up and down. 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry about it, man,” Bokuto reassures him with a pat on the back, but he doesn’t budge. 

“No, I’m interested. What’re you on about, Miya?” 

“Trust us, it’s nothing!”

“Just grab a soju and relax, Sakusa–”

“They’re trying to set you up with the artist!” Sakusa flinches, turning slowly to his teammates that shrink away like vampires in direct sunlight. Hinata looks mortified, his hands slapped over his mouth as if to seal off what was already revealed. Atsumu and Bokuto shrug, giving him guilty smiles and showing their palms to convey their surrender. “That’s…that’s what they were talking about before we picked you up,” Hinata continues sheepishly. 

“This whole thing is a blind date?” He seethes through gritted teeth, the lights of the stadium starting to give him a migraine. “You guys brought me here to set me up?” 

“All we’re trying to do is have you meet someone new,” Atsumu says gently, stepping forward and then abruptly backward when Sakusa looks like he’s about to commit a homicide. “We think it’ll be good for you.” 

“I don’t care about new people. I have work and you idiots to keep me busy,” Sakusa argues, crossing his arms over his chest. The beads on his arm press into his skin and he fights the urge to rip the entire thing off. “Why would I wanna meet some musician I don’t listen to?” 

“Even if you don’t listen to their music,” Bokuto replies without hesitation, “You should read through their lyrics sometime; I think you’ll find a lot of stuff you can relate to. I bet they get just as much bad publicity as we do.” 

“As if,” he scoffs. “I don’t need someone with a purple guitar telling me what I think.” 

—

“You said there were volleyball guys in attendance, right? If they’re still here, I should probably meet them,” you say to your publicist as you step out from the automatic riser that brought you below the stage following the last song of the show. The sound of your platform boots echo on the linoleum in the back halls of the stadium, your exit music faintly audible from above. “Who are they?” 

“There’s four in total, along with some managers and press. They’re on a team called the MSBY Jackals, with an outstanding record in the sport. From what I’ve seen, three of them are pretty nice.” The two of you, along with a handful of security guards, climb into a waiting golf cart. 

“And the other one?” 

“Toss-up. He might not even talk to you.” You take a sip from your water bottle and briefly glance at the photo your publicist has pulled up on her phone. You can guess which one is the quiet one from his face in the photo alone, staring blankly at the camera while his other teammates smile brightly. 

“He looks like he’d kill me in my sleep,” you observe bluntly. “The type of serial killer people make fan accounts about.” 

“In his defense, I don’t think this is his type of crowd,” she shrugs, her attention flicking to the way you stretch your legs in the seat of the small vehicle. “Sore?”

“Beyond belief,” you chuckle, wincing as a small stab of pain shoots through your calf. “I think I might need a little more padding on the soles, if possible. Chunky heels, in all their wonder, were not made for three hour shows.”

“I’ll see what I can do. You focus on turning back on for the players.” 

After a few more minutes of sipping water and stretching out your legs in the backseat of the golf cart, you pull up to the loading dock where the four athletes are waiting. Two of them, one with iced tips and the other with vibrantly orange hair, practically jump in place when you arrive. The grumpy one lingers at the back of the group; the blonde player extends his hand to you as you step out. 

“Thank you so much.” You greet them with a practiced smile and hope your exhaustion isn’t too visible. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I couldn’t stop screaming the entire time and I think my voice is shot.” 

“You are incredibly talented.” 

“It was wonderful!” 

“Oh, I’m so glad. It’s such a pleasure to meet you all,” you say warmly, truly wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for 24 hours straight. Even when his friends chatter your ear off, the curly-haired one at the back doesn’t say anything. The short one with orange hair and the widest smile introduces himself as Hinata Shoyo, excitedly leading you to each of his teammates: loud Bokuto, flirty Atsumu, and reclusive Sakusa. You’re left alone with Sakusa when the other three rush off to find a bathroom, having been too excited to use one during your show. 

“I didn’t take you for the bracelet type, Sakusa,” you comment, clocking the single bracelet on his wrist. “The colors are nice, though. They go with your eyes.” You let some of your facade come down, mostly because you figured you didn’t need to be as energetic around this one compared to the others. 

“Yeah, Shoyo let me have one of his. Didn’t realize you had such a passionate fanbase,” he states and you fight the urge to laugh. “Or such a large one.”

“You didn’t think I had fans, Sakusa?” His eyes widen ever so slightly and the chuckle slips out before you can stop it, his ears turning a shade pinker. 

