#striker x imp!reader

[bearw-me]

How would Striker react if reader is a hybrid of a lion and an imp but looks more lion than imp? They don't really know who their biological parents are because they were adopted but they want to look for their real parents.

https://panthera.org/blog-post/promise-hope-tripod-lioness

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=uFcZhH_wFbs&pp=ygUJTGlvbiByb2Fy

i watched the video and read the blog post! (if you read this too, anyone, you should check it out!)

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐋𝐢𝐨𝐧/𝐈𝐦𝐩!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𐐒 ft : striker x lion!imp!reader 𐐒 cw : swearing, fluff 𐐒 summary : striker rethinks what he knows about you, and your odd appearance for an imp 𐐒 note : the reader (like the ask requests) is a heavily lion based character!

At first I think Striker wouldn't like you, considering you don't look like a traditional imp.

but considering you are one, he can live with you around. . . if you aren't proven to be completely useless of course.

I think he'd have a ton of initially bad thoughts about you (as he would anyone else)

Like he hates how 'cute and fluffy' your ears look until they perk up at sounds he can't hear until moments later.

Or how 'useless' your claws are until they prove to make you faster than him.

But. . . he fucking adores your large canines, even if he never directly tells you so, he watches you sometimes when you yawn just to size them up

He likes the fact you can hold your own when you need to, but his feelings kinda fizzle out the moment you rejoin his side happily. claiming him to be 'your pride' and help contribute to his work. (I think this is the part he likes most about you)

He just wants you to be independent, as strong imp's should

The low growl you make sometimes when you talk or get angry is. . . well it gets his heart racing

Hearing you roar makes him shudder, it just sounds so terrifyingly lovely against hell's rings.

(Considering Striker is akin to a crocodile/snake) I think you'd definitely have more physical strength than him, and speed. But don't forget the man is agile and cunning.

Because you're strong, perceptive, deadly, and have the ability to see in the dark naturally. . . striker would learn to fucking envy you :)

he learns to give you his respect!

but I think the man also likes to try and rattle you sometimes and keep you guessing

sure he seems to grow fond with you around, but sometimes he'll straight up call you weak for trying to be 'dependent' on him

if you were looking for your parents I think Striker would help if you paid him or helped him on some jobs. Collecting little letters of information for you to read on top of some bills you had earned from the job.

[nerdysleepybunny]

M A S T E R L I S T : Helluva Boss

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Headcanons

✎ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Rambles

✎ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Fics

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

[voxslays]

“Howdy, Striker!”

Featuring >>> Striker x Reader; In which, Reader catches Striker in the middle of a murder, and things escalate from there.

Warnings; Smut, Possibly Dub-Con, Striker is Striker.

A/N: Sorry for posting my latest part of Haztober so late, here is a special little gift for being so patient with me. I just watched episodes 3-7 of season 2…but 4 and 6…STRIKER!

It was a fine fall day out in the wrath ring. Still very hot, but starting to cool down as it got later into October. You were visiting for the Harvest Moon Festival, hoping to see one of your close friends compete. You were taking a shortcut by walking down an alleyway when suddenly you saw two imps fighting. As you got closer you realized who one of them was—Striker—A famous assassin and cowboy among wrath. “Give up vermin.” He growled at the other demon as he dealt one last blow to the head with his angelic knife. He watched as the imp bled, then turned towards you. “Hello there little one..” Striker grinned, showing his gold tooth. You quickly backed up. “Woah, Woah, Woah there cowboy…I was just leaving-!” You say, clearly panicking. Striker's grin widens, a dark amusement playing in his eyes. He takes a step closer, his heavy boots thudding against the ground. "Going so soon? You just got here. Besides, I haven't even had a chance to,” He pauses as he looks you up and down. He reaches out, his large, calloused hand wrapping around your wrist. His grip is firm, unyielding. He pulls you closer, his breath hot against your face. "…Ask you your name." He purrs, his voice low and menacing.

Your breathing grows heavier. ​​"Now, now, why are you breathing like that? Am I that intimidating, hmm?" He chuckles, his gold tooth glinting in the dim light. "Relax, I don't bite...Hard." He grins, his eyes glinting with a wicked amusement. He leans in closer, his nose brushing against your neck. He inhales deeply, his voice rumbling against your skin. "You smell... different.” He says, his southern accent ringing through the air. “Like flowers, not like the usual stench of this place. Intriguing..." He pulls back, his gaze meeting yours.

“I'm not from here.” You say as your breath hitches. "Clearly." He smirks, his thumb tracing circles on your wrist. "And what brings a sweet little thing like you to this godforsaken place, hmm?"  His eyes narrow slightly, suspicion flickering in them. “I’m just here to watch one of my friends compete in the festival.” Striker laughs. "The Harvest Moon Festival, eh?" He releases your wrist, taking a step back. "Well, ain't that just precious. Coming all this way to watch your little friend play pretend." He shakes his head, another harsh laugh escaping his lips. "You know, I was invited too. But me? In a festival? Might as well invite a wolf to a lamb convention." He chuckles darkly, his gaze returning to you. "But now that you're here, maybe my time won't be entirely wasted." He says, his voice filled with lust. 

You suddenly feel a deep blush coat your already rosy red cheeks. "Mmm, you're blushing. Cute." He grins, taking a step closer. His hand reaches up, his calloused fingers gently caressing your cheek. "Look at me like that again and I might just take you right here." Your blush deepens. His eyes darken with desire as he notices your even redder cheeks and quickened breath. In one swift motion, he pushes you against the nearest wall, his muscular body pinning you in place. His other hand grips your hip possessively.

You gasp in surprise, feeling an army of butterflies in your stomach. *His face hovers inches from yours, his hot breath mingling with yours. "Shh, just breathe," he whispers, his voice laced with dominant undertones. "I promise, I won't bite...yet." His hands begin to explore your body, slowly, tauntingly. His touch is firm, yet gentle, contradictions that send shivers down your spine. His voice drops to a low purr. "You're so responsive... It's intoxicating..." His southern drawl becoming more evident. His hands slip under your shirt, his calloused palms brushing against your bare skin. You can feel his erection pressing against you, a testament to his arousal. "See what you do to me?" he growls, nuzzling your neck.

His kisses become more urgent as you let out a few gasps and moans, his hands tightening on your hips. He grinds against you, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "You taste like honey," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire. "I bet you'd taste even sweeter elsewhere." His strong hands hoist you up, carrying you over to a nearby abandoned shack. He kicks the door open, carrying you inside. He lays you down on a pile of hay in the corner.  His eyes glint wickedly as he looks down at you.  "Now, where was I?"

He crawls over you, his hands pushing your skirt up. His fingers brush against your thighs, slowly parting them. "So innocent..." He kneels down between your parted thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them further apart. He flashes you a roguish grin before lowering his head, his warm breath tickling your core. "I think I'll start here." 

His tongue flicks out, tasting you. He growls in approval, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them open. He buries his face between your thighs, feasting on you like a man starved. His touch is rough, intense, mirroring his personality. "So good..." You cry out in pleasure. He doubles his efforts at your cry, his tongue delving deeper, lapping at your essence. His fingers dig into your soft flesh as he holds you in place, not letting you escape his relentless assault on your senses. He suckles your sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. 

He laps at you more insistently, drinking in your essence. His tongue delves deep inside, stroking your walls. He sucks hard on your clit, determined to make you fall apart. "That's it, scream for me," he growls against your sensitive flesh. He continues his onslaught, drawing out your release. As you come down from your high, he straightens up. His face is glistening with your juices, his eyes wild. He quickly begins to unbuckle his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. The leather hisses as it's pulled through the loops of his pants. He doubles it over, the ends dangling ominously. "You've been a good girl so far... But maybe it's time for a little..."

He leans down, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head. He wraps the belt around your wrists, securing you to the wooden beam above. He smirks at you, his face a mask of dark intent. "Now, where were we?" He drops to his knees, burying his face once more between your thighs. He ravishes you with his mouth, his tongue plunging deep inside. But this time, he brings his hand into play, his fingers joining his tongue. He pumps them in and out, scissoring them to stretch you. ​​He continues his relentless assault on your most intimate area. His fingers curl inside you, stroking your G-spot as his tongue lashes your clit. He can feel you tightening around him. Knowing you're close, he doubles his efforts, determined to push you over the edge into ecstasy. 

He feels your walls clenching around his fingers, your body trembling on the edge. He doubles his efforts, sucking your clit hard as he curls his fingers to stroke that special spot inside. He wants to feel you come undone, to hear you scream his name as pleasure overtakes you. He feels your body convulse, your inner walls gripping his fingers like a vice as you come undone. He doesn't let up, continuing his relentless assault until he's wrung every last drop of pleasure from you. Only then does he slowly withdraw, licking his lips with a satisfied grin. “Stiker!” You scream out. 

He stands up, his eyes burning with a dark hunger. He reaches for the belt still binding your wrists, undoing it and tossing it aside. He lifts you up, his strong arms supporting your weight. He carries you over to the table, setting you down on the surface with a thud. He steps between your legs, forcing them apart. His hands grip your backside, lifting you up and pulling you forward. He grinds against you, his hardness rubbing against your slick folds. "Look at me," he demands, his voice gruff with desire. You immediately look into his golden eyes. 

His eyes bore into yours, his gaze intense and possessive. He reaches down and spreads your lips open, revealing your dripping wet pussy to his hungry gaze. "So fuckin’ pretty," He growls, his voice now filled with lust and his classic southern accent. He lines himself up, the head of his dick pressing against your entrance. He slowly pushes inside, his eyes never leaving yours. He wants you to see who's taking you, possessing you completely. He grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he starts to move. He pulls out slowly, only to thrust back in harder, setting a steady, powerful rhythm.

His thrusts become more forceful, almost violent in their intensity. The table creaks beneath you as he pounds into you. "Take it," He snarls, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take every fuckin’ inch of my cock." He leans down, his chest pressing against yours as he continues to pound into you. He captures your lips in a rough, dominating kiss. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, claiming you utterly. He swallows your moans and cries, drinking in your pleasure like a true cowboy. He breaks the kiss, panting harshly. His hips never stop moving, driving into you with increasing force and speed. The room fills with the obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and your moans. "Take it," He snarls greedily. 

He lifts you up, holding you aloft as he drives into you from below. He grins wickedly as he watches his length disappear inside you, over and over. He leans back slightly, changing the angle and making you gasp. "Oh, you like that? Good." He slams into you, finding that spot inside that makes your vision whiten. He sets a brutal pace, driving into you deep and hard. He watches where he's joined to you, his eyes glued to the point where he disappears into your heat. "You feel so good~” His face contorts with pleasure and concentration as he chases his release. His arms tighten around you, his hands clutching your bottom possessively. His breathing grows heavier, his movements more erratic. He's close. He leans forward, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. He bites down, the sharp pain pushing you both over the edge. He roars his release, burying his face against your neck as he spurts into you with one final thrust. 

He collapses forward, pinning you beneath his heavy, sweat-slicked body. He pants against your neck, his hips still twitching slightly with the aftershocks. After a long moment, he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes dark and sated. "Mmm..." Striker groans. He slowly pulls out of you, his softening length slipping free with a wet sound. He rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you end up draped across his broad chest. His large hand finds your back, stroking up and down possessively. "You did well.” He smirks cockily. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, an unusual sign of tenderness from him. He wraps both arms around you, his hold tightening protectively. "Rest now," Striker murmurs, his voice low and soothing.

