#striker fluff

[redr0sewrites]

Striker x Reader General Hcs

guysguysguys plsssss hes soooo- cowboys r a guilty pleasure of mine

🥀Cw: fluff, smut, switch!striker, riding + face riding, oral, somno

🥀minors dni with the nsfw portion

sfw:

striker never expected to have a real, long term partner, especially with his line of work

sure he's had hookups and flings over the years, but you really threw him off his feet

there was something about you that really dazzled striker, and he knew that you were the one

he dates to marry, and that is truly reflected in how he treats you

striker is a gentleman when he's courting you, he'll do the basics like holding the door for you and giving you gifts, but he somehow always finds a way to take it a step further.

you're both walking down the street and you have to step over a puddle? no need to worry, striker will scoop you up and carry you right over. you ran out of your favorite food while you're craving it? don't fret, striker will run to the store and grab it for you without a second thought

this is all before you both are even together! hes truly a sweetheart towards you, and it shocks everyone how you've managed to tame the wild assassin

striker definitely has a lot of nicknames for you, all circulating around his western class

poppet, sugar, darlin', doll, sugar, and lil' lady (if ur fem) are all ones you'll definitely hear

when talking about you to others, he'll call you "the apple of his eye" or other sappy things like that

he knows how dangerous his job is, and being associated with him can put you in danger. because of that, hes a little reluctant to court you, so he may give slightly mixed signals at first when hes feeling anxious about your safety

it wont take long for him to decide what he wants, but striker definitely wants to make sure you know how to defend yourself

even before you're together he offers you self defense lessons, and is always trying to keep an eye out for you to make sure you're safe

hes protective, but he also trusts you a lot and won't try to interfere with your life or anything, he just wants to make sure you're okay

underneath his tough persona, striker definitely has a soft, domestic vibe. as previously stated, he's the type to want to get married, and even if you don't, he still wants to have a good bond with you

hes a really great person to live with, he def is the type to cook and clean for you and overall carries his weight around the house

he sees it as a respect thing more than anything, and wants you to know how devoted he is to you and that he doesn't expect you to take care of him

he never forces you to do anything though, you can't tell me that he wouldn't absolutely despise people who force their spouses to cook and clean for them. he thinks relationships should be equal, and that you both should share the weight of household responsibilities

i dont think striker is the type to expect much from his partner if that makes sense? he would never want to put pressure on you to be with him or to carry any burdens. he knows how dangerous his job is, and will occasionally ask you if you're still comfortable with him and everything he does

everytime you say yes, he gets this wide eyed grin and ruffles your hair. a part of him is always afraid of pushing you away, its not easy to date a literal assassin, but the fact that you love him and that you want to be with him amazes striker every time

hes def an acts of service guy through and through, striker's actions always speak louder than anything

because his job is so busy, he sometimes works super late or has to get up ridiculously early. striker often feels pretty bad about his crazy working hours, and always dotes on you if you stay up late waiting for him and kisses you on the cheek everytime he has to leave

HE LIKES TO PLAY MUSIC FOR YOU ON HIS GUITAR AND HE'LL SING SONGS FOR YOU

striker also really enjoys dancing with you, and you two r definitely the type to slow dance in the kitchen sorry i don't make the rules

you're one of the few people he lets touch his cowboy hat, and also the only person who has ever ridden Bombshell besides him <3

he keeps a photo of you in his wallet/jacket and looks at it after rough missions

nsfw

yk the phrase "wear the cowboy hat, ride the cowboy"? or "save a horse, ride a cowboy?" yea those both were made for him btw

the cowboy hat stays on during sex, but not on him /hj

seriously tho, he loves the sight of you wearing nothing but his hat, and its one of the quickest ways to rile him up

striker LOVES and i mean LOVESSS when you ride him

theres something so exhilarating about seeing you on top, and after a long, stressful mission, there's something so pleasing about just letting you take the reins and ride him senseless

his fav positions are cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, face sitting, missionary, mating press, pretty much anything where he can see your face

striker is big on eye contact, whether hes top or bottom he loves the intimacy of eye contact

he memorizes everything about your body, what makes you tick, where to touch you that will make you moan loudest, your most sensitive spots, he has pleasuring you down to an art

def into bondage and shibari, whether its you tying him up or him tying you up, he loves it

striker likes the intricacies of shibari, but will always check that the ropes aren't too tight (unless you want it that way... in that case he'll indulge you ;)

he is soooo talkative, he loves praising you and degrading you and he talks you through every orgasm

when hes dom, striker is more of a groaner, he'll let out these throaty, deep rumbles and groans while whispering about how fucking good you make him feel in the deepest, most delicious voice ever

when hes in a more submissive mood i think hes a little quieter, he'll let out some breathy pants and moans but won't be super vocal

hes into (consensual) contact play and doesn't mind being pushed around. i also think he'd have a gun kink and would face fuck you with a gun (never loaded tho, you're far too precious to risk hurting)