“Not what I said,” he backtracks, avoiding eye contact. “The show was good,” he continues unexpectedly, and you find yourself appreciating his praise more than you should. It was a triumph, in your mind, every time you won over a new listener, and he was no different. At least he wasn’t one of the guys harassing you in your Instagram messages. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you say and catch his ears turning even redder. As much as he was trying to seem offputting, you could read him like a book. “You guys are in town for a game?”

“We’re playing not tomorrow night, but the night after. Coach would kill us if he knew we were going out before a big game,” he answers and you nod, gears starting to turn in your brain. It would be a headline tomorrow that the four players came to your show, but it would break the Internet entirely if you attended their game, especially in the middle of a sold-out tour. It was the kind of publicity you needed to drown out the tabloids. 

“My last show of this city is tomorrow night, but I can get away with skipping a rest day. Would it be weird if I came to watch you play?”

“You want to watch me play?” Sakusa echoes. The tiniest little smirk plays on the corner of his lips. Ugh. For all his introvertedness, he still had the ego of a pro athlete. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“I meant you guys. Don’t think I forgot about the players that actually came to talk to me,” you correct quickly. You exhale through your nose and shake your head with a small smile. The enthusiastic conversation behind you tells you that the rest of the team is returning. “Fine. Maybe I do wanna see who you are under all that antisocial attitude.” 

“Have fun with that. I don’t like new people,” he says, testing you. Too bad you were used to men that probably weren’t healthy for you. “There’s no changing that.” Your forehead throbs at his pure audacity, but you manage to keep an unbothered expression. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.” 

—

“I didn’t think they’d actually show up,” he mutters, taking another look at the large screens projecting the image of you in a VIP box. Sakusa didn’t recognize you without your concert makeup and stage outfit until Shoyo practically knocked him over in excitement. Seeing you smiling and catching your eye, even from at the bottom of the court, made his stomach turn in a way he wasn’t used to. 

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of that first,” Bokuto beams, sending a powerful serve that barely cilps the top of the net. Sakusa finds his eyes drifting to your box, his scowl deepening when you blow an exaggerated kiss to his teammate. His next serve he puts more effort into, but when he looks up, you’re not even watching. Not only were you crashing his game, you were distracting his team. “Nice plan, Sakusa! Maybe we can become friends with them and go to each others’ events.” 

“That wasn’t my intention,” he cringes, the idea of spending more time with you making him nauseous. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the fact that you were making an effort to engage with him and his friends was outlandish. And all because he invited you to a game? Didn’t you have anything better to do?

“You thought inviting them to the game would scare them away, huh?” Atsumu’s watching Sakusa carefully, inspecting his disgruntled expression under a microscope. “Believe it or not, Omi, some people actually want to be around you…despite how difficult you make it sometimes.” 

“I don’t remember asking for your input,” he threatens, but the blonde Miya merely shrugs, impervious to Sakusa’s warnings. “Can we agree to ignore their presence? Focus on the game. It’s your job.” Atsumu and Bokuto share a look, with typical Hinata none the wiser. Whether they knew it or not, your attendance was throwing off Sakusa’s entire concentration. The average spectator wouldn’t notice the change in Sakusa’s behavior; if anything, they would think he was functioning at a higher level than he usually plays. His serves are stronger, his spikes are sharper, and his steps are quicker than any other player on the court. Fans rave on social media about how focused he is in the game, and the reporters scribble in their notebooks the pressing question for the post-game press conference: Why are you playing so well today? 

“I always play that well,” he mutters, his lie drowned out by the lively conversation around the booth in the corner of the restaurant. The Jackals had cinched an easy victory and Bokuto and Hinata dragged you from your box to get dinner with them. Sakusa sits at the edge of the booth, flanked by Atsumu, followed by Bokuto and Hinata. You sit at the other end, laughing at some dumb story being recounted. It made his forehead pound. “You just don’t notice.” 

“Yeah, right,” Atsumu snickers with another sip of beer. “Admit it, something’s pissing you off.” Maybe I do wanna see who you are under all that anti-social attitude. Your words linger in the back of his mind and fire him up again, unknowingly furrowing his eyebrows and incriminating him. “Yep. Knew it.” 

“Shut the hell up, Atsumu.” He hated that his normally-idiotic teammate was on the cusp of exposing the truth, not to mention the fact that he’d downed one too many soju bombs and was feeling pushier than usual. 

“Is it ‘cause they actually listened to you and showed up?”

“I told you to shut up,” he hisses through gritted teeth. You’re laughing so hard that tears are starting to prickle at the corner of your eyes. It’s the kind of laugh where no noise is actually leaving you and you’re fanning yourself with your hand. Gross. 