[shiroisotto64]

Literally just imagined the poly Asmodeus X Imp!Reader X Fizzarolli where Reader joins Fizzarolli to the Greed Ring (Ozzie didn’t want either to go alone) and it resulted in both Reader and Fizzy getting kidnapped with Blitzø. That random message would have Sttiker having to deal with both Fizz and Reader struggling against him.

Reader would be totally trying to tell Ozzie not to give into the ransom demands.

Can the imp in question be ex bodyguard imp-? Let me cook holdon.

- you told Ozzie you’d go with fizz to make him feel better fizz was happy due to how well they both knew you could handle yourself which was why Ozzie gave so easily and let you both you.

- after breakfast you and fizz headed off. I was supposed to be lowkey and quick. So you’d decided to only bring a knife. Fizz and the pups hop out of the car attracting attention, you weren’t surprised.

- the little cuties ended up dragging fizz off somewhere. You hurry behind them and fizz gets knocked into someone! You help pick him up before making eye contact with blitzo.

- fizz dusts himself off before the verbal conflict starts. You sit and watch now being sure who this imp was at first. That was until fizz said his name.

- they started arguing and you tried to calm fizz down and next thing you knew boom! You we’re all tied up and in someone dingy ass office- now you’re all being held for Ransom….

- the call is made to let Ozzie know and you told him calmly to keep a cool head and relax. To think things through before he came running down to greed and Willy nilly.

- your not sure if it helped cause it was a recording…. You hope it did. In the mean time you’d all been caged up in the air. You sat there quietly while you looked around and tried to figure out a safe way to get you and fizz out.

- you’re taken aback by fizz and blitzo arguing. And you ended up tuning in. But when fizz started crying a bit and said how he just wanted to go home. You’d used your knife to cut yourself and fizz free. Blitzo was surprised but used his Knives boot to free himself.

- he told you both to just watch and you did while he worked his magic. Next thing you all knew everyone was dead and you were all free. Huh… crazy right?

- you looked around for somewhere to go and then crimson and striker came back in. You grabbed fizz and you and blitz made a run for cover. Shots are fired and bad guys pop up and you fiend them off while the boys talk out their problems.

- when it comes for fizz to distract them you just watched until he got to his Italian bit and dragged you into it and spun you around while blitzo finished trying to open the exit.

- All 3 of you make it out. And your ready to go hopping in the back seat of the car before fizz gets ripped away from both of you! You and blitzo turn to see striker.

- fizz is freed the fire breaks out. Blitzo was close enough to save him and then you start making you way home. You’d frowned on the way there and apologized for all that had happened.

- fizz shakes his head and says he’s just glad that you’re both ok. And once Ozzie sees the both of you he squeals and pulls both of you into his arms and smoothers you both with hugs and kisses.

[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!

[sweetadonisbutbetter]

I HAVE A PENNY *gives you a copper penny*:) BUTTTTT ! Do you think you could do Female Fluff with Striker? If not it’s alright!

AHWFR *attempts to grab at the penny like a gremlin* i will write the sexy cowboy... as long as i get the penny in the end (TYY FOR THE ASK TOO TEEHEE) reader is meant to be an imp and they will be married bc...i say so thx

Even cowboys gotta rest | Striker x Fem! Reader

Relationship: Romantic Warnings: NONE!!! kinda short

You awoke to the lack of heat next to you. Sitting up, you rub your eyes and sit up, your blanket pooling around your torso as your husband's shirt drapes over you. You stretch and notice the lack of another presence in your bed. You look to his side of the bed, and confirm that he was not there. Sighing, you throw yourself back into your bed. 

‘It seems he has already left for work.’ You think as you move to get comfortable. However, before you can get too cozy, you smell meat cooking. Slightly startled by the smell, you leap out of bed and go to investigate the smell. Bare hooves caused soft clicks on the floor as you neared the kitchen. At the doorway, there stood your husband, Stiker, in all his glory. His ivory hair was a mess, be it bedhead or your constant moving in the night you didn’t know. He was shirtless, wearing something more akin to pajama pants and without his boots. He doesn’t seem to notice you, far too focused on cooking. You just stood there, looking at your husband's back like an idiot. 

You didn’t even notice him finish up the food, plating it onto two separate plates. You do notice him turning around and looking at you. He wipes his hands on the towel that was on the counter, cleaning them of all the grease and dirt on it. His signature smirk makes its way to his face as he greets you.

“Mornin’ baby doll. Yuh hungry?” You dumbly nod at his question, to which he just softly chuckles. He grabs both of the plates and moves to set them down on the table, you following behind him. Taking a seat, he continues to work, pouring you a glass of what you normally prefer in the morning and fixing himself a glass of coffee. You watch as he works, unsure why you are stunned by your husband being home. After finishing, he drags his seat closer to yours and begins to eat. 

Instead of eating, you continue to look at him like he is a stranger. Striker seems to notice your gaze, and without even looking up, he snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Yuh need something, sugar?” 

“You’re home.” You say after a while. He doesn’t stop eating, he doesn’t even turn to look at you, but his smirk does grow bigger ever so slightly.

“Yeah, I’m home.”

You don’t say anything more, throwing your arms over his shoulders, hugging him a bit awkwardly since he is right next to you. However, he doesn’t seem to mind, instead chuckling and throwing an arm around your waist. You begin to pepper his cheek with kisses, elated to have him home. He chuckles some more, no longer eating, instead of relishing in your kisses. While you were kissing him, he pulled you into his lap. Now on his lap, both of y’alls tail wrap around one another. Once you were done peppering him with kisses, you cupped his face and just looked at him. 

“I wasn’t expecting you home today.”  You say as you stroke his cheek. He leans into your touch and kisses the palm of your hand, placing a hand over yours. 

“Even I can only last so long without your touch.” He purrs, causing you to blush and smile softly. He leans forward and kisses you on your lips, as you return the kiss. After the kiss, you attempt to get off his lap, only to be held back by Stiker’s arm. “Where do you think you're going? You are staying right on me.”

You smile and begin to dig in, already excited for your lazy day with your husband.

AHFDF hope u enjoyed thiss, sorry this is so short bawling i don't really have a firm grasp on his character, so I hope I did him justice :DDD

[effy-writes]

Can I request Striker with a fem s/o (hcs) who is basically the opposite of him, readers a city girl, wears expensive dresses, expensive jewelry, designer heels, and she's most likely a celebrity but she's still polite?? Ty!!

ofc!! sorry it’s taking me so long i have like 10 requests 😭

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

striker x f! yuppie! model! reader HC’s

• striker knew of you because you were a popular model in the Wrath ring. you did all sorts of modeling. fashion, perfume, hands, tail, lingerie, even weaponry. striker being striker, he hated the idea of you. hates yuppies (rich person) absolutely despises them, so he kinda hated you (but he still thought you were extremely attractive). the first time he actually met you was when you were buying a gun that you modeled for. he instantly recognized you because you were wearing expensive clothes with a fucking gucci coat and heels. while shopping, you didn’t know which gun to buy (you only modeled for them, you actually have no idea on which one is better), so you asked striker.

• he was shocked that you were wanting to get his opinion, especially a poor imp like himself. he thought to himself, “why would a rich person want my opinion?”, but he saw how nice you talked to him. you didn’t treat him like a pest, you treated him like an actual person. (he has bad self esteem issues). after that little interaction of him telling you which gun is better and which one he recommends for you, you decided to ask him out. “you’re really attractive, can we go out sometime? getting to know each other better?” he thought you were tricking him to humiliate, but he saw the way you look at him with those sweet, beautiful eyes of yours, so he said yes

• ever since then you two hit it off. he found out so many things about you that you don’t broadcast to the world. he also found out that you don’t model for the money or for the popularity, you model because it makes you happy and helps give you confidence. he was hesitant to tell you about his work, but when he did you were oddly excited. you thought that was so cool and that he’s killing people with a gun that YOU modeled for.

• he was the one who properly asked you to date. he was nervous as FUCK only because he felt like he didn’t deserve a model like you, but you obviously thought very different. you love his personality, his demeanor, and his ambition. the moment you two started dating the media got out about it. he was embarrassed (not because of you, because he didn’t want to seem weak and vulnerable because he IS an assassin, but you quickly told him that it doesn’t make him sound weak or anything like that and you’re very grateful to be dating a guy like him)

•he enjoyed that you never bragged about your money (even though you do wear expensive shit, but he knows you deserve to wear expensive shit because you have to deal with creeps)

• speaking of creeps, he will 100% shoot anybody that tries to touch you, cat call you, or even look at you with lustful eyes. he’s very protective and will do anything to keep you safe.

• you LOVE buying him things, it’s your love language. he always says “you don’t have to buy me fancy shit, i ain’t jealous” “but you’ll look so hot in this! plus let me spoil you, please?”

• because everyone is up your ass, everyone knows about striker and his assassination business. he thought it will bring his sales down, but because you’re so popular and everyone knew him, more people started paying him to kill others. so it was def a win-win situation

• he often feels bad that he can’t treat you with nice things, but you’ll always tell him that you don’t care about money and that you never did. you care if he’s happy and comfortable. but because he’s not rich like you, he will try his best to buy you sentimental things. flowers, love letters, he even saved up his money to buy you a HORSE. (you two joke around and say his and your horse is dating)

• he’s afraid you think that he’s with you for the money, so he’s always telling you that he’s not with you for that. he’s with you because you make him feel happy, you’re super sweet to him, and that there’s somebody in hell that cares about him. you always reassure him that you know he’s not with you for the money

bonus: everyone in the media ships you guys so hard that there’s edits of the two of you, fan art, AND fanfics. striker finds it a little weird, but you find it so fucking funny

[rustycopper4use]

Ok, uhm....I've seen someone make a request for poly Ozzie x Fizz x Reader in which the reader is Blitzø's brother, but I got a better one for you! How about (poly ofc) Ozzie x Fizz x Male Reader who is Striker's older brother? Like, maybe he heard about what happened in greed ring and came to apologise on his brother's behalf and maybe offer his services as bodyguard?

Fizz x Ozzie x Male reader!

sorry I went a little bit off the rails but I hope you like it!!

At the beginning you were close to fizzaroli as kids.

 you first met him at one of his shows, and you would try to see all his shows. And ended up dragging your younger brother striker to them, much to his protests.

  You would spend hours with fizzaroli, him being the only sense of affection in your life. Giving your family’s old fashioned values. His was the escape from it all.

 Your father resented the wasted time spent with some lowly circus clown, he would try every thing to make you to stop seeing him. After awhile he even turned Striker against you, which in retrospect wasn’t hard he idolized him. 

 In the ended up with you sneaking out the house everyday to see the goofy imp.

 However that was until the fire. You had been only been able to talk to him when you actually came to the circus.

 So one day you went to see him, with a small birthday gift you’d be able to pay for.

 only to met with ashes, and burnt remains of childhood memories, it was hauntingly void of life still fresh with smoke.

 And you never heard from him again.

  You left the gift in the remains. It became a regular thing, you’d leave a small gift every year on his birthday.

  A way to remember him, maybe you’d just like the sadness that came with it rather than the bitter empty feeling in your cold aching chest. 

 Or you’re still in denial, waiting for the day he’ll somehow come back and it’ll be some big cruel joke.

  After that you replaced that time with meaningless jobs, helping dad around the farm. 

  While your younger brother took up kill for hire, you would be along aside for protection, an extra set of hands. 

 This new attitude brought a sense of pride to the rest of the family.

 Your relationship wasn’t the same with your less than functional family. You weren’t ever close to your father or brother but, it got even more distant. Opting for only talking when needed.

  One day striker came back from a job beaten bruised, and burned.

 As you fixed him up, he whined about his failed attempt, he brought up an all to familiar name.