ORAL FIXATION.

striker loves giving, like hes def a giver 100% and loves it when you ride his face

he wants you to SIT on his face, in his opinion his face is your throne and it doesn't matter how big you are, strikers a strong guy and will take all of your weight without a second thought

hes a gentleman, he makes you cum at least twice during foreplay before he even actually fucks you

striker is into somno, you both have def had convos about him fucking you in your sleep before

he comes home so late for work sometimes, and the sight of you sleeping on the couch, waiting just for him is so adorable

he likes teasing you and hearing you're unfiltered gasps and moans, the way your body responds to his simple touches without even being awake turns him on a lot

striker also loves it when you moan his name in your sleep, he has a secret possessive side and the fact that you're thinking about him even in your dreams is just so hot to him

sometimes though it'll be the other way around, he'll collapse into bed after a long mission, passing out in mere seconds. meanwhile, you creep into bed with him and give him a handjob, watching as he moans and whispers your name like a prayer. he'll hump into your hand, and sometimes he'll cum so hard he'll wake himself up

when you ask him what he was dreaming about he'll chuckle, but the blush on his cheeks gives him away

when hes sub, striker is like the male version of a pillow prince sometimes. he just wants to lay back and be pampered, theres a part of him that just wants to be loved and taken care of

....mommy/daddy/master kink... what? u hear sum?? i will write ab this...

hes a bit into semi-public sex, but wouldn't ever let anyone actually catch you both. you're body is for his eyes and his eyes alone

striker takes his time undressing you and kissing every inch of your body before the foreplay even starts, and sometimes his tail will rattle a little as he does so. hes just so enamored with you, he can't help it

guysgys GUYSSYYSYSYSYSY RUGERHEHEHSSBSSHSH I FUCKING LOVE STRIKER SM HES MY FAVVV!!!! ALSO HELLUVA BOSS IS OPEN FOR REQS !!

im not gonna make a separate masterlist for helluva boss im just gonna add this to my hazbin masterlist ahshsh

[frickingnerd]

ren with an oblivious crush

pairing: ren amamiya / akira kurusu / joker x gn!reader

tags: silly & wholesome fluff, oblivious/dense!reader, flirty & charming!ren, supportive!phantom thieves, open ending

everyone knows that ren is madly in love with you – except for you!

honestly, it's a surprise that you've managed to not notice it by now! with how much ren tries to make it obvious to you, you should've picked up on it by now…

ren is constantly around you, he's way more touchy and playfully affectionate with you and he keeps giving you cute nicknames to tease you, yet you don't seem to have realized why he does all that!

you keep receiving special treatment from the leader of the phantom thieves, whether he's cooking you curry when you come over to leblanc or offering you a coffee on the house!

even the other phantom thieves mention how much of a special treatment you get, with ryuji and yusuke often complaining that they never get free food or coffee from ren!

meanwhile, the phantom thief girls try to give you hints that ren is into you – as if ren hadn't tried and failed at that already!

even when you're in the metaverse, joker tries to play the hero and act as your knight in shining armor, saving you from any shadow coming your way! and all the while, he tries to show off his skills as much as he can…

ren even tries to get time with you alone, asking you to stay a bit longer, even after the other phantom thieves head home. he'll come up with an excuse like ‘needing someone to try his new curry recipe’ or ‘wanting to ask you some stuff about the upcoming exam’

but it seems like even that doesn't help! perhaps ren has to finally make a move that even you can't misunderstand and ask you out on a proper date!

[knmaskitten]

Hate to love you !!

pairing— Ren Amamiya x afab!reader

summary— you hate Ren amamiya so much you avoid him everyday, until your classmate decides to play you a little prank.

warnings— Slight bullying.

notes— I feel like I can't write enemies to lovers, enjoy.

It was a rainy day today—the kind of day you cherish and love. The rain reminded you of many things, among them your boyfriend. You met him in your high school days when you were just a teenager, full of dreams and vehemence. The thing is, you and him had a weird start, a very weird one, which even today makes you laugh hard.