“Aww, look at little baby Omi-Omi, finally having a feeling over someone wanting to get to know him,” Atsumu gushes and Sakusa’s ears burn. He threatens his friend with an indescribable death to no avail. “I knew you had a heart under all that coldness!” 

Sakusa’s fist clenches around his glass and he realizes his mistake a split second before there’s a sharp crack! and sudden pain prickles in his palm. “Oh shit, man. I–” His teammate swears under his breath when drops of dark red and amber starts to trickle down Sakusa’s arm, staining the white napkin on his lap. He grinds his teeth down to keep from crying out, the whiskey in his shattered cup burning his raw skin. 

“What happened?” You’re by his side in an instant, your perfume flooding his senses in a way that makes him dizzy. “Jeez, Atsumu. What’d you do?” 

“Why are you blaming me? He’s the one who was holding the cup,” Atsumu says defensively and you shoot him a look. “Fine. I got him riled up and he did,” he gestures to the mess on the table, “that.” 

“Could one of you call your driver please? I think it’s time you three head back to your hotel,” you recommend calmly. 

“What about Sakusa?” Hinata asks as he climbs out from the booth, dragging an apologetic Atsumu and a very buzzed Bokuto toward the door. “He should probably get that checked out.”

“I know. I’ll stay with him,” you reassure him and, after a brief pause of thinking, the short spiker nods and heads for the exit. Sakusa is rigidly still, save for the involuntarily twitching of his injured fingers. “C’mon, let’s go,” you say, gently guiding him out of the booth and grabbing some unused napkins to catch the bleeding. He follows you wordlessly, a million thoughts stewing in his eyes that he refuses to verbalize. He knew he didn’t like you when you tried to read him after your show, but the alcohol in his system was making him despise you. 

You, sitting with him on the way to the nearest hospital. You, carefully looping the elastic bands of his mask over his face before leaving the car. You, politely declining a fan’s attempt to introduce themselves while you’re checking him in at the reception desk. You, listening intently to the doctor as she says that he’ll need stitches in his right hand and that they’ll need to pick every last particle of glass from his palm so that it doesn’t become infected. You, ignoring your vocal coach’s orders for a rest day and staying by his side from 11:00pm to 3:00am when the doctors finally finish his hand. 

He despises you and his pride becomes a gag in his mouth once you drop him off at the Jackals’ hotel, rendering him unable to choke out a simple ‘thank you’ as you continue to treat him with unending kindness. You’ll get hurt if you keep being nice, he thinks to himself, and the way you flinch like you’d been shot tells him he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. He hears you murmur Sleep well, Sakusa, as he shuts the door with his left hand and stalks away, lost in the trenches of his mind. 

—

“But, I’m not sure if it should be the A minor to keep with the chord progression or go to E to create some tension.” Your producer nods at you, his chin resting on his knuckles as you strum your latest song idea on your purple acoustic. It’d been a few days since your late-night trip to the emergency room with Sakusa, and you decided to spend a few hours in the studio before catching your flight to your next tour city. “And when I tried to do it on piano, I just wanted to change the key entirely.” He opens his mouth to speak but is abruptly cut off by three insistent raps on the doorframe of the control room.  

“You have a visitor,” your publicist informs you, peeking her head into the room with a slightly bewildered look in her eyes. “He says it’s urgent.” Your eyebrows dip but you stand anyways, walking through the halls of the recording space until you reach the lobby of the building and stop in your tracks. 

What the hell was he doing here?

“Hey,” Sakusa greets and you blink at him, like he was a figment of your imagination that would disappear if you ignored him. It’s impossible to ignore him, though, considering the outrageously large bundle of flowers cradled in his arm. He follows your eyeline, muttering, “I didn’t know which ones you liked, so I just…bought all of them.”

“I’ll, uh,” your publicist glances at you for a brief moment, giving you an unreadable look before gingerly taking the bouquet from the Olympian in the lobby. “I’ll take these and have them brought to your next hotel, okay?” She dismisses herself, leaving you alone with him. 

“Why are you here?”

“Are you busy right now?” You cross your arms over your chest, annoyed that he replied to your question with a question of his own. Since dropping him off at the team’s hotel, you’d come to peace with his hatred for you even though you’d tried to be nothing but cordial; maybe he could tell that you wanted to be friends for the publicity, you theorized. 

“I’m in a recording studio doing my job, so yeah,” you reply and allow all your suppressed attitude to rear its head. To your surprise, he doesn’t immediately fire back at you. If anything, Sakusa looked uneasy, nothing like the cold confidence you previously saw. “What do you want?”

“Do you have time for lunch?” 

