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

Short and Sweet

Today marked the final day you would spend fully with Striker before you returned to the city, and you found yourself trailing behind him on horseback as you ventured into the treacherous Bad Man's Land. This was the very place where you, Moxxie, and Millie had bravely confronted him in your previous encounter.

Ironically, it was within these perilous grounds that your once casual fling with Striker had blossomed into a full-fledged relationship. Instead of following the regular path, Striker opted for a different, easier route for you.

As you both entered the mineshaft, you couldn't help but stifle your laughter as Striker's self-proclaimed theme song group continued their amusing serenade. The song was catchy, until they unexpectedly incorporated you into the lyrics, causing you great embarrassment. "No, no! Don't include me in that song! Leave me alone!" you exclaimed, while Striker smirked mischievously at you. The smaller imps, sensing your discomfort, scurried away, leaving you and Striker alone. "Not so funny now, is it?" he taunted.

Rolling your eyes, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you dismounted from Bluebell. "Just be quiet," you muttered.

You brushed off the dust from your clothes and surveyed the familiar scene, realizing that nothing had changed since your last visit. The area was still marred by bullet holes and shattered rock formations, with the remnants of Striker's self-portrait statue scattered on the ground.

Glancing at Striker, you noticed an inscrutable expression on his face as he took in the wreckage of what had once been his home for a considerable period of time.

"Sorry," you offered after a moment, capturing his attention as you gestured around. "I mean, about the mess. If we hadn't been caught up in the mission to rescue Stolas and defeat you, we might have appreciated the aesthetic more."

Striker let out a sigh and walked towards an overturned old carriage wagon. "It's just a hideout, nothing more, darlin'," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

As you prepare to follow Striker, he motions for you to stay put. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you divert your attention to Bombproof and Bluebell, who are nestled against each other like a pair of adorable hell horses, bringing a smile to your face.

Suddenly, the muffled sounds of shouting and something being dragged catch your attention. Your eyes widen in disbelief as you turn towards the source of the commotion.

To your astonishment, your estranged ex is bound and gagged, being forcefully dragged into the open by Striker. A whirlwind of emotions engulfs you, but amidst it all, one feeling rises above the rest: pure rage.

Locking eyes with your ex, you feel an intense surge of anger coursing through your veins.

In that instant, you turned your gaze towards Striker, seeking answers. Your tail curled tightly between your legs, reflecting your unease.

Striker released your ex, forcefully stomping on his back to prevent any attempts at escape. "I thought you'd feel better moving forward if I took care of that loose end for you," he explained, addressing the unspoken question that hung in the air.

Your eyes shifted back to your ex, your arms hugging tightly across your chest as a suffocating tightness gripped your lungs. Should you scream at him? Should you unleash your anger and beat him to a pulp? Or should you rise above it all and calmly inform him that causing him harm would be a waste of your energy? This man had not only shattered your pride and humiliated you but also continued to harass you.

Glancing back at Striker, you realized that he had done the opposite. Yes, your initial encounter had involved a fight followed by an intimate encounter, but now Striker was proving himself to be different. He wasn't just another man who took you for granted. He gave you his undivided attention and more.

As you absorb Striker's presence and aura, the uncomfortable bubbles in your lungs begin to dissipate. You realize that he is not only your protector, defending you from harm, but also someone who is determined to make those who have hurt you face the consequences of their actions.

"It's your call, darlin'. You have the first say in what we should do with this despicable excuse for an imp," Striker declares, and a smile forms on your face after a moment as you retrieve your metal baton.

"Stop making me like you so damn much, Striker," you whisper softly, Striker's eyes glinting with a dangerous smirk. Both of you turn your attention back to your ex.

Squirming and writhing beneath Striker's boot, your ex's muffled words reach your ears. Even though his mouth is gagged, you can sense the vile and highly offensive nature of his remarks, aimed at hurting your pride with demeaning and misogynistic slurs.

After a long and exhausting journey, you finally arrive back home and find yourself in the bathroom with Striker, ready to shed your dirty clothes and cleanse yourself in the shower.

As you embrace Striker from behind, he blinks and glances down at your arms, sensing the weight of your emotions. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at you.

With your face buried against his back, you hold him tightly, your voice barely above a whisper as you express your gratitude. "Thank you, Striker..."

In response, Striker turns around, fully facing you, and gently wraps his strong arms around your trembling form. "Anything for you, darlin'," he murmurs in his gravelly voice.

He holds you close, allowing you to snuggle against his sturdy frame for a while longer, his tail wrapping around your waist in a comforting gesture.

"Let's clean off all this blood from both of us," Striker whispers lovingly, feeling your nod against his chest.

In the quiet embrace of the night, you find solace in Striker's arms, your eyes closed as you rest against him. With his arm securely wrapped around your waist, you both bask in the tranquility of your bedroom.

Striker's gaze lingers on you, captivated by your beauty even in the darkness. Tomorrow, you would both return to the bustling city, where you would have to navigate the complexities of dealing with the eccentric blue blood, Stolas. Striker despised it, but he cherished you more than his disdain for the higher-ups.

Sensing his underlying unease, you look up at him, a loving and teasing smile gracing your lips. Without uttering a word, you begin to descend, and Striker's curiosity piques. As he realizes the direction you're heading, a surge of excitement courses through him.

Tonight, you were helping him to unwind.