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

A lil R&R

As the scorching rays of Wrath's morning sun infiltrated your room, you stirred awake with a quiet groan. It had slipped your mind that down here, it was perpetually summer, even before the actual season had arrived.

Slowly sitting up in bed, another sensation jolted you to full alertness. The tantalizing aroma of breakfast wafted through the air, enticing your senses.

Without hesitation, you sprang out of bed and instinctively reached for your baton, momentarily forgetting that you were only clad in a tank top and your favorite panties. The thought of an intruder in your home had consumed your mind.

As you hurriedly made your way to the kitchen, you abruptly halted, a mixture of confusion and surprise etched across your face and body language.

Confusion washed over you as you tried to comprehend why Striker, of all people, was cooking breakfast in your kitchen. And the surprise stemmed from the fact that he was already up and about, despite needing time to recover from his injuries.

However, it was impossible to ignore the sight of Striker standing there, clad only in his boxers, his body adorned with bandages. Despite his slender physique, his muscles were undeniably defined...

Striker's eyes twinkled mischievously as he locked his gaze with yours, a smirk playing on his lips. His long tail swayed gracefully behind him, adding to his devilish charm. "Well, well, finally decided to join the land of the living, sleeping beauty?"

Damn it, that Southern drawl of his, with its sultry and slightly rough edges, had a way of melting your resolve.

Shaking off the effect, you regained your composure and tossed your baton onto the couch. "Oh, so now you've made yourself at home, huh? Care to explain why you're taking over my kitchen?" You gestured towards his entire being, a mix of curiosity and amusement dancing in your eyes. As you walked over to the coffee maker, you couldn't help but notice the fresh, steaming cup of coffee waiting for you. Well, he was certainly earning some brownie points already.

"I ain't here to freeload, darlin'. I still believe in earning my keep. Besides, I wouldn't want some random person using up all my supplies and then disappearing, so you better be grateful," Striker retorted, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

You grumbled softly, acknowledging the validity of his point. Taking a sip of the coffee he had prepared, you leaned against the counter, observing him as he worked his culinary magic. "Even though it makes sense, you didn't have to go through all this trouble. And you really shouldn't be up and about, considering your injuries," you muttered, unable to tear your gaze away from Striker as he turned towards you, frying up some bacon. Despite the bandages, his abs looked tantalizingly delicious.

Striker chuckled lowly, his smirk widening. "Looks like you're already indulging, sweetheart," he teased, his eyes glancing down suggestively. "And I can't help but notice just how soaked you already are. I highly doubt it's just sweat from the morning heat."

Your cheeks flushed crimson as the realization hit you that you were barely dressed.

"O-Oh, just shut up! You're the one being a damn fire hazard! Cooking in just your boxers like it's no big deal!" you retorted as you turn your back to him, your tail swishing angrily.

Striker chuckled, effortlessly transferring the bacon onto a plate lined with paper towels, carefully collecting the bacon grease in a mason jar.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize Striker had moved closer until his hands rested on your hips, his chest pressing against your back, his warm breath grazing your cheek.

"Is there something you want me to take care of, sweetheart?" Striker teased, his touch sending shivers of desire down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. But before you could respond, Striker continued, his voice dripping with a dangerous edge.