“Oh, now you’re interested in my company,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. In the time following that night at the hospital, you hadn’t received any updates other than an unprompted photo of hungover Atsumu. “Unless you’re ready to apologize for how much of an asshole you’ve been, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I wanna start over,” he says as you turn your back on him to return to the studio. “One meal,” he proposes, “and if you want nothing to do with me after that, I’ll leave you alone.” You check the wall-mounted clock and make your decision. 

“You get two hours.” 

By the time you sneak through the back of a restaurant and sit down to eat, your stomach is turning itself inside out. You thumb through the menu eagerly, ignoring your present company until water glasses are set out and orders are taken. 

“Look,” you begin, peering at him in the dim light, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“That makes two of us,” he agrees. “You go first.”

“Truth is, I didn’t go to the game to see you, or any of the Jackals, for that matter,” you admit. “I went to get the tabloids off my back and give them a different reason to talk. I didn’t mean to mess up whatever dynamic you guys had going, so for that I am sorry.” You can’t see much of Sakusa’s expression, but you can tell his eyes are on you by the way they shine like a cat’s. It was off-putting, but also drew you in like a black hole. “Is your hand doing okay?”

“It’s better now,” he replies. “Doc’ told me that if we’d left that glass in for longer, it would’ve been more serious.” You nod and take a drink from your water as an excuse not to respond, to see if he would go further. “I, uh,” he swallows thickly, steadying his nerves. “I’m sorry for being avoidant and just being a general asshole. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m…incredibly remorseful.” A puff of air leaves your nostrils in amusement and he can hear you smirk from across the small table. 

“I appreciate the apology, and the apology lunch. Wanna start over without our respective teams breathing down our necks? Friends?” You stick your open hand toward him and he shakes it without hesitation, sealing your deal. “Awesome.” 

“You said ‘tabloids.’ What do they say about you?” Your smile fades and for a moment, he thinks he’s pushed too far too soon. He’s on the brink of apologizing again when you exhale an unsteady breath. 

“The tame ones call me an industry plant,” you explain awkwardly. “The–uh–bolder ones call me a slut.” His nostrils flare and he’s glad there’s no glass in his hand again, otherwise he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t be shattered. “The big drama came from me leaving the producer who’d helped me start my career. The media got the wrong idea, said I’d slept my way into working with him, and left when I’d had my fill.” Sakusa slowly stretches his neck from side to side, willing the sudden tension in his body to relax as he starts to see red. “I hope you can see why I wanted to give them a different reason to talk.” It’s more of a struggle than he expected to keep his voice steady. 

“What actually happened? With the original producer?” You hum in lieu of answering, grateful to catch the approaching servers out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’ll tell you another time,” you dodge, giving him a smile that he can tell is off. “For now, can we eat? I’m so hungry I’m about to eat these silly little herbs in the centerpiece.” 

—

Sakusa stays in Tokyo longer than the rest of his teammates, who depart on the team jet for the next game. He says he wants to do a little more sightseeing, despite having an apartment in the most expensive highrise in the city and knowing the streets like the back of his hand. The truth was, he wasn’t ready to give up the…thing…he’d established with you. He fell into an odd sort of routine: saying goodnight over text, calling you in the morning and telling you what time he’s picking you up, choosing the best places that can shut down for the world’s biggest rockstar on a day’s notice. You were in town for three more days and ended up spending every waking moment of them with Sakusa. 

“You’re really good at dodging the cameras,” you remark over a shared cup of ice cream on your last day, digging your spoon past the numerous toppings you’d insisted on adding. “How do you do it?”

“It helps when I’m not surrounded by the three biggest noisemakers on the planet,” he deadpans and you giggle, a sound he was increasingly becoming fond of the more time he spent with you. “I’m pretty good at laying low. People don’t know where I am unless I want them to know.” 

“Everyone seems to know where I am before even I know,” you frown. “I envy you; I really do.”

“I don’t,” he shrugs.

“Why not?” 

“When you’re trying so hard to avoid people, they tend to stop looking for you. Makes my job easier.” Your lips part in an oh of understanding. “But, I guess you’re here, so either you truly care about my wellbeing or you’re clinically insane.” You burst out laughing, so much so that you snort and have to cover your mouth with a napkin. “My running theory is that it’s a mix of both,” he declares with a rare upturn at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter once you’ve caught your breath and checked the time on your phone. “I should go. My plane leaves soon and my manager’ll kill me if I’m late. She’s already iffy about me staying in Tokyo this long.”

“What’s your next city?” 

