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

Lost Bet

Why in the world did you even dare to challenge Striker to a drinking contest? You knew deep down that you weren't a lightweight, despite his taunting, and it was infuriating to fall just one shot short of victory! Maybe you shouldn't have done it in the same night of challenging the handsome devil, but you were in a mood already, and you did need a drink.

But to lose by one?! That sucked.

Grumbling with frustration, you stumbled into the bathroom, desperately trying to maintain your balance while still being able to see clearly. As you gulped down a glass of water and brushed your teeth, you couldn't help but snarl at your reflection in the mirror. Losing meant being at Striker's beck and call for the entire week, and you knew that the next four days were going to be an absolute nightmare.

Leaving the bathroom and returning to the room you shared with Striker, you flopped onto your bed ungracefully and shot a piercing glare at the mischievous imp, who was casually tuning his guitar on his own bed. "Alright, spill it. What kind of torment can I expect from you?"

Striker couldn't help but chuckle, his tail swaying playfully as he lounged in his wife beater and pajama pants, already refreshed and ready before you had even dragged yourself upstairs. "Why should I spoil the surprise, princess? It'll be much more entertaining to keep you guessing."

You snarled at him, lying on your back with your arms crossed. "Just one stupid drink... Damn it, I would have won if Blitz hadn't been shouting at me the whole time!" You grumbled, rubbing your temples in frustration.

"Don't be such a sore loser," Striker taunted, his smirk widening. You shot him another glare before turning away, facing the opposite direction.

Striker's smirk grew even more, but he decided to leave you alone for the moment. However, his golden eyes couldn't help but wander up and down your figure as you suddenly removed your shirt, leaving yourself in just a sports bra and pajama shorts. It was a tantalizing sight for him, and he felt a familiar desire stir within him. Yet, he resisted the temptation, returning his attention to tuning his guitar and keeping his thoughts to himself.

You found yourself drifting off to sleep quite easily for the remainder of the night, perhaps aided by the soothing strumming of Striker's guitar.

However, the next morning, you were abruptly awakened by the harsh reality of a pounding hangover. Groaning lowly, you held your head in agony, feeling the full force of the aftermath.

Hangovers were always dreadful, but you certainly didn't expect Striker to offer you a remedy that actually worked. Now, you found yourself owing him even more, and the thought made you cringe.

Throughout the day, Striker seemed to take pleasure in being an absolute menace, making you comply with his every whim without allowing yourself to get upset. It was a challenging task, as you couldn't help but feel the urge to wrangle his handsome neck.

Of course, this didn't go unnoticed by the others, and Blitz, in particular, became your enemy after divulging your pet peeves to Striker.

Humiliation reached new heights for you that day, surpassing anything you were accustomed to. It was a true test of patience and resilience.

By the second day, you had reached your breaking point with Striker. Seeking solace, you took refuge in the barn, needing a moment to cool off before you ended up strangling him. Instead, you directed your frustration towards the bundles of hay, stabbing them aggressively. One particular bundle seemed thicker than the rest, and you seized the opportunity.

"Stupid cowboy, I'll show him who's the better lasso maker and hog-tie the biggest pig, which is him," you muttered angrily, channeling your anger into your words.