 “Y’know that lowlife clown was such a brat to deal with, and his pathetic friend Blizto-“

 “Are you talking about fizzaroli?”

 “-Wait no, Fizzaroli’s alive?.”

 “Look I don’t care if you had a soft spot for that thing, I had a job and I’m gonna go through with it.”

 “You never thought to tell me he was alive!”

 “Of course I didn’t, Dad and I knew you were going to act like this, you became a better demon because of us.”

 “Get out.”

 Striker gets to door before turning back towards you.

 “Im not gonna give up this job because you’ve grown weak.”

 “Oh I know you won’t.”

 He left.

  You weren’t sure what to do now. Striker was a stubborn person, he wouldn’t give up till Fizzaroli’s head was on a stick.

  Luckily for you. you were just as petty as the snake.

 For the next few days you looked for opportunities to work at Ozzie’s. You came across for a listing for a personal bodyguard for Fizz. 

 You got scheduled for an interview, part of you dreaded seeing him again.

 You headed down(up?) to the lust ring. The gorgeous neon lights, against the calming rain.

  The Ozzie’s club was nothing short of a spectacle. And the start to your new life.

  Ozzie was apprehensive on hiring someone with relations with the demon that kidnapped Fizzaroli in the first place. 

 But Fizz reassured his worries, he knew you weren’t like him.

 The start of this job was- not exactly awkward, but there was this weird air around you three. A few weeks in and you’ve finally settled in, you grew comfortable with the duo and life finally felt back on track.

 You still felt guilt for what your brother did, you would always give gifts to fizzaroli as a form of an apology, a better change than what you did for 15 years. You also get into the habit of going above what was asked for even at your own expense.

 Even when Fizzaroli explained he didn’t blame you, it was your brother’s actions after all. You settled for buying him flowers every other day.

  The two would flirt with you, fizzaroli being more bold, knowing exactly what makes you tick and that special spot that makes you melt.

  Ozzie on the other hand, had a different approach. He took on a more romantic strategy, he learned very early on that his voice was your weakness, a few praises and you were a goner. 

 When striker found out he was pissed. His own brother fooling around with blue blood, how did you turn out like this.

 Every time he would show up you always up lovey-dovey just to rub salt in a wound.

  Fizzaroli adored it when you’d get riled up and your southern accent would slip. He would purposely push your buttons lovingly just to hear it.

 Every time Fizzaroli would want attention you’d always make sure to hold his face given it’s the only part he can really feel now.

 Ozzie was the only one that Could cook, and that still didn’t change with you around. Sure you weren’t as bad as Fizz but still.

 Fizzaroli would call you a cowboy (affectionately)

[animeshotsh]

All for the hunt | Striker x GN!Reader |

Summary: Striker does not need a reason to hunt someone down if he feels like it.

Warnings: Yandere!Striker - Helluva Boss violence - grammar mistakes - short -

Striker was someone you could hire to kill anyone, for the right price he would do it. Death was a common friend of his, really he never cared who his target was.

One time the target just happened to be you. One ex was way too witty with you and decided to kill you for good. Striker even if in his opinion was pitiful did once again not care. Once he saw your photo and details and started to form a plan on how to kill you since your ex wanted it to be traumatic for you did he start to get interested.

First, you seemed to just know when someone was watching you. You would leave towns and cities fast. Leaving only bites that did show you were there. To Striker it was enough.

He followed you like a shadow, his bright yellow eyes keeping watch to see with who you would met or what you would do. He could have take the shot many times, but the adrenaline he felt when he was chasing you it was just....delicious.

The first face to face encounter happened in a bar, Striker wanted to see how much he could push you. He took a seat besides you and oreder himself a drink watching from the corner of his eyes how you tensed for just a moment, then relaxed.

Strange.

"So, you are the guy my shitty ex hired to kill me?" You asked with no emotion something that suprised Striker but he masked it behind one of his smirks.

"Well, seems that you are more intelligent that what your ex said" He responded his tail slowly moving towards his knife.

"For his level, even the most incompetent imp would be" You responded eyes still on your drink "But i must warn you..."

Striker felt the broken glass on his face, blood dripping, he pulled out his knife only to be met with the body of another imp.

Shit this npc.

"Im not that easy to catch" You said away from him standing in front of a back door then leaving.

Striker cleaned himself and went towards the exit but once again found nothing. Just as if the interaction had never happened. Only the rest of blood on his face were a signal that it did happen.

"Oh, this just turned to be much more  interesting"

[barefoot-joker]

Highway Robbery Yandere!Striker X Reader

Hey, guys! Long time no read! Today I bring you Yandere!Striker from Helluva Boss! I really fell in love with his character and knew I had to write something for him. I hope I didn't make him to OOC and that you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Warnings: Swearing, Kidnapping, being held gunpoint (Reader), being robbed, being tied up (Reader)

Words: 2,796

I sighed as I fluffed up my dark blue vest. I was feeling a bit tired today, but still ready for the day nonetheless. The sunlight from the morning strobed through the beautiful stained glass windows and the smell of eggs and bacon permeated the kitchen air. Today was going to be a long one with the Goetia family as Stolas would be in meetings and Stella was visiting her brother. Taking the breakfast from its pan, I plated them on intricate blue laced porcelain plates. Satisfied, I grabbed all three and headed to the main dining room. At the head of the table sat the Prince himself, a newspaper open in his hands. Stella sat across from him on the rotary phone, her conversation very loud. Octavia sat in between them, her earbuds in to tune out the world. Going around the table I sat each plate down and then stood off to the side. Pringles came up beside me and read off each royal’s schedule for the day. When he finished he turned to me. “Y/n, I need you to pick up some packages that are ready. I have a set list of where you need to go.”

“Of course, Pringles. I’ll get on it straight away.”

He nodded and the two of us stood by our masters in case we were needed. When breakfast was finally cleared, I went to my room and grabbed my coat. It was quite lovely: a nice heavy dark blue cotton that reached my ankles, gold embellishments detailing celestial bodies across the lapels and upper back. It was a gift from Stolas when I first arrived at the Goetia estate nearly a decade ago. I put it on and exited to the lobby, seeing the Prince and Pringles chatting. They stopped upon seeing me and my fellow servant nodded in my direction. “Your list, my lady.”

He handed me the small piece of parchment and upon skimming through it I noticed most things were for Stella. Stolas was next to hold his hand, a small lumpy brown bag in his talons. “Some money in case things were not paid for.”

He gently sat the bag in my impish hands. “Thank you, Sire.”

I bowed and placed the bag into the pocket of my coat. Bidding the two goodbye, I headed out the door.

Most of my morning and afternoon were spent going into various shops and picking up the desired packages for the Goetia family. I had acquired a large bag full by the time I headed home. However, as I was walking I felt something wrap around my waist. Looking down I saw a lasso and before I could do anything I was tugged into an alleyway. My head slammed against the brick building behind me and I felt the cold tip of a gun against my temple. Looking up in fright, I saw a light red cowboy imp snarling in my direction. His long tail kept flicking back and forth as he dug the weapon into my skin. “Well, well, well. Look what we have ‘ere. Yer far from home aren’t ya, little Goetia peasant.”

I trembled and the rope around my waist felt like it was going tighter. “W-what do you want?”

He smirked, his golden tooth glinting in the light. “I’ve been watchin’ ya all day, just waitin��� for the right moment to strike. Yer masters need their feathers ruffled so give me all ya got!”

Before I could question what he wanted, he attempted to tug the bag from my hands. I gripped tight and tried to hold it back. Within the struggle the bag ripped and everything dumped out. I gasped and the safety of the gun clicked off. “Pick. It. Up. Darlin’.”

The rope around my waist disappeared and I fell to my knees. My arms trembled as I picked everything up and handed it to him. He threw everything into a knapsack hanging off his shoulder before his yellow eyes stared back down at me. “Ya know, that jacket of yours would fetch a pretty price. Give it.”

I sighed but shakily took it off and handed it to the imp. His eyes scanned me once more before they stopped on the silver chain dangling from my neck. “Tryin’ to hide something valuable, princess? I don’t think so!”

He aimed the black gun at my neck and tapped my necklace with the tip. I gasped and clutched it in my hand. “I-I can’t! You can have everything but that! I-It was a gift from a friend!”

“Save the fuckin’ sob story. Hand it over.”

“No!”

He growled, slapped my hand away, and tugged. I gasped when I heard the chain snap and watched as he twirled the locket in his claws. He gave a chuckle as he opened the heart charm when suddenly his face fell. I could swear his face went paler than it already was. His eyes flicked back up to me and roamed my face, his Adam's apple bobbing from his gulp. Suddenly his gun came up and smacked my temple, throwing me to the ground in pain. I grunted and watched my perpetrator run off. Oh Lucifer, what was I going to tell Stolas?

I sighed in defeat and stood, dusting myself off. Silently I made my way back to the Goetia estate.

When I entered the foyer, I did my best to creep past Stolas’ office. However, he looked up and caught me. “Ah, Y/n! You’re back!”

He stood and made his way out the door to me. A smile graced his beak but it fell when he saw the state of me. My hair had become messed up from my fall and there was most likely a bruise forming from where the imp smacked my temple. “Y/n, oh my stars! Are you alright? What happened?!”

He knelt down and lightly brushed his talons across my forehead. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. On my way back I was robbed. An imp held me at gunpoint and took everything. I’m so sorry!”

I started to cry and held my hands up to my eyes. Stolas placed his hands on my shoulders to try and soothe me. “There, there. Everything will be fine.”

“But won’t Stella be mad? There was some expensive stuff he took.”

“No matter. All I care about is that you’re alright. Here, let’s get some ice to tend to that bruise.”

The Prince took me to the kitchen and had me sit as he went to the freezer. He placed some ice into a plastic bag and had me hold it to my temple. “I’m so sorry, Sire. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It’s no problem at all, Y/n. I’m just glad all you got was a knock on the head. How about you take it easy and I’ll have Pringles get dinner ready.”

“I can help too, your Highness!”

“No please, I insist.”

I sighed. I never understood why Stolas was so nice to me. “Thank you, Sire.”

He nodded and left me to my devices. 

A few mornings later, I got dressed in my white dress shirt, blue vest and black pants. As I was tying my black bowtie I couldn’t help rub the area where my necklace used to be. It really was sentimental. It was basically a promise ring that my friend could afford at the time. With it gone I felt naked. A knock on my door made me get out of my thoughts. “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal Pringles. “Y/n, are you almost ready? His Highness is ready for you to take him to the Harvest Moon Festival.”

“I’ll be done in just a minute, sir.”

He nodded and headed off. I quickly tied my bowtie and made my way to the lobby where my boss stood waiting. “Ah Y/n, how are we feeling today? That bruise is not bothering you too much is it?”

Over the next few days my temple had gotten a sick purple and blue bruise. I was sort of used to it due to Stella’s tantrums but this one stung more. “It’s alright. How are we doing today, Sire?”

“Nervous. I heard my dearest Blitzy will be at the ceremony today and I don’t want to mess up in front of him.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, your Highness. Shall we go?”

He nodded and he teleported us to the Wrath ring. As soon as we got there a crowd had already formed around the stage. I walked behind my master and he gave his little speech. As I scanned the crowd, I froze. Standing next to Blitz was the imp that robbed me, a smug look on his face. I couldn’t believe it. Why the hell was he here? The cowboy spotted me and gave me a tip of his hat. I backed up a bit and as soon as Stolas was done I quickly followed him to his private booth. 