“Madrid. I’m starting the European leg,” you reply while you pack up your things. He stands, walking you to the door of your waiting car. His eyes instinctively scan the surroundings street for cameras, and he subtly positions his body to block you from any passing eyes as you climb into the car. The window makes a humming noise as you roll it down. 

“Have a safe flight.” 

“Don’t be a stranger, yeah? I’ll miss you, even if you don’t want me to.” He memorizes the way the afternoon sunlight catches in your eyes, how each thump of his heartbeat seems louder when you’re near. Something is wrong in my brain, he thinks to himself. Once he’s completely sure your car isn’t being tailed, he dials Atsumu on the drive to the hotel to collect the rest of his things.

“You land already, Miya?” His car purrs beneath his fingertips as he speeds through the busy streets. 

“Safe and sound,” his teammate confirms. “Though jet lag is starting to hit Shoyo and Bo. How were the rest of your dates?” 

“They weren’t dates,” he argues, his hands unconsciously gripping the wheel tighter in indignance. “I was just thanking them for that night.” 

“Yeah, and a bit more than that, I figure.” 

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you,” he groans.

“Because you want me to say ‘I told you so,’ right? That it was a good idea for me to bring you to that show. You know, a trip to that conveyor belt sushi place will suffice as repayment.”

“In your dreams, Atsumu,” Sakusa deadpans. 

“C’mon, Omi. I know you wouldn’t keep spending time with them if you didn’t feel some kind of tug.” 

“Tug?”

“Like you’re drawn to them,” Atsumu gushes and Sakusa feels like gagging. “Intimately.” Sakusa definitely didn’t think of you that way…right?

“You’re such a pervert.” His disgust is clear, and his speakers blow out with Atsumu’s screams of Not like that! and You don’t even pull enough for me to make fun of! “I’m at the hotel now so I’m gonna hang up. Not sure again why I even bother talking to you.”

“Because I’m your best friend,” Atsumu answers. “See you soon, my sweet Omi~” 

“Remind me to punch you when I touch down.”

—

“How was the show a few nights ago?” 

“Amazing, as always. Almost fell on my ass running around to meet people at the barricade, but thankfully kept my balance,” you chuckle, running the pad of your thumb over the petal of a purple gladiolus. “You can probably see a clip of it on all the fan pages.”

“You think I follow fan pages about you?” 

“What? I follow fan pages about you,” you insist. “User ‘omi-omisbigtits’ has some pretty funny posts of you.” Sakusa groans from the other end of the line.

“That’s the one fan account I have blocked because they post such heinous things,” he recalls. “Did you scroll far enough to see the one where I’m at the zoo and–”

“You’re running away from the peacock, yep,” you finish. Out of the various presents and letters your fans gifted you, you find yourself drawn again and again to the pot of sword lilies. “I screenshotted it and made it your contact photo.”

“I’m never sending you flowers again,” he mutters, but you hear it, snapping your head upwards. 

“These were you?” Your jaw drops so forcefully that it aches. “You’re the mystery flower sender? No one would tell me who sent these!” 

“Because I told them I’d sue if you found out it was me,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes, a grin creeping onto your face. 

“Why’d you want to send them anonymously?” Upon inspecting the color further, you realize where you’ve seen the shade before. 

He’d sent you flowers that matched your favorite guitar. 

“I didn’t wanna distract you before your shows. I was aiming for subtlety.” You blink in disbelief. Sakusa had sent you flowers the night before you started your show run in Paris, knowing you would be at the venue for soundcheck. Maybe he did care about you and your career.

“Well, you failed,” you state, staring at the large bundle of purple taking up half the space on your dressing room’s side table. “This bouquet is the opposite of subtle.”

“Bouquet? I ordered you one stem.”

“No,” you restated. Even though you’d never video called Sakusa before, you switch on your phone’s camera anyway to show him the absolutely gargantuan amount of flowers he mistakenly sent you. “You ordered this.” To your surprise, he turns on his camera as well. His face contorts into such a shocked and puzzled expression that you snort out the water you were sipping, burning your nostrils as tears prickle your eyes. “Stop looking like that, I can’t breathe!”

“What do you mean, ‘stop looking like that?’ I didn’t mean to send you the whole rainforest!” You choke out another uncontrollable laugh, turning the camera to face yourself and setting it in front of your vanity mirror. “Alright, at least you got them.” 

“Yes, and I really appreciate you sending them.” You can tell he’s not used to having his camera on, as he keeps tilting the phone at odd angles and barely showing his face half the time. “What’re you doing right now?”

“Just in bed.” Or a snowstorm, from the looks of it. 

“Why does it look like your poor phone is in a typhoon?” 