Ren Amamiya was always able to infuriate you. Regardless of the situation, something always came up when it came to him. God, you couldn't even stand to see him in the school corridors. You always wondered what the hell it was that kept you on edge when it came to him. God cursed the days you had to see him more than once at school, all because of bad luck. He wasn't even in the same class as you were, and even so, you saw him at least three times a week.

Today was one of those days. Between classes, you were standing in the center of the hallway when you noticed his jet-black hair. Along with him were Ryuuji Sakamoto and Ann Takamaki, who looked very busy discussing something you weren’t able to hear. He hadn't noticed you, and you weren't going to allow him to see you. Quickly, you ran towards the nearest door, which was a few meters away. On the way there, Mariko Yoshimoto intercepted you with a big, bright, toothy smile.

“Hey there! Where are you going in such a hurry, dear?” She asked naively. You were aware that she was faking it. Mariko liked to mess with people just to see their reactions, and while you never even allowed a pinch of her foolishness to deceive you, she still dared to use you as one of her little toys. You were strong-minded and hated when other people played dumb tricks on you; you could not stand injustice. 

Perhaps this could not stop her from doing what she was about to do, because somewhere inside you, you knew. You knew what she wanted to do because it was no secret how much you loathed Ren Amamiya and how much you loved to evade him. And she knew this piece of information very well.

She peeked behind your shoulder, and her smile grew even wider.

“Wow, running away now, are we?” A devilish chuckle erupted from her mouth, and as her lips mouthed her next sentence, a cold sweat ran through your body. Your instincts were telling you to tackle her and escape to the roof, the library, or somewhere else that would let you be at freaking peace. But you didn’t do any of those things; instead, you stood, frozen in place.

“Ren-kun!, hey! How are you?” One of her little devil hands flew to your shoulder to keep you in place. You could feel how her nails were digging little moons into your skin, while also wrinkling your school uniform, which you worked hard to keep pristine. You pursed your lips at this.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You warned. Placing your hand on her wrist to free yourself, she countered by staying still and strong, unfazed by her mission of making your life miserable.

Regarding your threats and silent protest, she kept her schemes up, and her next sentence was the last nail in the coffin. It was the last thing you wanted to hear in the world. 

“My little friend and I would love to spend some time with you and your friends if that's okay with you. Uh, and them too, of course.” Her eyes looked like those of a deer, glazed and doe-like and her teeth were showing again. She was smiling courtly and kindly, trying to hide the deception behind her words.

Say no.

Say no.

Please say no.

Mentally, you pleaded. Turning around, he was standing there a little bit taken aback, even more so seeing that it was you who was included in that sentence. He looked at you, piercing through your figure, analyzing every movement and every gesture. Anything that might tell him otherwise.

“You sure? Your friend sure looks like she could be buried at any moment.” He said it sternly. His eyes were scanning between you and Mariko, noticing something odd about the situation. 

Ann thought otherwise, because she smiled brightly and shrugged Amamiya off.  “They just want to hang out with us; I don’t think there’s something wrong with anybody.”.

But there was!

You mentally screamed and rolled your eyes. It was out of comprehension how this was even happening and why you were allowing it. You sighed, defeated. You smoothed the pleats on your dark skirt and proceeded to walk towards him, and with fake pleading eyes and a pout, you confronted him.

“Today is not your lucky day, Amamiya, and neither is mine.  If we ever have to spend some quality time together, it would be in fucking hell.” You spat. And then you turned around to finish your blow. “And Mariko, find someone else to be your bitch because I am not available to fill that damned position.”

And you walked off. There was nothing else to do but walk away from there. And you walked—not run, not sprint—walked. You walked to the beat of the confused conversation you were leaving behind, and when there was a turn, you ran. Ran so fast you could feel a stream of tears forming in your eyes.

You ended up in the girls’ bathroom, feeling a little bit safe. You hid on one of the stools. Letting yourself go, the flood of tears came like a current, strolling down your cheeks like a river. Thank goodness you were wearing waterproof mascara that day. Feeling a little bit pathetic, you let yourself go and cried like a baby. You hated when everything went to your head; you hated when such trifles were able to get a grip on you. 

Life was just this shitty, you guessed.

Later in the day, you were on cleaning duty, trying to dust off a corner filled with spiderwebs.

“Do you need help with that?” He was softly spoken, almost like a faint mumble. Just like he didn’t want to be either heard or perceived.

“Maybe never,” you spat. Was it that hard to have a single peaceful day? He meddled in every single one of your businesses as if he were your mom or something. You turned around to face that fair skin and sharp features, those deep eyes and ruffled hair, to face him.