The festival went off without a hitch. Stolas was making heart eyes and swooning everytime Blitz was caught in action. As I watched I couldn’t help but notice the cowboy keep his eyes on me when he could. It almost seemed like he was trying to impress me. Soon it was time for Stolas to announce the winners. The two of us went to the stage and the owl cleared his throat. “As for the winners we have in first place, Striker! And in second place, my darling Blitzy!~”

The two came on stage and I could finally put a name to the face. I didn’t dare to look at him, the flashbacks of the gun on his hip attached to my forehead to vivid. The rest kind of went in a blur. I stood by my master’s side as he greeted each of the imps and chatted. It was only a few minutes into the meet and greet I noticed Blitz and his friends missing. I knew Stolas was wanting to talk to his secret lover so I went to look for him. My legs brought me to a house and I couldn’t help but hear the commotion upstairs. I forced myself up the steps and couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my throat. On the floor lay an unconscious male and female imp, Blitz leaning against the bed with his hand on his arm, and Striker holding a rifle out the window. My eyes widened when I realized that the gun was pointed at Stolas.

I rushed in and attempted to tackle the cowboy, but his tail threw me against the wall. “Well look who decided to join us. If it isn’t little Y/n.”

How did he know my name?

I growled and attempted to stand, but his tail trapped me. “Ya know, I wasn’t expectin’ to see yer face again, but hey, I won’t say no to seein’ yer pretty eyes.”

“Fuck you! If you think your flirting will make me forget your robbery and the fact that you were trying to kill my employer, you’re dead wrong!”

I thrashed against his hold but he just laughed. “Who knew ya could be so feisty! I love it.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blitz stand before he side tackled Striker to the ground. The rifle went flying to the floor and as the two struggled, I grabbed it. I aimed it right at the nasty little cowboy. He threw Blitz off of him and stood, fluffing his jacket. “Now darlin’, how about ya just hand that gun on over.”

“Listen, fucker. I don’t know who you think you are but I never want to see you again. You come near his Highness and I swear to Lucifer I will kill you!”

He glanced from me to the rifle, his mind seemed to be made up. “Alrighty, sugar. Ya win. I’ll go, but don’t think this is the last time we see each other.”

With that he ran towards the window and hopped out. I dropped the rifle and helped Blitz pick up his friends, us returning to Stolas. We explained the situation and we thought it best to leave. The owl prince apologized to the crowd for leaving so soon and with that we were off.

The rest of the month went by as it usually would. Striker was nowhere to be seen which was good and life at the palace was steady. It was the start of the next month and nightfall had hit. Everyone was already asleep and I had just put on my baggy t-shirt and shorts. I was just about to crawl into bed when I felt a shiver run down my spine. Something felt off. I looked around my room when suddenly a hand wormed its way around my mouth. I tried to scream and fight my assailant but they held me tight and close. “Shh, shh, darlin’. Don’t fight. We’re goin’ somewhere safe, I promise ya. Just close those pretty eyes fer me.”

I couldn’t breathe, I could hardly move. Eventually I succumbed to the darkness.

When I woke up it was slow. I could feel I was lying on something and my arms were slightly lifted. I groaned and looked over to see Striker sitting in a chair nearby. “Yer finally awake! Took ya long enough.”

I tugged on my arms to sit up but they just stayed put. Looking up I saw they were tied to the bedposts. I kept tugging like the rope would give way and that just made Striker laugh. “Strugglin’ ain’t gonna help, sweetheart. I’m an expert at tying knots.”

He gave a wink and I scoffed. “Why am I even here? You got what you wanted when you robbed me blind. What more could I possibly give you?!”

“Do ya really not recognize me, Y/n?”

Striker stood and took off his hat, his white bangs flopping into his eyes. I shook my head. Suddenly something shiny was thrusted into my face and after staring at it for a few minutes I realized it was my necklace. The heart charm was open to reveal a picture of me and my childhood friend Benjamin from when we were kids. My eyes glanced between the photo and Striker and finally I understood.

Striker was Benjamin.

“B-Ben?”

“That’s right, babydoll. Yer best friend is back.”

“B-But I thought you were killed in the extermination! I, I-”

“I almost was but I escaped with an inch of my life. Holy bullets are helpful sometimes, ya know.”

I couldn’t believe it. It had been ten years since I had last seen my best friend. We had gotten separated when the extermination hit Hell and since then I believed him to be dead. “I wasn’t expecting to see ya that day. I probably would have killed ya but I recognized ya as soon as I saw yer necklace. I can’t believe ya kept it all these years.”

“How could I throw away the only piece of my best friend away? Dammit Benjamin, why didn’t you come find me?”

He growled and slammed his hands on either side of my head. “I did! I went to the orphanage in Wrath and they told me that the Goetias picked you up! The fuckin’ Goetias! Why would ya go with them after everything I told ya?!”

“Because I lost hope, that’s why! I thought I had lost my best friend and I knew it was only time before they killed me! I had no choice!”

He let out a rattlesnake hiss and backed away, his eyes full of venom. “How could ya lose hope? I promised I’d always come fer ya, didn’t I? That’s what the fuckin’ jewelry was for! To show my devotion and love fer ya!”

I paused. “L-love?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his snout. “Yes, pumpkin. Love. I was gonna confess but the damn extermination got in the way and the rest is history.”

He glanced up at me before sitting by my side, his tail coming up to caress my cheek. “But now that I have ya, I’m never lettin’ go. Yer never goin’ back to those pompous asses. I won’t allow them to take away everything I cherish again.”

His hands were quick to grab my legs in a death grip. “B-Ben, you’re scaring me.”

“It’s not Ben anymore. It’s Striker.”

He held up my locket and I watched as it twirled in the moonlight of the motel room. “When I gave this to ya I made a promise. And now I’m comin’ to collect. I am a bounty hunter after all.”

With that he leaned forward, and our lips were intertwined.

[crystalofmoon19]

Childhood Friends - Striker x Female Imp! Reader Headcannons

This is not a request, I still have more to go, but I wanted to make these headcannons so that you have something to read in what ended with the requests. Enjoy!

● You were a small female imp who lived happily with your large family in Wrath, every year your parents took you and your little siblings to travel to the other side of Wrath, to celebrate the Harvest Moon Festival.

● You loved the celebration, you watched in amazement as your parents participated in the pain games, you also wanted to participate but they told you that you were too young to participate. That's why they left you and your little siblings in a muddy area while they were in the care of your tired grandpa (who didn't take long to fall asleep.)

● You, for your part, decided to play in the mud with your little siblings and other children who were near you, but from one moment to the next your mud pies were trampled by someone. When you looked up you saw him.

● A young Striker who looked to be your own age approached you to stomp on your mud pies and tease you, saying that girls shouldn't play in the mud; that boy didn't look like any imp you had seen before and he had features of a snake demon because of his ringed green eyes and the spikes that were around his tail gave him away as a hybrid.

● But you were not going to allow this snake boy to treat you badly, so you decided to kick his foot so that he stumbled to the ground, immediately he pulled the braids of your hair. You screamed but you bit him on the arm and he let out a kind of snake-like scream; It didn't take long for you and Striker to fight each other while the other kids started a mud fight.

● Your mother and Striker's mother (who was a snake demon) had to separate them to stop fighting, and yet he mocked you by sticking out his blue tongue and you also did the same with your tongue. Striker was forced by his mother to come forward with his name and apologize to you, but you knew he was a bad boy.

“Shut up, you dumb girl!”

“Look who's talking, snake boy!”

● Years passed, as your family continued to travel to celebrate the Harvest Moon Festival, which meant that you had to meet Striker every year. He always found a way to annoy you, after all Striker when he was little was a very problematic child and you, being a very brave girl, made them always fight.

● Striker always found a way to annoy you, whether he was making fun of your braids or your love of music (where he said music was stupid to annoy you). You in response called him “snake boy” to emphasize that he was a hybrid and told him that his breath was stinky.

● However there was something that you and Striker had in common, and that was that you liked getting into trouble, you once decided to free the hellish pigs from the town ranch and Striker surprisingly supported you in doing this. And although this caused both of you to be punished by your parents, it didn't take away from the fact that you two make a great team despite everything.

● Another way in which you and Striker managed to become friends was that you started placing bets on the competitors of the games of pain every year, Striker thought that he would easily beat you in this, but the truth is that you managed to be tied in his bets and this made Striker impressed with you.

● As time passed, you and Striker put aside your enmity to have a friendly rivalry between you, you also learned to respect each other's tastes, you supported Striker to be a cowboy like he always wanted since he was a child and he supported passion for the music. (In fact he learned to play the guitar only because you did it to sing your melodies.)

● When you became teenagers, Striker began to see you with different eyes, you were no longer the annoying girl he had known as a boy, now you had developed a curvy body and your hips widened; You were considerably prettier now and he became taller, stockier and his teeth along with the spikes on his tail were sharper. Striker started to develop feelings for you.

● Now that Striker had become old enough to compete in the pain games, and he was more than willing to impress you, what he didn't expect was that you wanted to participate too.

“Why do you want to compete, Y/N?”

“I always wanted to enter since I was a little girl, I want to prove myself in the games!”

“Well, I hope you're prepared, you won't have it easy."

“Let's see who wins in the end, Striker!”

“Do you want to bet, Y/N?”

"What do you want to bet?"

“If I win the games, you will do my farm chores for a week.”

“Okay, but if I won the games, you will take care of my little siblings this weekend.”

“Okay, deal?”

"Deal!”

● You competed in the pain games with Striker, and now that you had grown up they no longer seemed to be as exciting as you thought, because now measuring your strength against strangers, going through obstacle areas and fighting with others was not the most pleasant feeling. You definitely didn't like the games but you still weren't going to give up so easily.

● Striker on the other hand performed very well in the games, showing little to no difficulty in competition, but he always had his eyes on you.

● You gave your best effort in the pain games, you resisted quite well, but your body did not say the same. So there came a point where you fainted in the middle of the competition because you were so tired.

● Striker surprisingly came to look for you when you fainted and carried you in his arms to take you to your family.

● Hours passed until you woke up with your mother again, she scolded you that you had pushed yourself too hard but she was calm that you were okay, when you asked your mother what happened she told you that Striker had carried you home; you remembered the bet.

● That's why you wanted to talk to Striker but you didn't need to call him, because he came into your room as soon as your mother gave him permission to do so and left you two alone.

“Striker! I know about the bet, I lost, I promise I will do your farm chores as soon as I recover…”

“No need, I didn’t win the games either, Y/N.”

“What, you didn't win? Did you…?”

Striker nodded before you even finished saying your question.

“Did you leave the competition for me?”

“And I would do it again.”

● Before Striker said anything, you smiled at him and gave him a big hug that he gladly reciprocated. What he didn't expect was that you would place a kiss on his cheek and it made Striker's cheeks blush and now he could be compared to a complete imp.

“Thank you, Striker.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.”