“You’re literally so annoying,” he grumbles, reluctantly positioning himself so that he’s sitting against the headboard. With the new point of view, you also notice very quickly that he…is completely shirtless. “Better?”

“Yep, yeah. That’s fine,” you force out, clearing your throat aggressively while the image of his very broad shoulders assault your brain. “Sorry that I didn’t send you flowers for your game.” 

“The guys would give me shit about it if you do, so I’m glad you did not,” he replies. “Though, it does suck not having you around.” 

“This is the closest I’m ever getting to you saying you miss me. I should commemorate it with a plaque.” Sakusa clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s trying not to smile. He must’ve taken a shower recently; his curls look slightly wet and dangle haphazardly across his eyes. You have the sudden urge to run your fingers through it, and then the even more sudden urge to slap yourself for thinking in such a way. 

“What city are you in now? I know you just finished up Dublin.” His voice snaps you out of your daydreaming. 

“Paris,” you manage to reply without too awkward of a pause. “You?”

“Paris.” 

“Huh? I thought your next game was in Brazil,” you ask. His face goes still for a moment and you figure it’s probably frozen from bad service, wherever he is. “Hello?”

“Sorry, you broke up for a second. What were you saying?”

“I was asking why you were in Paris.”

“I’m not in Paris,” he states. “I’m in Seoul.” 

“Isn’t your next game in Brazil?” He pauses for an almost imperceptible amount of time.

“Game schedule got rearranged. We’re in Seoul, then the States, then Brazil.” 

“Oh. I see.” A loud series of knocking on your dressing room door makes you jump. “Ah, I’m sorry. I need to go.” 

“Rockstar duties?”

“You know it,” you yawn, taking one last indulgent look at the exposed muscle on his shoulders. “Hopefully we both get some rest for the coming days.”

“Yep. G’night.” 

—

There was a little bit of lingering guilt on his end after you hang up; the fact that he’d lied to you about his whereabouts didn’t escape him. 

He wasn’t sure what came over him, what sentimental demon temporarily possessed him to take a plane to wherever you were (Paris, not the lie that he gaslit you into believing) and buy a last minute ticket to your show. His emotions and desires were thrown completely off balance; he truly didn’t care if he was up in the nosebleeds if it meant he got to see you. Thankfully, a wealthy couple had bought out an entire area of club seats for their granddaughter’s birthday, but decided last minute that they wanted to fly to Cancun. It made him a little anxious, having all that space to himself, but he figured he could have his guards and team invite family to make it a little less lonely. It didn’t matter how many strangers he needed to meet or how much he had to spend. 

He just wanted to see you. 

He finds himself in a familiar position from the first time he went to one of your shows, rooted under the awning of the expansive lounge area and just out of sight from fans. His arms unconsciously cross over his chest and the beads of the bracelet he’d dug through his luggage to find presses against his skin. But, this time, he isn’t annoyed by the pain; if anything, it reminds him that he’s actually here with you, even if you don’t know it yet. 

I’m pretty good at laying low. People don’t know where I am unless I want them to know. His words echo back to him and he makes his decision, stepping out into the stadium lights and resting his forearms on the railing. 

He wants you to know he’s there. 

The first fan to notice is a girl in purple, slapping her friend furiously until they both are gawking at him. One pair of eyes becomes two, which becomes five, which becomes twenty, until hundreds of phone cameras are pointed at him and snapping photos. The sentimental demon possesses him again and he sticks up an involuntary peace sign, even going so far as to smile to look less bored. They scream for him and he thinks the sentimental demon is Atsumu, because he finds himself imitating his teammate’s movements. His hands clap together and he gestures for fans to toss him bracelets, which become an impossible shower as dozens are thrown at once. By the time the lights dim and news of his presence is trending across the continent, his arms are covered in sleeves of rainbow beads. 

— 

The ache in your feet is immediately replaced by adrenaline when your head of security informs you who came to the show. You don’t bother waiting for the golf cart to bring you to the back of the stadium and take off sprinting, chunky heels and all. They’re calling after you to hold on to let the rest of your team catch up, but you don’t listen. The stadium staff look at you fondly but also have a reasonably startled reaction to you running like you’d escaped from an asylum. 

You round the corner absolutely heaving and his face breaks into a wide smile. You’d never seen him look like that before, never at his games or during any of the time you’d spent together. It was an expression reserved for only you in this moment. You don’t remember if he catches you or if you embrace him first, but soon enough your face is tucked into the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut and grinning like a lunatic. His arms are rock solid around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until you can hear his heartbeat slamming against his ribcage. Neither of you speak for a few minutes because you don’t feel the need to; only when you pull away to hold his face with your hands do you manage to articulate words. 