He frowned; he looked a tad bit pissed. Like if somebody just stuck gum in his pristine, perfect hair. He took two steps towards you, perfectly measured and dance-like. The light shone in his iris, making it difficult to pinpoint what was making you feel so drunk-like.

“You are one hell of a nice person, aren’t you?” he hissed in a poisonous manner.

Was it his tone that made you feel a tingling sensation at the nape of your neck? Or maybe it was how his eyes lit up with fire when you spoke. Or maybe, just maybe, was it that you hated him so much that you wanted to shut him up in just about any way you could? The room was empty but it felt full to the brim with anger. It was an antithesis of how the light danced on the floor and the little specks of dust floating in such serenity and then you two, full of tension and loathing.

“You’re one to talk, mister perfect behavior.” You gave him a very fake, crooked smile. He looked like he expected it as such but still managed to lose composure whenever you were around. He ran his hand through his air and adjusted his glasses; he almost looked disheveled.

“You play with my nerves.”

“Can’t believe you even have nerves.”

“Ugh.”Another step closer—too close, maybe. Everything felt as if it were slowing in time; the little dust specks were suspended, and the light ceased to dance. A light breeze flew past you, messing up some hair strands.

“What are you even doing here?… You don’t even go to this class.” You almost whisper, lowering your tone.

"Why, just why do you hate me?” He said bluntly.

“Cornering someone is not very friendly, you know.”

“I’ve never said I wanted to be friendly with you.”

“I hate you.” 

Another step closer to you, he leaned in, millimeters from your face. You were able to see his porcelain skin and dark eyes, as well as how he scrunched his face when he was near you.

“You don’t understand how much I do too.”

He looked as if he were going to kiss you; he looked at your lips and then at your eyes, analyzing you. He smiled, a mischievous grin, and exhaled. You felt his breath hit your nostrils, your warm skin. Instinctively, you took a step backwards, putting as much distance between you two as you could.

He then approached you and kissed you very swiftly but passionately. You returned the kiss, hatefully kissing him, with spite and loathing.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

And the rest was history. After that, you two started sneaking out of class to kiss, progressively started having lunch together, and then, after keeping all of this a secret, you asked him out, but not before discussing what the hell was the feeling you both had. At the end, you both came to the conclusion that you hated each other’s guts because you couldn’t have them. Ren said, “I hate to love you.” and you agreed with him.

You definitely hated to love Ren so much, but still, at the end of the day and even right now, you couldn't imagine a life without him.

Thank you for reading <3 masterlist and more.

[cherryrainn]

can we get cuddle headcanons with blitz, stolas, fizz and striker?

━━ ✧ 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐯𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; blitzø + reader, stolas + reader, fizzarolli + reader, striker + reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; this was so fun. i love writing cuddle headcanons.

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; none

𝘽𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙕𝙊 ★

blitzo may have a tough exterior, but he loves cuddling. he often initiates it by pulling you close to him when you're both lounging on the couch, and he's particularly fond of spooning.

his embrace is surprisingly warm and comforting. you can feel his red skin against yours, and it's like a cozy and slightly fiery blanket. he holds you close, making you feel safe and loved.

sometimes, after a long and tiring day at work, blitzo just wants to unwind with you. he'll plop down on the bed or the couch and pat the spot next to him, silently inviting you to join him for a cuddle session.

he enjoys running his fingers through your hair while you snuggle together, occasionally leaving kisses on the top of your head.

blitzo's horns are pretty big, but he's surprisingly gentle when he's cuddling. he's careful not to poke or scratch you with them and often rests his head on a soft pillow to ensure you're comfortable.

sometimes, blitzo murmurs sweet nothings or shares his wild stories from work while you cuddle. he loves having your undivided attention and being able to let his guard down around you.

he's not one to turn down a movie night cuddle session. he'll pick a horror flick, and you'll snuggle up in the dark.

after a cuddle session, blitzo often falls asleep with you still in his arms. there's something incredibly comforting about drifting off to sleep with the man you love holding you close.

𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙎 ★

stolas's feathers are incredibly soft and warm, making cuddling with him feel like being wrapped in a luxurious feathered blanket.

he adores cuddling and often initiates it by gently pulling you into his embrace, his red eyes gazing at you with affection.

stolas likes to nestle his head in the crook of your neck or shoulder, nuzzling against you and leaving small kisses on your skin.

he's a big fan of cuddling in bed, especially on lazy mornings. you'll wake up to find him already snuggled up to you, his long, thin limbs wrapped around you.

stolas occasionally uses his wing to create a makeshift cocoon of comfort while you cuddle. he envelops you in his soft, feathery embrace, providing the ultimate feeling of safety.

he's a fan of bedtime stories, and sometimes he'll read you a book in his deep, melodic voice as you both cuddle, creating a soothing atmosphere that lulls you to sleep.

his tattered cape can double as an extra cozy blanket. when you're watching a movie or simply relaxing together, he'll drape it over both of you for added warmth.

cuddling with stolas is a mix of affection and elegance. he loves to make you feel like royalty, even in the simplicity of cuddling.

even with his regal appearance, stolas is incredibly down-to-earth when it comes to cuddling. he just wants to be close to you, feeling your heartbeat against his.

𝙁𝙄𝙕𝙕𝘼𝙍𝙊𝙇𝙇𝙄 ★

fizzarolli's long, flexible limbs make cuddling an interesting experience. he can wrap them around you in playful and affectionate ways.

he enjoys incorporating his jester cap into cuddle sessions, often playfully draping the little balls over your head.

fizzarolli's scarred skin is sensitive, but he appreciates gentle touches and kisses on the unmarked areas of his face. it makes him feel cherished and loved.

he loves to make you laugh during cuddle time. fizz tells outrageous and raunchy jokes that keep the mood light and fun.

fizzarolli's tongue is forked, but he uses it for more than just jokes. he enjoys leaving teasing, butterfly-like kisses all over your skin during cuddle sessions.

fizzarolli has a penchant for over-the-top cuddle positions, like creating a sandwich with you in the middle, which always results in giggles and tickles.

despite his crude humor, fizzarolli is a sensitive demon with insecurities. cuddling helps him feel valued and loved, and he often expresses his gratitude in the form of affectionate words and kisses.

cuddle sessions might occasionally turn into tickle fights, as fizzarolli can't resist a playful opportunity to make you laugh.

fizzarolli may worry about his self-worth, but during cuddles, he's reminded that he is loved and cherished just the way he is. your presence means the world to him.

𝙎𝙏𝙍𝙄𝙆𝙀𝙍 ★

despite striker's tough and violent exterior, he has a surprisingly soft and affectionate side reserved for those he cares about. cuddling with him is a rare glimpse of his gentler nature.

striker's touch is warm and comforting. he holds you securely, as if to protect you from the chaos of everything, and his grip is surprisingly gentle.

his sharp-toothed smile might be menacing at times, but during cuddle sessions, he often flashes a genuine and warm smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

sriker isn't one to say sweet nothings, but when you cuddle, he whispers words of affection in a low, reassuring voice that's just for your ears.

he's a big fan of physical affection (when it comes to you), so expect plenty of hugs and kisses, especially on the forehead or cheek, to show his love and appreciation.

striker enjoys having you close, often nuzzling your neck or shoulder with his serpentine-like face. it's his way of expressing his deep connection to you.

he's the big spoon no matter what, you'll never catch this man being the little spoon... but it's all about being close to you.

while striker might have a ruthless reputation, he's incredibly patient and attentive when it comes to you. he'll listen to your stories and thoughts, making cuddle time a perfect opportunity to connect on a deeper level.

[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.

[choccorin]

ore wa ... striker da !!!

[crystalofmoon19]

Shaving Knife - Human! Striker x Female Human! Reader

Summary: You noticed that Striker was shaving his beard with a knife and you wanted to help him shave. This is a human version of Striker.

Word count: 681

Note: This One-Shot was inspired by a drawing by @HollowRavenwood on Twitter of human Striker and Stella, here is the link: https://twitter.com/HollowRavenwood/status/1730110541363130504

You woke up from your bed stretching your body, and wanted to look for the warmth of your boyfriend, but he didn't seem to be anywhere; so with an annoyed snort, you made your bed and decided to go to your bathroom.

It was there where you found Striker, who was shaving his beard with his knife, you were surprised to see your boyfriend doing that. But you decided to just watch him silently until Striker pays attention to you.

“Morning, darlin’.” .- He said without taking his eyes off the bathroom mirror.

"Good morning, sweetie." .- You hugged your boyfriend from behind, which made him smile and his cheeks blush. He put the knife down for a moment and shook your hair.

“Looks like someone woke up in a good mood.”

You just smiled in response to your boyfriend and your gaze went to Striker's knife.

“Isn't that the knife you use for your work?”

“That's my shaving knife, sugarcube.”

