Hell is Home (Helluva Boss) Various x fem!Reader x Striker

Farmwork

The unwelcome intrusion of the pre-dawn hours felt like a cruel twist of fate. While you considered yourself a morning person, your enthusiasm for the early hours was reserved for a more civilized time, closer to the indulgence of brunch rather than the ungodly hour of five in the morning.

With a grumpy groan, you reluctantly emerged from the depths of sleep, your senses jolted awake not by the gentle melody of an alarm clock, but by the intrusive sound of footsteps. Peeking out from beneath the warm covers, you shot a disgruntled glare at Striker, who was already wide awake and emitting a faint mist from his recent shower. The steam revealed a tantalizing glimpse of him in a white undershirt and pants before he began the familiar routine of dressing himself in his customary attire. "Rise and shine, darlin'," Striker drawled in his charming southern accent, his long tail rattling playfully to further irritate your senses.

In response, you hissed at him, sitting up slowly and attempting to tame your unruly bedhead hair with a weary hand. "Let me guess, this is the farm life, huh? Rising before the rooster even thinks about crowing or something... Ugh..."

Striker surveyed you with amusement, his toothy grin accentuated by his gleaming golden fang. "Oh, poor little princess," he teased, relishing in your disheveled state.

A low, warning hiss escaped your lips once more, the tip of your own tail playfully smacking against Striker's as he chuckled. "Careful there, cowboy," you threatened, your voice laced with a mix of irritation and amusement. Sitting up, the covers slid down, revealing your form as you stretched your arms, the satisfying sound of joints popping filling the room.

Although the morning sun had just begun to cast its warm orange glow over the horizon, there was enough light for Striker to appreciate the sight before him. He couldn't deny the appeal of your figure, especially when you were clad in a simple tank top and breathable cotton shorts.

Sliding out of bed, you stretched once more, your tail deftly retrieving your luggage from under the bed. Striker, already dressed for the day's outdoor tasks, watched as his own tail swayed with anticipation. "Hurry up, no need to doll yourself up," he remarked casually.

A low growl rumbled in your throat as you shot him a fierce glare. "You're really pushing it, Striker," you warned, the threat of a well-deserved slap hanging in the air.

After taking care of your morning routine and dressing appropriately for the day's outdoor tasks, you returned to the room only to find that Striker had already left. Letting out an exasperated huff, you proceeded downstairs cautiously, relieved to see Millie, her parents, and Moxxie already awake and ready to start the day. The enticing aroma of a hearty Southern breakfast, prepared by Lin, Millie's mom, filled the air, instantly invigorating your senses.

"Hey there, hon, how did you sleep?" Millie greeted you cheerfully, and you couldn't help but make a face. "I honestly think I'd feel better waking up late with a hangover rather than at this ungodly hour," you grumbled to your friend, plopping down at the table alongside them. "Where are Blitz and Loona?" you inquired, prompting a sigh from Moxxie. "Blitz is still getting ready, and Loona is enjoying some extra shut-eye."

You huffed in understanding, nodding your head as you leaned back, waiting until a steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of you. "That makes sense. So, what's on the agenda for today?" you asked Joe, Millie's dad.

As Joe began listing the day's chores, you couldn't help but grumble at the realization that you would eventually have to work alongside Striker. The thought alone was enough to dampen your spirits.

Surprisingly, you found yourself enjoying the tasks more than you had anticipated. Getting your hands dirty while cleaning out the pens and coops didn't bother you at all. In fact, you even found yourself humming your company's jingle, using it as a rhythm to keep you motivated.