“You’re here,” you breathe. “You’re actually here.” Recognition blinks onto your face and you suddenly frown, lightheartedly slapping his shoulder, saying, “You lied! Your dumb ass said you were in Seoul!” 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he concludes unapologetically. “I did slip up with my story a few times, though.”

“Yeah, you got your own game schedule wrong.” 

“To be fair, some games did get rescheduled, which is why I’m able to be here. Our next game’s in Seoul, which is why I blanked and said that instead,” he explains and you respond with an exasperated eyeroll. “Find it in your heart to forgive me?” 

“I see right through you, Sakusa Kiyoomi. You don’t…uhm…” He comes close enough that you can count his eyelashes and it takes you a few seconds to recompose yourself. “Mmm, you wanna kiss me so bad, it makes you look stupid,” you challenge and hope he doesn’t hear the butterflies going wild in your stomach. 

“Maybe I do,” he smirks and it only makes the situation more sweat-inducing. “I missed you, after all.” Your eyes flutter closed as he leans in but instantly shoot back open, gently pushing him away as he pouts. “What is it?”

“Take me out to dinner, first. If you apologize sufficiently for being a terrible liar, maybe you’ll get a kiss,” you propose and he’s already lacing his fingers in yours. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.” 

— 

In spite of his attempts to ignore the cameras and the footsteps that were always a few feet behind him, there was a pit in his stomach every time Sakusa was in public with you. He couldn’t figure out why he was so irked, but the feeling made it difficult to enjoy how you smiled at him in quiet moments and pointed out things he’d never think to notice before. Most perplexingly, you didn’t seem bothered at all by the cameras. It was like they disappeared as soon as he came into your proximity; you barely spared them a glance in favor of beaming up at him. 

Even though you agreed that there was a feeling more than platonic between you two, he hadn’t mustered up the urge to kiss you properly, opting for your forehead or your hands instead. It didn’t seem to bother you, the way he only reserved showing his affection when you were out of view. But, he slips up the night before you have to part ways, him for his next game and you for your final European date. The dread he’d experienced for days felt like intuition telling him something was inherently wrong, like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff he didn’t know the height of. 

It comes crashing down when the tabloids catch him holding your hand.

“Can you believe this?” You snort, showing Sakusa the headline as he forces down the bile in his throat. “They think you’re my next ‘big catch,’ like you’re a fish or something,” you chuckle obliviously, leaning into him on the living room couch of his hotel suite. He manages a pained mhmm and watches as you continue to scroll through the news site, the photos of him holding your hand and grabbing your waist flying by like a nightmarish film reel. He rubs his palms back and forth over the fabric of his sweats, feeling suddenly feverish from every single point where your body was touching his. Clearing his throat, he swallows thickly and you finally look at him, concern pinching in your eyebrows. Your voice is gentle and you reach up to feel his forehead; he dodges your hand and you carefully hide your disappointment. “Hey, are you feeling okay?”

“We can’t do this.” His heart sinks as you sit up and blink at him, his words registering slowly in your mind. “I can’t…I can’t do this with you,” he sputters out. You exhale a single time and he watches your eyes flick from side to side, your brain running a thousand miles a minute.

“I don’t understand.”

“We need to stop.” You laugh forcefully, like you were commanding your body to feel lighter. 

“If this is a joke, Kiyoomi, it isn’t funny–”

“It’s not a fucking joke; you need to stop being with me,” he snaps and the room falls silent. The only thing he can hear is his heartbeat rushing through his ears, his face hotter than the sun. 

“Why?” Your voice breaks and so does something in him, his jaw clenching unconsciously. 

“You need to stop being nice to me,” he says through gritted teeth, “because I can’t guarantee I’ll be nice back.” This is how it always ends. Push them away before things get messy. This is how it works for Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

“But you have been nice,” you fight back, your grief morphing into unfiltered rage as you stand and scream at him. “You sent me flowers. You bought me dinner. You flew across the world to see my fucking show!” 

“That doesn’t matter. None of it mattered.” His composure wavers momentarily, unreadable emotions flashing across his face. “You can’t be close to me without getting hurt.” He gestures to your phone, the paparazzi image of you two together brighter than a Times Square billboard. 

“Who said it needed to be that way?” 

“Everyone did!” He stands without warning and you flinch backward, stumbling against the coffee table. “People think I’m an asshole, so that’s how I choose to stay. At the very least, I can predict things and prevent people from getting too close. You’re too close.”