Now that you thought about it, it made sense that someone like Striker would use a knife to shave instead of a razor, he was from Texas after all; In addition, Striker was the one who had worked the most of the two, and having so much experience skinning things, perhaps it seemed normal to him to use a knife for everything, such as opening cans or also to shave his beard.

That or maybe it was an old western cowboy custom, you really weren't sure.

But you respect that Striker does things his way, so you just hugged him for a while, until a brilliant idea occurred to you.

"My love."

“Mmmhh?”

“Do you want me to help you shave?”

Your question caught Striker so off guard that he almost cut his face with his knife, before you could do anything, Striker had already moved his knife away from his face to look at you with his wide eyes.

“You want to do what?”

“I said I’d like to help you shave.”

“No way, sweetheart.”

"Come on! I know how to handle a knife, and I promise to go slowly so as not to cut you.”

“I dunno, darlin’.”

“Come on, Striker, please.”

“No, sugah.”

“Please, Strikey~”

With the sweetness of your voice you made Striker slowly give in to you, but what marked the turning point was when he saw you with your pleading eyes and you caressed him with your soft hands.

“Fine, darlin’. I’ll let you shave, just try to go slow.”

“I will, my love, trust me.”

With a sigh, Striker handed you his knife so you could do your job, with that he sat on the toilet and you began by slowly shaving his beard with his knife.

You decided to shave his beard first and then slowly cut his mustache. You could feel Striker tense up a little at this, so when you finished cutting his mustache you gave him a kiss on his forehead and this made him calm down a little; which you took advantage of to continue shaving his beard carefully.

When you finished shaving him, you left the knife in the sink and made Striker look at himself in the mirror.

“What do you think, my love?”

“Damn, darlin’, you made me incredible."

“I'm glad to know you liked it.”

"I loved it. Thank you so much, sweetheart."

You smiled warmly at your boyfriend, your cheeks turning pink as you tidied your hair.

“Would you like breakfast, Striker?”

“Yeah, I think I'm a little hungry.”

“Alright, I think we can eat some reheated food from yesterday and…”

Before you could say another word, Striker had already wrapped his strong arms around you, touching your hips and kissed your neck, now your cheeks were red and you bit your lip.

“It seems like someone is hungry for me.”

“I'm always hungry for you, sweetheart.”

“And I will always be happy to feed you.~”

With this you gave Striker a kiss and he happily reciprocated and you two decided to have a little fun in the shower before starting your day.

[the-sinister-story-teller]

Headcanons Collage!!

A/n: Sorry I've been gone for so long, I'm going through a lot with MANY projects to complete! I may not be doing requests, so I'm sorry to those who have requested, I apologize deeply! In regards to this, her is a collection of random character headcanons!

Prompt: n/a

Mentions: GN Reader, overall fluff.

-He is SO loving in the relationship. Like, we are talking constant compliments, PDA, everything.

-If you're NOT into PDA, he's very respectful of it. Just expect 5x more compliment and gifts!

-Loves matching outfits between you, him, and nuggets.

-He cooks italian foods consistently for you, but also loves eating your cooking just as much.

-If you're asexual, he also respects that.

-Wasn't sure how you'd react to knowing his a p***star, so he was anxious to tell you at first. Realizing you didn't care and already knew, he calmed down a LOT.

-He flirts, a lot.

-He's oblivious to what you need, neglectful at times even.

-Though, despite this, he still cares and works more to meet ends meet for your sake.

-Definitely isn't used to being spoiled by you, and is very grateful but is difficult to spoil.

-He tries to spoil you, but isn't very good at it...You appreciate him though.

-Compliment him, it boosts his ego and oh my god he adores it.

-He wasn't vocal about the relationship at ALL.

-You took it slow, knowing he wasn't vocal or big on affection.

-Granted, he complimented you every now and then, and that was enough to make your stomach flutter.

-He gets jealous easily, despite not being affectionate towards you. The one time he actually showed PDA, is when he held your hand while someone was getting too close to you for his liking.

-Really wasn't touchie at first

-He wasn't into PDA or anything at first, but if you're feeling insecure, he does give you words of affirmation.

-He isn't nglectful, but he isn't too sweet.

-He is clingy once he gets attached to you though, due to Maria.

[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.