[kayesfanfics]

General Striker x Reader Headcanons

He hates too much PDA, only likes it when he’s either jealous or showing you off. Otherwise, refrain from kissing and hugging and all that lovey dovey crap, save it for when the both of you are in private. He’s got a bad boy reputation to hold up, and yes he likes to flaunt you but he doesn’t want to be too affectionate and have people realize you’re a weakness of his, especially with he people he works and deals with

He calls you stuff like darlin, pumpkin, sugar, doll face, sweetheart. You call him cowboy, stud, Casanova, babe, and you save daddy for when you want something cause you can NOT tell me Striker doesn’t refer to himself as daddy in the bedroom I’m sorry-

He really likes showing off for you, showcasing his strength, smooth singing voice, rugged good looks, everything. Will do some hard work for you like any repairs around the house, carrying heavy stuff for you, anything like that. Will cook for you as well, he’s really good at barbecue and def makes the best barbecue sauce you’ve ever tasted, and he’ll proudly smile when you dig into his food. Will sing for you if you ask him enough, yes he’s confident but with you he can be a little bashful since he actually wants you to like him. He’s secretly a big sap though and has probably written a song or two about/for you

Whenever you want to go out, he doesn’t have a ton of money to go crazy but he tries his best to find a less sleazy place where it’s less likely for creeps to hit on you and make you uncomfortable. Def the type to fight you on who pays the bill, and it’s often settled with you agreeing to pay for your own stuff, but then Striker will intercept the waiter and give him the cash to cover the both of you. You know he’s not exactly rich himself so you never expected any big fancy thing from him, but when you have date nights in he’ll make you a really nice candlelit dinner and blush a little when you call him a lover boy

But whenever the two of you do go to bars, he gets pretty protective cause he knows the kind of shit that washes up in these places. He knows you can handle yourself and have been for years before you met him, but he’s here now so he can help you out. So if the bartender gets a little too flirty or another customer gets a little too close to you, you hear the rattle and hiss from Striker as he glared at the person as a warning to back off. If the person doesn’t listen or dares to even lay a single finger on you, he WILL start a bar fight and get kicked out for you, he does NOT like anyone touching what’s his or making you feel uncomfortable and unsafe

You do go days, sometimes weeks without seeing him due to his work, but he’ll call you on his burner phone when he’s free to check in with you. You’re not allowed to call him and don’t ever have his numbers to his phone, just in case because he could get caught or something. Which is fine, cause he always calls you in the evening when he’s winding down for the day to say hi and make sure you’re okay. He’ll listen to you ramble about your day, and sometimes he’ll fall asleep on the phone with you, listening to your voice and you smile when you realize he’s asleep before saying goodnight and hanging up

When he comes home all roughed up, you scold him as you grab the first aid kit, which is often kept out now rather than tucked away under the bathroom sink. He rants about how a guy named Blitz and his other imps keeps beating him, but you could honestly care less as you tend to his wounds for him. He’s extra grumpy but you kiss him on the cheek and he softens up a bit, accepting your offer to head to bed early and cuddle a bit. He’s definitely a cuddler once he softens up with you, loves to have you in his arms and sometimes even lets you hold him instead if he’s in the mood for it. And after a beat down, he wants nothing more than to lay on your chest and let you play with his hair or rub his back as he groans from his sore body

CAMPING DATES. He’s already got all the stuff to spend nights out in the desert for his job, so it doesn’t cost him more money and it’s just the two of you. You’ll both ride Bombproof out into the middle of nowhere with nobody around for miles, setting up a fire and lying against his horse to look up at the sky. He’ll give you his jacket when you get cold, claiming he’s just fine but he’s trying not to shiver so you don’t feel bad. Or you can both cuddle up in a blanket, your head on his shoulder as the two of you chat while he roasts some food for the both of you over the fire, giving the leftover scraps to Bombproof

[cherryrainn]

I saw you're interested in angsty asks and this idea has been brewing in my head for a while.

headcanons or short scenario, whichever you prefer (if you're interested in the idea)

G/n reader who works at I.M.P and is Blitzø's s/o gets seriously injured while fighting striker during the events of the Western Energy episode

No pressure to write this one. Take care 💜💜

━━ ✧ 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍��� ; blitzø x reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; OMG I LOVE THIS IDEA THANK YOUU (edit; i was copy and pasting the pairing thing and accidentally wrote fem reader, sorry abt that yall 😭i fixed it!)

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; violence, injury, medical situations

the air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and lingering danger. you were part of the team that faced off against striker, and unfortunately, you bore the brunt of the confrontation.

as the impromptu battle reached its climax, you found yourself in the line of fire, striker's relentless assault leaving you seriously injured. moxxie and millie, your fellow team members, did their best to help you, but the damage was done. wounds marred your form, and the pain was etched across your face.

in the aftermath, moxxie and millie carefully carried you back to i.m.p headquarters, a mix of concern and urgency etched on their faces. the atmosphere inside the office was tense as blitzø paced anxiously, his usual bravado momentarily replaced by genuine worry, looks like one of them called him about it already.

when moxxie and millie brought you in, blitzø's eyes widened at the sight of your injuries. he rushed forward, his usual nonchalance replaced by a rare display of genuine concern. "what the fuck happened out there?" he demanded, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

moxxie explained the confrontation with striker, detailing how you had bravely faced the danger head-on. "we tried to cover them, sir," moxxie added, his usually calm demeanor tinged with a sense of urgency. "but striker was relentless. they took a beating for all of us."

blitzø's expression darkened, guilt evident in his eyes. "i should've been there," he muttered, his tone laced with regret. "i should've protected you."

you managed a weak smile, your voice a mere whisper. "it's not your fault, blitz, you weren't even there. we took on striker together."

blitzø's gaze softened, and he knelt beside you, careful not to worsen your injuries. "you're damn fuckin' right you did," he replied, his bravado returning, though there was a genuine warmth in his eyes.

moxxie and millie excused themselves, leaving you and blitzø alone in the quiet aftermath. the imp-turned-mercenary took your hand gently, his touch surprisingly tender. "you scared the hell outta me, you know that?" he admitted, his usual barriers momentarily lowered.

you chuckled weakly. "sorry for stealing the spotlight."

blitzø's laughter, usually boisterous, was subdued. "you're gonna be okay, got it? we'll patch you up, and then we'll get back to causing chaos together."

despite the pain, you couldn't help but smirk. "looking forward to it."

blitzø, typically one to deflect serious moments with humor, surprised you by maintaining a quiet vigil. his fingers traced absent patterns on the back of your hand as he watched the makeshift medical team bustle around, preparing to mend the wounds inflicted on you.

the imp's expression shifted from attempted reassurance to a quiet rage. he clenched his fists, knuckles turning white as his gaze fixed on your battered form.

"that son of a bitch," blitzø muttered under his breath, the air around him crackling with an uncharacteristic intensity. "if i ever get my hands on that shitbag, i'll make him regret laying a finger on you."

despite the pain, you reached out to gently touch blitzø's arm. "blitz, don't do anything reckless. we can handle this together."

he looked at you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and determination. "he's not getting away with this. hell, i'll drag him through every fuckin' circle just to make sure he pays for what he did to you."

your heart swelled with gratitude for blitzø's protective instincts. "just focus on getting me patched up, okay? we can deal with striker later."

blitzø's anger simmered beneath the surface, but he nodded, a promise etched in his eyes. "we'll deal with him, alright. no one messes with my crew but me and gets away with it."

you couldn't help but laugh, despite the soreness in your body. "well, you're the exception, aren't you, blitz?"

he chuckled, a little smile forming. "damn right. i'm the only one allowed to cause chaos in this place."

you two continued to banter, even in the aftermath of a fierce battle. as he continued patching up your wounds, the imp's laughter mingled with your own, creating a moment of shared resilience amidst your pain.

[sslitherslither]

-Have Yourself a Fiery Little Sinsmas

Summary:

Hell’s still a relatively new concept for a sinner like you, but when Sinsmas rolls around, it’s nothing like the Christmases you knew topside. In Wrath, “happy Sinsmas” comes with a punch to the face, a kiss under the mistletoe, and just the right amount of fiery destruction to make it a holiday to remember.

Pairing: Striker x GN!Reader

Word Count: 6k+

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61644778

'Fa-la-la, the sin is calling, Fa-la-la, the sinners brawling, Raise your fists and join the fray, Angry hearts on Sinsmas Day!'~

Striker gripped the brim of his hat as if the very action would save his ears from this...he dared not call it music. But his partner in crime, his bo, however, seemed to disagree.

You threw your head back, beaming with enjoyment at his expense. Striker quirked a brow, "Yer actually enjoying this?"

You would've been lying if you'd said yes, or no, really. It was somewhere in between. You didn't prefer the music, but there was an odd novelty to it, like nostalgia from a memory never made or long since forgotten. Maybe in this case you'd hit the nail on the head for both instances, it was familiar but foreign all at once.

Perhaps that was the fate of all Sinners once they'd been down here too long. The wonders and terrors of Hell became the new normal, a life long lived in the world of man dulled to the mundane, while that of the Underworld burned through the soul.

"I wouldn't say 'enjoyment,'" a grin broke across your face. "Maybe more like nostalgic. I dunno why, but something about it feels weirdly familiar."

You tipped your head back and grinned, eyes cast upwards toward the many ornaments hanging above. "You know, now that I think about it..." Your gaze fell downwards to meet the narrowed expression of the imp next to you. "This... Sinsmas stuff sorta reminds me of Christmas."

"Christmas? Is that what they call this kinda crap topside?" Striker snorted. He released a humorless chuckle and threw his hand out, motioning to all the tacky glitter and garland around. "S'funny, 'cause to me it looks and sounds like someone died and vomited all over this place."

You laughed hard, the pleasant sound bubbling up over the screech of the jukebox. Striker, the jaded asshole that he was, smirked just so when hearing the mirth he was able to rip from that pretty little mouth.

You put a hand over it in a poor attempt to quell your laughter. It was entertaining to see Striker so riled up over something as mundane as holiday music and trappings and his irritation was entertaining in all the ways he most definitely didn't intend. But the action didn't fool either of you; both of you knew his behavior and distasteful comments were the product of his own frustrations more than anything. It had always been so with the two of you.

Striker grumbled, "Far as I know, and it ain't much when it comes to topside holidays, 'Christmas' seems kinda similar. Not that I know a'ton but Sinsmas looks like someone rolled down Santa Claus' chimney and shoved a big wad of dynamite up his ass."

The words would've been amusing if you hadn't pictured it in graphic detail; thankfully, a new tune on the jukebox broke that thought before it could get any worse.

"Down here, it's about embracin' your sin. Every ring's got its own way of doin' it." Striker pushed back from the table, right hand tapping against the surface while he crossed his ankle over his knee. His back straightened ever so as he allowed himself to lean against the booth's padded backrest.

"Lust’s probably throwin’ an orgy big enough to collapse a town, Gluttony’s eatin’ their weight in Hellfruit pies, and Wrath? Wrath knows what it’s about." There was almost a sparkle to his eyes at that last line; the deadly gleam you adored in your assassin.

“Let me guess,” you said, smirking. “Blowing stuff up?”

“Close,” he said with a toothy grin, the glow of the light glinting off his golden tooth. “Wrath’s about good ol’-fashioned violence. Friendly, of course. Families sparrin’, neighbors brawlin’, whole towns tearin’ themselves apart just for fun.”

You raised a brow. “That’s your idea of friendly?”

“Damn right it is,” he said, tipping his hat. “Ain’t nothin’ like throwin’ a punch at someone you care about to say ‘happy Sinsmas.’”

The picture Striker painted was becoming clear, hellfire and ash, the scent of gunpowder and burning flesh; all the things you knew in this new life with him, but with a spritz of holiday flare and what was likely an array of terrifying looking knitted sweaters.

Your response came after a few seconds. "Not gonna lie, I can see the appeal. I wouldn’t mind tearing off someone's leg, hell, even yours, if it meant I could get rid of this shitty music."

Striker feigned offense, bringing his hand over his heart and leaning into the plush seat. "Ah, but bo," he said, flashing that toothy grin, "that's precisely why we ain't staying around to hear more."

Striker took one, and only one, moment to savor your bewildered expression before slowly rising up from the table. He whipped a couple bills onto the surface, and with all the flare of a performer, Striker snatched you from your seat with his clawed one and tugged you up and away from the booth.