“But you’re not an asshole. You’ve shown me that much,” you insist, arguing with his back as he starts to retreat into the master suite. What you say next makes him freeze, trapped in an endless time loop with you. 

Tell me you care for your friends. 

“What?” He’s seething as he turns, meeting your eyes. “What the fuck do you mean, do I–”

“Do you care about your friends?” You repeat, stepping closer to him. His eyes are burning, molten to the core even when you refuse to shrink away. “If Bo, Shoyo, and Atsumu were dying in a fucking fire, would you save them?”

“Of course I would,” he spits indignantly. “What kind of–”

“Then you have the capacity to love, Kiyoomi, as much as you don’t want to admit it.” You’re crying, tears streaming uncontrollably down your cheeks. Why are you crying? He never wanted to make you cry. What did he do to make you cry? 

“Because the last time you loved something, people scorned you.” They told him his passion was suffocating. They told him he was walking a path that one could only walk alone. He’s frozen, his feet left immobile on the hotel carpet. He makes no sound beside shaking exhales and can sense nothing but your voice coming closer.  

“You made it your career to prove that it’s worthy of your love…but you forgot how to love anything else.” Time slows. He doesn’t remember when your face appeared so close to his. He can see a universe behind your eyes and he wants nothing more than to hold you and call you his. His passion was suffocating. It would hurt you. It would burn you. It would–

“I wish you could love yourself as much as I love you.” 

One breath, and then another. 

A crack in an eggshell. A hole in a fortress. 

You are an asteroid completely obliterating the planet he considered himself. 

And when he finally kisses you properly, he understands just how freeing being destroyed could be. 

—

Sakusa Kiyoomi did not like cameras. They were gnats buzzing around his head, calling for him to look this way and that, catching his every reaction to whatever crossed his path. They were broken whispers that floated to his ears, unintelligible conversations that stayed as voices in his head. He did not like cameras, but he found that looking at you was infinitely better than looking at anything else. 

“You doing okay?” Your murmur is the only thing he hears, quieting the rest of the chatter around him. Swaths of dresses and suits brush against his arms and he fights the instinct to shield you from view, despite being sat in the very center of the huge theater. It was the biggest award show of the season, and he’d made a vow with himself that he wouldn’t ruin tonight for you. With your hand in his, as long as he had physical contact with you, it was easier to keep the doubts in his mind at bay. “I’m feeling fine, if that’s what you need to know.” 

“I’m doing okay as long as you’re okay,” he confirms softly, barely sparing a glance at the giant lens a few feet from his face. “I’m here to celebrate you. I won’t let them bother me tonight.” You beam at him, opening your mouth to say something when a commotion comes tumbling down the aisle. “Actually,” he mutters as his three teammates trip over themselves to find their seats in the rest of the row, “Do you think I can have one nasty scowl? I promise I’ll behave otherwise.” 

“Having a rockstar best friend is like, the best thing ever,” Bokuto declares before you can respond to Kiyoomi. 

“I’m so glad Omi finally got his head out of his ass, too,” Atsumu drawls with an unbothered yawn that makes Sakusa’s blood boil. The blonde Miya sibling had been very vocal with the press about playing as the matchmaker, pointedly dodging questions about his own romantic status. “I think I’ll secretly have ‘I told you so’ engraved on the inside of your wedding rings.”

“Over my dead body,” Kiyoomi grumbles and you smile, squeezing his hand once. He squeezes back, pressing a rare public kiss to the side of your head. You shift your body to lean more closely to his and your wrist presses down on something wrapped around his wrist. 

“What’s under your sleeve?”

“Hmm? Oh, this?” He pulls back the freshly ironed fabric to reveal a familiar pattern of green and yellow beads, out of place compared to the rest of his formal attire. “Got it from a concert,” he smirks knowingly. “The show was cool, but I think I’m in love with the artist.”

“Yeah? You never figured out what that acronym stands for, did you?” He shakes his head and you point at each letter bead, explaining, “No one knows me like you do, and no one ever will.” 

“Well, isn’t that fitting?” The lights dim and the orchestra starts to play its signature fanfare, spotlights gliding in aimless directions across the audience. “Thank you for helping me understand.”

“The meaning of the lyric? Of course, I think of you every time I sing it, now,” you smile. 

“No, about what you said that night when we argued.” He feels a familiar blush creeping up his cheeks. “About loving me how you love me.”

“And do you get it now?”

“I do,” he nods, glancing at the colorful bracelet on his wrist and your fingers intertwined with his. “I just needed a little bit of convincing.” Your head settles on his shoulder and he lets you, allowing himself to relax in spite of the sea of cameras surrounding him. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.”

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