[frickingnerd]

cuddling with ren during a thunderstorm

pairing: ren amamiya / akira kurusu / joker x gn!reader

tags: established romantic relationship, cuddling/hugging, reader is afraid of thunderstorms, supportive boyfriend, sojiro is here

you were never meant to stay the night at ren's place, but when the thunderstorm began, both ren and sojiro felt bad sending you home during it!

and so, sojiro allowed you to stay the night at the attique with ren, though he made the two of you promise not to do anything stupid!

what both ren and sojiro didn't know was that you were scared of thunderstorms! you managed to hide it rather well at first, distracting yourself by focusing on the music playing through the radio

but as ren and you slipped into bed, your boyfriend began to notice that you were shaking!

ren had planned to be a gentleman and hug the side of the bed, so you wouldn't think he's a creep trying to make a move on you! but when he saw you in this state, he couldn't go through with it…

instead, ren carefully wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest!

all the while, he gently traced his fingers over your arms, while he quietly talked to you about the most mundane things, just to distract you from the thunder outside!

and it worked! not soon after, you had fallen asleep!

though just when ren wanted to pull away from you and give you some space to sleep, you turned around, still asleep, and wrapped your arms around your boyfriend instead

for a moment, ren froze, before smiling softly. you must really want him near you, if you even cuddled him in your sleep!

ultimately, ren didn't pull away from you and ended up falling asleep cuddled up against you as well! even when he knew he'd get in trouble with sojiro for it the next morning…

[pumpkinsomniac]

I wish to be judged

throw your insults at me

[elmasinthetree]

escaped school planning hell just long enough to draw a little something. sea green page upon thee

[phantom-of-christine]

Smoke and Guns animation update!!

Song: "Smoke and Guns" by natewantstobattle

"You like my half-assed lip sync bbg?", I ask attention seekingly.

I haven't worked on this in a week. And I'm already starting to think about other animations. But I need to finish my fic.

Someone put me out of my hyper fixation induced misery.

Also what's y'all favorite part so far? I personally love the tail animations.

[kokomyass]

guys....I'm contemplating....

[hes-striker]

Don't let anything bad happen to Striker.

Some hours later, Striker groaned as he stirred on the couch, his eyelids heavy but finally starting to flutter open. His body ached, his head was spinning, and the last thing he remembered was being in some overly bright hospital room. The familiar hum of Blitzø’s apartment filled his ears, a comforting change from the chaos earlier.

Just as he tried to sit up, a small voice piped up nearby.

Winnie: *excitedly* He's awake!

Striker turned his head sluggishly and saw Winnie and Wesson standing beside the couch with toy stethoscopes draped around their necks. Winnie held a clipboard covered in colorful doodles, while Wesson had a flashlight, which he immediately shone into Striker’s half-closed eyes.

Wesson: *serious tone* Hmm… pupils are lookin’ weird. You might be sick.

Striker: *groggy, smirking faintly* You don’t say.

Winnie: *nodding firmly* Yep! We’re the doctors now, and you’re our patient!

Striker chuckled despite the soreness in his chest. The kids climbed onto the couch beside him, giggling as they “examined” him. Wesson pressed a plush toy thermometer against his forehead, while Winnie scribbled furiously on her clipboard.

Winnie: *sternly* Doctor Wesson, his temperature is... uh, one million! That’s really bad!

Wesson: *gasping* We gotta fix him fast!

Striker: *smirking faintly* One million? Sounds like I’m practically dead.

Winnie: *dramatically* No way! We’re the best doctors ever. We’ll save you!

Blitzø leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a wide grin on his face. Stolas stood nearby, his expression a mix of amusement and concern.

Blitzø: *laughing* Well, I’ll be damned. These two are already better doctors than the ones we just dealt with! At least they didn’t stick the wrong shit in him.

Stolas: *sighing, exasperated* Blitzy, please. They’re playing.

Blitzø: *grinning* And still doing a better job. Admit it.

Stolas turned to the twins, who were now pretending to use their stethoscopes on Striker’s chest, their tiny faces scrunched up in concentration.

Stolas: *gently* Winnie, Wesson, please don’t bother Mr. Striker too much. He’s not feeling well, and he needs to rest.

Winnie: *pouting* But we’re helping him!

Wesson: *nodding seriously* Yeah, we’re fixing him. He’s our patient!

Striker: *smirking despite himself* Eh, let ‘em. Could be worse. At least they’re not poking me with needles.

Blitzø let out a loud laugh, clapping Striker on the shoulder—lightly, for once.

Blitzø: *grinning* See? He’s fine with it. Might as well let the real doctors do their thing.

Stolas shook his head but didn’t press the matter, clearly more concerned about Striker’s well-being than Blitzø’s antics.