“C’mon, sugar,” he said, gleaming in the Hellfire glow. “Time to show ya how Wrath really celebrates Sinsmas.”

Your smile couldn't be kept at bay any more than the red that crept across your cheeks as you two exited the bar.

Striker glanced back. You knew in that second all was as it should be when his mischievous smile appeared, this would end either in a good show or a riot.

With a sharp whistle that cut through the night air, Striker swung you up onto Bombproof’s saddle in one fluid motion, climbing up and leaning in with that wicked gleam in his eye as he hissed against your ear, "We're gonna make this one to remember."

His lashing tail curled around your leg; he clung tight to the reins in one hand, the other curling around your waist as the three of you tore out into the night. You held tight as Bombproof surged forward, the fiery night swallowing you whole. This was madness, wild, reckless madness, and yet, with Striker grinning down at you, it felt like exactly where you were meant to be.

He let out a whoop as he spurred Bombproof along, his laugh blending with yours as you streaked through the countryside with the Devil's bells tolling behind you and the stench of the Wrath ring's sulfur in your lungs. The very air reeked of gunsmoke, like fireworks erupting along your nerves and flooding you with a strange euphoria that felt downright holy.

The road stretching across the Wrath Ring was eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic clank of Bombproof’s hooves against scorched ground. The distant glow of Hellfire flickered on the horizon, like a crimson aurora that refused to die. You settled comfortably against Striker, his arm clutching your waist as the two of you made your way to who knows where. This was his spur of the moment idea after all.

You'd learned fairly quickly not to press him for more than he would willingly give, knowing that if he wanted you to know everything, he'd tell you without resistance or resentment. However, curiosity was never so easily dissuaded, and although he'd given you a few little tidbits here and there regarding his past, the finer details continued to elude you. But it seemed tonight he was in the mood to share.

“Y’know,” he began, voice carrying easily over the crackle of distant embers, “back when I ran with my old posse, we’d spend Sinsmas raisin’ all kinds of hell.” His tail flicked lazily behind him, a sure sign he was drifting into memory. “We’d meet up in some dusty town or on the outskirts of a ranch, didn’t matter where, an’ go at each other ‘til we were bloody, bruised, and laughin’ like idiots. T’was the best way to bond, really. Nothin’ says trust like a fist in your face followed by a good bottle o’ Snakebite whiskey.”

A smile flitted across your face as the scene was set, Striker, a lot younger, not nearly as grizzled and dangerous as he was now, surrounded by a band of kids just looking for a good time and someone's teeth to knock loose. It was oddly pleasant to envision, your mind providing a grainy, wild West-type ambiance like something off of an old radio drama.

He cleared his throat as he went on, "Families in the ring got a knack for holdin’ grudges, so we figure it’s best to just punch it out. That way you know who’s serious about lookin’ after you, an’ who’s only talkin’ big.”

There was another pause then, a moment of quiet except for Bombproof’s steady stride. You found yourself thinking of your own past, of cold December nights back on Earth, hot cocoa warming your hands, gaudy sweaters and candy canes, pine trees decked in ornaments and lights that blinked all through the long winter darkness. Compared to Wrath’s infernal backdrop, it felt like a half-remembered dream.

It made you sad, a little, but you tried not to dwell, choosing instead to lean back and nestle against Striker until all the earthly pain felt a little farther away. "I had a different experience growing up. For humans, Christmas can get a little...family-centric."

Remembering back to yours was a jumbled mishmash of colors, sounds, and scents that were fumbled about like the scattered pieces of a puzzle. It was hard to recollect and organize into an image of what was once a cherished time. Even harder when you tried to explain it to an Imp who's known nothing but turmoil and heartache most of his own life. And it wasn't comparable to your own. You two were two terribly different beasts of burden, one a Sinner, the other hellborn. And you didn't even want to bother going down that rabbit hole of issues and consequences.

"On Earth, it's celebrated differently around the world, but some stuff stays the same. It's about family, friends, sharing and celebrating, singing, sometimes snow. At least I think. It was pretty great last I checked."

Striker gave a low snort, somewhere between amusement and skepticism. “Heh, sounds soft to me. But if it worked for you, guess it can’t be all bad.”

He said it dismissively, but his tone wasn’t unkind. In fact, the faint shift of his tail, thumping gently against your leg, suggested he was more interested than he let on. You allowed yourself a small smile, recognizing that in his own way, he was listening. For a man of few outward affections, that was enough.

"So when can I expect your fist flying my way?" you asked jokingly, squeezing the tail around your leg and adding, "Maybe sometime after I kick yours if the opportunity arises."

There came that laugh you enjoyed so much. "Somethin' tells me, ya ain't got the stones fer that, darlin’." He patted Bombproof. "Nah, I got somethin' more your speed planned. A lil' surprise for the ya, to take the edge off."

"Surprises are your way of taking the edge off?" you laughed. "Are you trying to put me through the damn wall, Strikey?"

He cringed at the nickname. "Guess it depends on yer definition." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your hair before the both of you could continue. He pointed far off into the distance ahead and grinned. "Look alive. These poor bastards don’t even know they’re about to get a real Sinsmas show.”

The town's annual holiday fight was well on its way to starting without the two of you. What an honor.

Several various sized homes and buildings, of the barbwire, dust, and cow town aesthetic common to this region of Wrath crowded the stretch ahead. And in their midst sat one of those vaquero-styled bars, illuminated by lantern light and ruddy flames, and filled to the rafters with folks too entangled in their rowdy antics to notice your arrival. The streets carried various people two and fro, none to keen to look towards their towns newest cowpokes. Oh, only if they knew...

It would change shortly, you assumed, and judging by the twitch in Striker's tail and the hand clutching your hip, you gathered he was already brimming with excitement. He tipped the brim of his hat to you, mouth spreading into an impish grin.

"Guess we’re late to the party.” Striker called.

You raised an eyebrow, surveying the scene. “Late, huh? Or just in time to make it a lot worse?”

Striker’s grin widened. “Oh, sugar, you know me too well.”

The chaos started almost instantly, in perfect coordination as Striker whirled around and popped off several shots in quick succession. Windows shattered under the onslaught; screams erupted; folks raced in random directions while others sought the source of the commotion, namely the two of you.

Ornaments popped off from where the bullets made impact. Ribbons lit ablaze; a giant, festive rendition of Satan himself went up in a shower of fiery bits. You winced. Looks like this might be Wrath's only gray Sinsmas with all the ash that would surely rain. A chipped sign reading Satan's Little Helper flew straight up into the air.

All hell broke loose in the nearby bar as a hoard of people ran outside with the same tenacity of a group of rampaging hellbeasts, men, women, and a smattering of children whooping it up in their drunken stupor.

Striker reloaded with practiced ease, spinning his revolver before holstering it and surveying the destruction with a satisfied smirk. “Now that’s how you kick off a celebration,” he drawled, tipping his hat at you. “What d’ya say, sugar? Ready to help me take this town down in style?”

"Like I'd refuse?" you said, matching his crazy with your own, teeth nearly glinting with the same impish intent. "What's your poison?"

“My poison? I reckon it’s a little bit of everything.”

Striker laughed low in his throat, almost a purr, as his tail looped around your mid-section again, tight enough that you couldn’t move but soft enough that the sensation wasn't painful. It felt nice. Dominant in an adoring sort of way. He reached for the lasso coiled at his belt. With one fluid motion, he spun it through the air and caught a small loose board from a broken fence. The wood snapped free with a satisfying crack as he reeled it in and handed it to you.

The smile he gifted you was anything but subtle. "For ya, darlin'. Your first proper beatin'."

You stared back at him a moment before shaking your head, lips parting with your silent laughter as you took the board. It was weighty in your grip, it'd certainly leave one hell of a bruise, but somehow, you relished the thought.

He watched you test the board’s weight. “Don’t be shy now. Swing it like ya mean it. Ain't no time for half-measures.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Now listen here,” he said, spinning his gun with a flourish, prepping to dismount. “You take the high ground and smash whatever’s in reach, decorations, windows, heads if ya feel inclined. I’ll stay low and handle the rest. Sound like a plan?”

Your grip tightened on the board as he slipped off in a graceful tumble. “I’ll leave nothing standing. Better hope you can keep up.”

"Show me whatcha got, gorgeous. I've gotta see you put your money where that sweet little mouth of yers is."

That was a promise.

Fired up and itching for violence, you urged the Hellsteed forward, readied your weapon, and charged ahead. It was not the most noble form of battle-not a battle at all but rather a riot. Not at all what you expected, but not a second later, you decided you didn't care.

There was something in the air, thick and sharp and electric. It crackled around you like a blanket and fueled the adrenaline surge that raced through your body, pumped through the muscles of your arms, your legs. You were wide-eyed and wild, and the rush of freedom, of true and utter liberty, felt euphoric.

What had Striker unleashed within you? Was it a darkness of some sort, maybe? It hardly mattered because the ecstasy that swept over you in this moment was palpable, making every nerve tingle. And you never wanted to give this up.

Destruction was your name, and Wrath was your king.

The night was a typhoon of glitter and grit, shards of glass and broken bulbs that flashed white, red, and purple; splashes of paint and flame; the clang and bang and splash of tinsel; and above it all, your cry, triumphant and a little hoarse.

This was, quite simply, the greatest thing you'd ever experienced. Somewhere in the background, the clipping tune of Sinsmas music could still be heard from the beat of an old jukebox.

You tore across the main drag with the frenzy of a bat out of Hell, shouting obscenities and delighting in each explosive blast that tore through the old town as Striker laid waste to what you hadn't.

You never knew you could feel so free, like a dam of pent-up rage and chaos finally set loose upon an undeserving public. Maybe in another life, another time, in any reality, your actions here would have been the devilish sins that kept you confined in a place like this.

Here, right now, it felt more holy. Like finally discovering yourself in the middle of Hell's anarchist festivities.

This was you. This was your time.

It was insane, manic, deranged, and a part of you could finally claim it as your own. Perhaps you'd feel bad later, but right now? Right now, there were no repercussions, no judgmental stares, and no demands that held you back. You were drunk on it, on all the hedonistic hell-raising your impish suitor had turned you into.

And boy, did it feel fantastic.

There was a single instant, less than a second, in which the dust and debris began to settle. You managed to steal a glimpse of Striker, panting, wild-eyed and exultant amidst the rubble. He turned toward you with an expression that was half manic, all approval, and everything in between. His body tensed, the muscles beneath his clothes coiling in anticipation, a cat prepared to spring. And just when the world slowed to a near-stop, you let yourself go-

To say Striker's pulse was racing would be the understatement of the century. Watching you ride like some valkyrie and sock the townsfolk upside the head as if they were little more than props? It felt like his heart was caught in a fiery grip. As the pandemonium took root and he saw your dark power start to grow, his lust surged tenfold-to a point where he couldn’t simply watch his partner get their kicks anymore.

No, this wasn’t some fling of a few months or a hot night of sinful indulgence.

You were a star in your own right, and the way you’d grown and shone brightly within such a short time sent thrills of raw heat through his system. Sure, you had your issues to work through, and perhaps a psycho or two's influence had paved part of this new path, but you’d gotten here through your own agency.

And boy, was he happy to have been along for the ride and the havoc it caused.

Seeing you go buck wild? He found it rather addicting.

And once again, he was back under the spell.

One minute, he was watching with a level of pride and pleasure that no other Imp could offer; the next minute, he was falling face-first into the chaos he had birthed in your wake, desperate to be in the fray. You weren’t the only one looking for a good old-fashioned show.

Gunshots rang out like the twinkling bells on the holiday trees he tore through like tissue paper. You couldn’t be caught so long as the world was tinted in a lovely crimson haze. Neither would you remain stationary much longer, not as soon as you heard those sweet bells chime across the streets and found Striker weaving through the mayhem.

A piece of the Sinsmas puzzle you’d needed was staring right at you with his dashing grin, racing for his satchel full of Hell's finest explosives.

To others, he was simply a wanted criminal, a thug, a vicious murderer, and the one to make anyone shake in their boots. To you? He was a goddamn treasure, someone worth his weight and beyond.

And with a way of ending the night that would keep you singing his praises for days, you wouldn’t refuse his company any chance you were given.

The world was a haze of rubble and heat, shattered ornaments and drunken jeers. A swirling, throbbing heartbeat seemed to pulse through the streets, emanating from the two of you, like you were the epicenter of Hell’s greatest quake. Even the sky seemed to quiver under the onslaught of your mutual ecstasy.

Although the townspeople would rebuild and continue their way of life (as, according to Striker, these little battles were par for the course), for a moment you shared something together that no one else in Hell would.

Striker gleamed. Flashing an insane sort of smile that rivaled anything you'd ever seen, he leaned forward, tail swishing as though physically drawn to you by invisible strings. You could feel his approval, his need, his unyielding lust surging through you and setting off your nerve endings with enough energy to power all of Wrath.

Your lungs burned from shouting, your muscles humming in sweet exhaustion. Yet none of that mattered as he closed the distance to your side and climbed back up in the saddle like he’d never left. Your eyes met, and in them was a message without words.

It was time to leave.

But not without a grand finale.

As if to emphasize this unspoken communication, he reached down into his back pocket and slowly drew out the most spectacular stick of dynamite you’d ever seen.

"Now I ain't one to showboat my stash, darlin'," he drawled, running a hand across it. The look on his face was purely lecherous as he added, "but sometimes... well, you deserve to see the kind of pleasure I carry on the job."

Without further explanation, he struck a match across a claw-like nail, grinning wickedly as he held it to the fuse and gave the ignition a swift puff of breath.

"Consider this... a taste."

You weren’t sure why your breath caught the way it did, why such a tiny wisp of fire was having such a drastic effect on you, but your heart seemed to tremble. Or perhaps you were imagining the feeling. Either way, in that moment, your focus was solely on Striker. His arm wound firmly around you as Bombproof carried the two of you a fair distance from the mayhem.

You watched as his tail began to lash excitedly, your gaze fixed intently on the slow-burning fuse of the lit bomb. For the first time since you’d embarked on your date tonight, a hush fell over the chaotic streets.

The citizens watched in anticipation as the flames closed in, their breath held and eyes wide. Everyone seemed to know instinctively that things were coming to a head-this was going to be the finale.

The dynamite flew into the branches of a rather grandiose, Sinsmas-themed fir tree that loomed proudly in the town center-just seconds before detonating. Brilliant sparks and embers, followed by an earsplitting boom, split the sky and cast it aflame. The night came alive for one dazzling, awe-stricken moment.

The wind left your chest as the fireworks blazed, casting a red shadow that loomed over the city and bathed the world in the same crimson color that stained your vision during the earlier festivities. It was perfect and so damn fitting, it was impossible to tear your eyes away.

Striker took the reins from your hands, his own tucked tightly around your waist, and spurred Bombproof to a gallop. The thundering ember hooves sounded louder than usual under the rumbling echoes of the explosion. Soon, the lights faded to pinpricks of glowing color in the far distance, and you were the last thing people saw as your new, hellish paradise raced past and swept you away in an inky wave, swallowing your exit into its darkness and obscurity.

The adrenaline from the night’s chaos gradually ebbed, leaving a pleasant hum in its wake. The cool night air, juxtaposed with the warmth of Striker’s embrace, created a cocoon of comfort as Bombproof’s pace slowed. Finally, you came to a halt miles out of town.

In front of you sat an old, abandoned saloon, its sign creaking low in the evening air. As you gazed at it, Striker gently cupped your chin, turning your eyes to meet his. A soft smile and glinting, hungry eyes greeted you.

“Can I tempt ya?”

His lips parted just slightly to reveal his forked, serpent’s tongue. The sight was always welcome, but when mixed with the emotion glowing just beneath the surface of his smolder, it was even more tantalizing.

And you hadn’t the resolve to resist it tonight.

Not that you’d even try.

“It’s almost hard to believe,” you started, pressing your forehead to his and basking in his closeness, “I was scared of you once. A pretty funny picture, I think.”

“Scared? Hm, it seems your tastes run in quite the opposite direction now. And lucky for you,” his fingers nudged your chin up, your lips scarcely a breath apart now, “they happen to align with mine.”

There was a moment of pause, a shared inhale before..

Finally, a kiss. Warm and soothing, sharpened by Striker’s teeth as they grazed your lips, promising you something deeper. Fully aware, fully prepared, and more eager than ever to allow it.

But not here. In a little while.

As though reading your mind, Striker broke away with an uncharacteristically soft grunt. “As much as I’d love to carry on, this fine weather ain’t good for the skin.” He nodded his head at the sky, the wind whistling as a sudden change began to seep in. “Rain’s comin’, and those clouds’re telling me I best get a roof over yer head, lest a stiff wind tear it from yer shoulders.”

And as if the weather were toying with Striker’s idea, there was a rumble of thunder. Before you knew it, the two of you made your way to the ramshackle entrance of the nearby establishment, finding a suitable place for Bombproof to call home for the night.

Once inside, it took only a moment for your eyes to adjust and observe the condition. Everything looked fairly dusted-over and a bit barren, but not bad enough for the place to have seen frequent foot traffic.

It was as quiet as the dead, save for the occasional creak of floorboards, rough from age, as you took care to maneuver your steps.

In all, the place looked more like an inn than a bar, with a stairway leading up to what you assumed were once bedrooms for passing guests. To one side was an immaculately dusty bar; on the far left, a fireplace sat long-dead and without a trace of soot or embers.

There was another exit off to the side of the room, perhaps a kitchen, a broom closet, or a cellar. Anything was possible. Still, there was a serene aura here, the promise of rest and shelter from the brewing storm.

“Eh, not the Ritz, but it’ll do for tonight,” Striker broke the silence, moving through the room and beelining for the bar. “Let’s see if the hooch here’s still passable.”

His tail flicked and rattled curiously behind the counter as he rummaged around. Meanwhile, you scanned the room, picturing what adjustments could be made to turn this from a dusty hellhole into something resembling a comfortable refuge.

There were some cons that came with seeing a wanted man, and sometimes that meant abandoning the luxuries of civilized society for something less impressive. But as far as you were concerned? This might as well have been a five-star resort compared to the nothing you’d had initially when dropping into Hell.

“Haha! Well, lookie here.” Striker reeled back with a few bottles of uncorked whiskey and rum. “Found us some aged spirits. Might even be vintage.”

“Aged or forgotten?” you quipped, arms full of anything that vaguely resembled a pillow or blanket as you made a nest near the fireplace.

“Some would argue a little of both.” Striker walked up and set the bottles on the mantel of the fireplace, giving you a look. “Gonna go check the perimeter and gather some kindlin’ for a fire. Won’t be gone long.”

You nodded. “I’ll see what I can do about making this place a bit more hospitable.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, giving an appreciative whip of his tail to your ass before sauntering toward the entrance.

“Mmm,” you hummed, shifting with a subtle heat creeping through your features from where he’d touched you. Then, you went back to fluffing your pile of cushioned treasures.

A little while later, with a few extra scavenged blankets, you stood back to appreciate your handiwork. Surrounded by a cozy, comfy little nook to snuggle into, the rest of the room seemed dull in comparison, though definitely a lot less dusty. Striker joined you shortly after, the crackle of dry twigs in hand and the scent of rainfall wafting in behind him. He looked satisfied, confident with his inspection.

“Nice job on cleanin’ this place up. This is probably the nicest shithole I’ve ever been in.” His tone was half jest, but the look in his eyes revealed pride at how quickly you had managed to adapt and fix a less-than-pleasing situation. It was admiration for a skill many wouldn’t consider valuable but was a necessity of life in Hell. Another reason for him to fall further down the rabbit hole of affection for you.

“Had to make sure you had a reason to come back,” you quipped playfully.

Quick work was made of the fire, and soon your temporary safe haven was bathed in the flickering light and comforting warmth that drove the chill from the old saloon. Silence hung in the air, not oppressive, but rather restful. You didn’t realize how exhausted the night had left you until the calming quiet descended, bringing with it a pleasant heaviness that sank into your bones. Your body relaxed into the pile of cushions beneath you as you felt Striker curl up beside you while the embers began to settle. Your eyes flicked over him, noting that he’d stripped free of his usual ensemble in favor of ripped white pants, a black sweater, and his bandana. No jacket tonight, not even a hat. Simply Striker.

The distinct pop of a cork being pulled free broke the silence. Striker passed you the bottle of whiskey with an amused grin.

“Cheers,” you offered before taking a swig. The burning liquid slid down your throat, leaving a familiar fiery sensation in its wake.

Minutes or maybe hours passed in a pleasant haze. One conversation drifted into another, shared ideas, dreams, memories, and experiences. Yet the memory of the earlier dance and the destruction that followed was a recurring theme. The magic of it hadn’t yet faded. You were still high on it, and Striker’s expression revealed he was just as captivated, reliving the intense pride and wild lust he’d felt seeing you so unapologetically free. Just as unhinged. His little hellcat.

One look led to a smile, which led to a laugh, a touch... and then, a kiss.

Oh, what a kiss!

You could get lost in these kisses of his, like the slide of a well-aimed bullet, his softness in a moment of sharp intensity and, after the night's earlier chase, a bone deep kind of ache that you relished.

His hands were quick to slide themselves in the contours of your body, warm and firm and exploring, always careful to discover the curves and edges of each valley and peak they met, marking your topography like a man possessed. It wouldn't be long until you were as well, fully prepared and receptive to whatever else he was in the mood to explore, paying a particular amount of attention to a sweet spot between the junction of your throat and shoulder. The more you responded to him, the harder his lips pressed.

"Wanna keep ridin', sugar? Show me how you swing."

He was breathless, voice gravelly and eager as he curled his tongue around your earlobe, feeling you quiver, gooseflesh rising. He chuckled and sent a fresh flood of warmth through you as you reached forward, grabbing the hem of his shirt, dragging him with you and sealing it all with a firm, promising tug. It was a very unsubtle motion, one that told him everything without words.

"Don't hold back."

His smile grew devilish at your command, his grip firm on your hips, and every ounce of your trust laid out bare before him. It was so, so easy to melt in the haze of passion, especially as he rolled the black sweater up and over his shoulders, discarding it, revealing a path of sinewy muscle and scars along his chest and abdomen. The gentle orange of the fireplace seemed to lick up along his body like the hot blood running through your veins and his yellow eyes flared as if lit by the sun. There was a voracious spark hidden behind them, an undercurrent that seemed to glow every time your hips ground into his own, eliciting a shudder to surge down his spine and you couldn't help but relish it, because knowing he reacted to your body the same way it did to his?

There wasn't a Hell you'd want to be in other than this.

Your world seemed to spin as he grabbed the backs of your knees, pushing upward as he pressed you to your backside. In an instant he was hovering above, a slender figure against the darkened ceiling of the saloon. Each movement was full of intention, precise and planned and sent a heady, excited pulse to throb through your veins and between your legs as his hips slid and thrust just a few tantalizing inches from yours. With practiced, clever hands, Striker caressed every inch of you and even through your clothing he'd managed to turn you into putty between those well-calloused claws of his. The taste of alcohol and ash had become an indescribable delicacy. Like the very flavor of passion made solid form. And how wonderfully he treated it. Treated you.