The twins continued their game, Winnie scribbling “prescriptions” in bright crayon while Wesson declared Striker needed “super-special medicine” that turned out to be a juice box they fetched from the kitchen. Despite the absurdity of it all, Striker found himself relaxing, the warmth of the children’s enthusiasm a surprising balm to his frayed nerves.

Striker: *half-smiling* Guess you two really are the best doctors in Hell.

Winnie: *beaming* Told ya!

Wesson: *offering the juice box like it was a miracle cure* Drink this, and you’ll feel all better!

Blitzø: *snickering* Careful, Striker. It’s apple juice. Might be too advanced for your system after all the crap you went through today.

Striker shook his head, chuckling quietly, and took the juice box with a faint smirk.

Striker: *dryly* Cheers to the best damn medical team I’ve ever had.

As the twins continued their game, Stolas stepped closer to Blitzø, lowering his voice.

Stolas: *softly* “He’s in better spirits now, but we still need to address the severity of his condition. Infernal Bloom is no laughing matter.”

Blitzø: *nodding, his grin fading slightly* I know, Stolas. We’ll figure it out. But for now... let him have this. He could use something to smile about after the day he’s had.

Stolas looked at Striker, who was half-laughing as the twins argued over how to treat his “million-degree fever.” Despite his worry, he couldn’t help but smile at the scene.

Stolas: *sighing* Very well. But tomorrow, we focus on finding a solution.

Blitzø: *grinning again* Tomorrow’s problem, Stolas. Tonight? The twins are on call.

And for now, that was enough.

[crystalofmoon19]

Your pretty laugh

"I think you have a very nice laugh, Striker." You said quietly as you watched the sunset.

Your comment caught Striker off guard, who blinked for a few seconds before looking at you again.

"My what?" He asked as if he hadn't heard you.

"Your laugh, silly." You let out a small laugh as you pulled the cowboy's hat.

"Hey, that's not funny!"

"For me it is." You laughed and continued playing with Striker's hat until he got tired of your jokes.

"I don't understand what my laughter has to do with all this!"

"Oh, it's simple, I think your laugh is very pretty."

When you said this last comment you realized that you had flattered Striker and he was going to take advantage of this with the big ego that he has. So as soon as you had a blush on your cheeks Striker had already started laughing.

"Why don't you just confess it already? It's pretty clear that you liked me."

"No, it's not that! It's just... Every time you laugh I feel like I'm hearing a catchy melody from a song and that feeling is very nice." You confessed playing with your hair while avoiding Striker's gaze but that only made him tease you more.

"That's a nice way to say you like me, doll. Why don't you just let me kiss you now?"

Before Striker could even kiss you, you put your fingers on his lips and pushed him away from you.

"But you know what I don't like about your laugh? You always use it to make fun of others!"

"And what's that about?"

"You shouldn't use your laughter to make fun of others, you have to use it to laugh with others!"

Striker just looked at you confused while you just sighed.

"What I mean is that instead of making fun of me, you should... Laugh at my tickle attack!" You screamed and lunged at Striker to tickle his body, he inevitably smiled until he started laughing, and that was what you wanted since you were finally able to get a genuine laugh out of your friend Striker.

He wasn't going to let you take all the glory and started tickling you as well, which made you laugh yourself, and they kept tickling each other until you finally got tired and were only catching your breath while lying on the floor.

"So... you still think my laugh is cute?"

The question made your cheeks burn again and you decided to put your hands to cover your face. But you weren't going to lie to him.

"Yes, I think it's very cute. I could compose a song with just the sound of your laugh."

You didn't realize how sincere your words had been until you heard them come out of your mouth and you covered your face more with your hands, which was now as red as your imp reddish skin.

How did you get into this mess?

For your fortune, or rather misfortune, Striker heard your comment and decided to get closer to you.

“Hey, come on, look at me Y/N.”

It was the first time that Striker had called you by your name in a long time, usually he always called you by nicknames like "darlin'", "sugarcube" "doll or dollface" but you were surprised that he used your name, that's why you decided to remove your hands from your face and look at your friend.

Who in the blink of an eye stole a kiss on your lips and made you take you by surprise. But you reciprocated his kiss by caressing his cheek and removing his hat to ruffle his hair.

They both separated due to lack of air and breathed heavily again because of this. Only this time Striker was looking at you with those ringed green eyes of his.

"So you're finally going to confess that you liked me, huh, dollface?"

And there was the Striker you knew.

"Shut up!"

But that you wouldn't change for anything in the world.