Your clothes joined his in an ever-growing pile near the fire's edge, and when finally you had nothing more to separate the both of you, Striker gave a purr of delight as you both fell, and tangled, and thrashed. Heat poured off him in waves, your lips sucking and tasting. Your name had never sounded more satisfying on his tongue as he plunged into you with some preparation. But even as the two of you tumbled back to that mountain of blankets and cushions and pillows, hands greedily roamed. Hungrily pawed and took everything each was willing to give and take, and you were both oh so willing tonight.

Mercifully, there were no barriers now, there'd been so much on display tonight, had already shown yourselves to one another without hesitation but now there were no games or hidden agendas or layers of dress or thick denim to tease. This was the night, and all its pleasures would come to bear in all its fullness.

You were lost to the throes of passion as you surrendered, to each other and the chaos, to that unbridled impulse. It was freeing. An intimate release you never realized you'd craved; and now that it was yours, all you could think about was the searing taste of his skin against yours, the noises he made between gritted fangs. Your bodies connected like a perfect machine, not one missed beat as the tempo began to pick up.

The beat he set was reaching its finality in the way his breath hitched, the way his tail spasmed between his legs and curled around yours. The desperation of a man in the throes of unbidden temptation. How the pressure built and pooled and throbbed with a steadily building rush. The pace was getting to a head and you both were too hungry to resist the bite of it. This delicious, wild and reckless song you'd been playing all along that no words or instruments could've captured better than your gasps, his growls and moans, your entwined limbs and soon there was an explosion of pleasure that rocked through you. Every nerve screamed in ecstasy and you reveled in it, calling his name as though it were the name of a god.

Beneath your fingers his back flexed and shuddered, his powerful body losing that focused edge as he buried himself as deeply in you as he could get. Stars popped behind your eyes as he gave a drawn-out growl of bliss, the heat of his seed hitting deep within. For a moment, there was no feeling at all.

Utter bliss. Pure, blinding rapture as he pounded relentlessly, chasing that high until the sensitivity was all but too powerful.

“Now that’s what I call Sinsmas cheer,” he breathed, moving off to the side to allow you to catch your breath before settling next to you in a firm embrace. It was his silent signal that he was finished. “Could use a repeat though. Or ten. I’ve got quite the stocking.”

“For now,” you responded between heaves, “we should save the cheer.”

“Smart, sugar,” he acknowledged, smiling warmly as he brushed a clawed hand down your face.

“With time?”

“I’ll see what else I can fill up,” he mumbled back, nipping playfully at your neck before tucking his arms around you, spooning into your body from the side as you faced the warm fireplace.

The sound of your sighing breaths matched his, his muscles winding down with yours. Now, together, lying on a cushion of fleece and warmth, the day was finally beginning to feel complete. Your hand ghosted across his as the sky outside continued to fall, the tell-tale signs of a deluge evident even from inside. The tinkling sound of raindrops against the windowsills lulled the two of you further into one another, hands intertwined and breathing synced.

“Sometimes I wish days like these lasted a little longer, you know? That way, the nights like this can last, too,” you mused.

“Heh, well, I wouldn’t get my hopes up on that, darlin’,” he replied in a husky drawl, the reverberations in his chest becoming more noticeable the closer your head drew to his sternum. “Sides, you’ve got plenty’a nights left to spare. We can start again at sunrise if you’d like.”

“Would you like that? Just you and me… watching the sunset together before tearing the night a new one and dancing until sunrise?”

“Hell yes.”

“Thought so. After all, we haven’t shown Hell who’s boss yet.”

“I ain’t heard such a tantalizin’ proposal since we met, doll.”

“So…?”

“Count me in, sweet thing,” he trailed off, lost to the melody of the raindrops. “Guess you’re stuck with me, sugar. Not that I’m givin’ you a choice.”

You shifted, drawing your face upward toward his and planting a quick peck on his lips. You whispered sweetly in response, “Won't here me complaining.”

As his arms embraced you tighter and sleep began to beckon you closer with each passing blink, your thoughts raced and excitement began to build. You’d finally done it. Found yourself in Hell. Got a man worth more to you than any paltry Heaven or mortal afterlife combined. And all thanks to the delectable devil sitting next to you, eyeing you with his own pride and love.

And next Sinsmas, it’d be your turn to return the favor and spread the sin with him.

[signedkoko]

i was thinking how Blitzo would be with a fallen angel s/o. (headcanons)

how are you? remember to eat and to drink water❤️

Blitzo X Reader [Romantic]

In which you are a fallen angel- and have also fallen for Blitzo.

You were one of many who fell the same day Lucifer had

And one of the few who had lived so long afterwards, to the point where fallen angels were not so spoken of, and where your presence came as a surprise

For you, it was a blessing in disguise, as it allowed you to live freely compared to your past, where many feared and obeyed

Now the idea of a fallen angel was altered dramatically, some thought only Lucifer had fallen, others assumed it was nothing but a myth, a story that tried to explain hells cruel existence

Blitzo thought the same before he met you, that fallen angels were just a story

But like your nature had built you, you'd once saved him from Striker using your bloodied wings as a shield, and even with an angel weapon's shot to the head, you lived

Blitzo thought it was cool as shit, and instantly tried to hire you

Originally you'd denied his request, because to be quite frank you didn't care for the idea of killing people for sport

But you found him outside your door every day, insisting

You agreed to be apart of it, but only to minimize casualties to extra civilians

You'd try your best to ensure only targets were slaughtered

From there, the two of you were near one another to the point where you weren't ever apart, and somewhere along the line you'd ended up more or less an item

The sight is comical, a loser of an imp stomping along next to a fallen angel, who's blood stained and battered wingspan was longer than his body, and who's halo floated cracked and flickering above their head

Yeah, he certainly had one hell of an s/o by his side now

He brags about you so hard to anyone he gets a chance to- guy behind him in a grocery store line, mailman, client, Moxxie, he just won't let it die

Blitzo would never say it, but he is extremely worried what things might happen to you if too many people found out, so he suggests ways to hide your more angel-like features

Other fallen angels were not just killed by exterminators, they were probably hunted for their wings and halos, he could only imagine the price on your head

Might have you wear a veil over your halo at the very least when you go out, or suggest dying your wings to look more like a hellborns'

Author's Note - I am good!1 Thank you so much for requesting, I did in fact eat today (made myself some toast, eggs and bacon for breakfast, among other snacks later on) and had some green tea + brown sugar bubble tea as a dessert! You better be doing the same!

[scoutswritingcorner]

Cowboy Romance

Striker x GN!Reader

TW: Fighting, NSFW at the end. 

A/N: I love me a cowboy- especially an evil cowboy..LOVE IT. So let me say- cowboy enemies to lovers? 

-☠️ Striker doesn’t believe in love- he thinks it’s a weakness and a weakness anyone can exploit. 

-☠️So when he sees you, oh god he immediately wants to take you out of the picture. He has a whole plan and back up plan. This man hates you so much.

-☠️ So whenever you keep evading his attacks or just ignoring him it pisses him off even more. Don’t you get it? He hates you so you should hate him.

-☠️ While you- you maybe a farm hand or just another assassin that’s looking for some kinda work or just visiting the Wrath ring! You’ve seen him around and you don’t give a shit about him or you do but you're keeping it hush hush.

-☠️Either way the constant run ins with this crazy man are enough to piss you off to the point where you fight back! Setting up a trap or two, staying up at night cause he’s a sneaky bastard and possibly getting a hit on him, he’s not invincible but he’s strong. So good luck.

-☠️ All in all- this ends up with a lot of sexual tension and then later that evening when your patching yourself up you realize you have a crush on the sneaky bastard. But when he realizes that he caught feelings? Oh boy his anger ramps up to 100% and he’s about to fucking snap. He can’t be having a moment of weakness!

-☠️ And one faithful evening he comes to kill you off for good but it goes sideways and now you both are making out. 

His gloved hands slammed you down onto the ground as he crawled on top of you, never breaking the kiss that has you both breathless and grasping at each other. Your fist balling up his shirt as his tongue easily evades your mouth asserting his dominance over the situation but by how his hands keep touching you tell you how desperately he needed you close to him. “This doesn't mean shit.” He hissed out as he pulled away from the kiss, his tail whipping around behind him. “Uh huh, sure thing cowboy.” You replied, staring up into his yellow eyes, noses brushing together as neither of you made a move to get away. But how he pressed his lips onto yours in a much more gentle manner told you otherwise.

-☠️ So when y’all are in a relationship after months of him breaking into your house or where ever you were staying to make out with you. He’s much sweeter, still kinda rough around the edges but you only get to see the softer side of him.

-☠️ He strikes me as a man who loves it when you rub his back as you both are laying down. Or when you take his hat off of his head to cover up the fact you are kissing.

-☠️ He lets you ride Bombproof with him, and if you don’t know how to ride a horse, he’s teaching you. Like the whole nine yards, don’t worry he’s right beside you guiding the horse around like the true cowboy gentleman he is.

-☠️ He’s constantly busy but he tries to make time for you and on special occasions say date night, birthday, anniversary, etc and he can’t make it because of work? He’s sending you a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a promise of being home as soon as he can.

You huffed watching the clock tick silently, Striker was out doing Satan knows what and you were stuck in a safer place than he was, your phone buzzed alive with texts but not from him. He always called on a burner phone or didn’t call at all. As the clock struck midnight you frowned, he had officially missed your date but you knew his job so you couldn’t hold it against him. A loud knock shook you out of your pity party causing you to rush over and open the door, a random imp holding the large vase of your favorite flowers. Taking it from the imp you quickly say ‘thank you’ before closing the door to put the vase of flowers on the table. A note hidden in the flowers catch your attention, you quickly open it and read it as a smile graces your lips,

‘Sorry for the late bouquet, Darlin. I’ve been busy as you know but I wanted to make it up to you since I can’t be there but I promise as soon as I’m finished here I’ll be heading your way to actually make up for it. With love, yours truly ~S’

-☠️He likes to have a hand on you all the time, his tail curls around your leg or your tail if you have one. If you’re out on the road with him and Bombproof, he’s letting you cuddle up to him the whole time.

-☠️ He loves singing to you and about you all the time. Some folks who have been his targets have heard him singing about his little ‘Desert Flower’ before meeting their untimely demise.

-☠️ He loves showing off for you and showing how tough he is. He’s like a little peacock, please give him some kisses so he can stop flexing for you.

-☠️ Won’t let you touch his weapons. Not because he doesn’t trust you with them but they are super fucking dangerous and he wants to protect you. Speaking of protecting you- this man is super fucking protective and will not hesitate to either put a bullet in someone or break their bones for putting you in harms way.

NSFW BELOW HERE MINORS GET OUT 18+

-☠️ Most of the time you both are making out, it turns into ripping your clothes off one another and fucking like wild animals.

-☠️ He’s a dom for sure. Like you can try be somehow always wrangles you to the ground so he has more control over how he fucks you.

-☠️ Has a thing for being called ‘Sir’. No, I will not apologize. 

-☠️ His favorite position is either missionary, cowgirl or you sitting on his lap. He just likes to watch your face as he pleasures you. 

-☠️ Grab his horns if he’s going down on you, he loves it so much. Also wear his hat, if you know you know. Honestly wearing any of his clothes usually does the trick.

-☠️ He can be gentle and will be gentle if you want him to be but he likes it rough. Especially when it starts off gentle and slow then escalates to everything being rough.