Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

37. Not Quite to Plan

"You never told me you were friends with the Radio Demon."

I blinked at him. "How do you know who he is?"

Striker raised an eyebrow. "C'mon. You seriously askin' how I know about an overlord ?"

"Fair enough," I said with a shrug. "He helped Charlie manage the Hazbin Hotel. We hit it off when I entered the program, and we've been close ever since."

"I didn't peg him for the redemption type," he remarked, crossing his arms.

A smirk tugged at my lips. "He's not. He told me once that he initially started sponsoring them because he was bored and wanted to watch other sinners fail miserably."

"That sounds more like the Radio Demon I've heard about."

When the three of us left the restaurant, Alastor decided to take us back to my apartment by way of his weird and very disorienting phasing through planes of existence.

Wait right here, he'd told us after I let us all inside. I'll be back shortly. He then vanished in a reddish cloud of smoke to go fetch our dinner, leaving me and Striker alone in my living room.

"Do you want to change clothes?" I asked. "It looks like they're still a little wet."

"Yeah," Striker said, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a white wife beater. He turned to head to my bedroom and added, "Be right back."

I set my purse down on the couch and let out a heavy sigh. This was definitely not the way I wanted our night to go—especially when Striker was due to leave first thing in the morning for who knows how long. I could feel a lump forming in my throat at the thought, but I forced myself to breathe slowly until it cleared.

It's not the end of the world, (Y/N), I told myself. He is still here. And you two can still have a good night together.

I smiled when I heard a spry knock at the door in the rhythm of "Shave and a Haircut".

And you've got a good friend who has your back.

I opened the door for Alastor, who walked inside now carrying a lidded ceramic container that definitely looked like it belonged to either Charlie or Niffty.

"Venison and andouille jambalaya made fresh this evening," he said and handed me the warm container. "Enjoy, my dear."

"How did I know it was gonna have venison in it?" I teased, taking a peek under the lid. "Thank you, Al."

"Of course. I'm just glad it won't go to waste. I made a bit too much for myself, and no one else was interested."

"I think the venison is just a little too gamey for most of them."

"Quite possibly." He turned his head and beamed at Striker as he returned to the living room donning a clean white button-up. "Ah, there he is! The man of the hour! I do hope you'll like what I've prepared."

"I'm sure he will," I replied, flashing a knowing smile at Striker. "Your cooking's never been anything less than stellar."

"Oh, I wasn't just referring to that."

I looked back at him. "Huh?"

Alastor stretched out a hand to gesture toward my patio door and said to Striker, "My good fellow, would you care to show the lady what I mean?"

Striker appeared to be just as confused as I was, but he held his tongue and went to the door. My cheap patio table and busted porch chairs had been replaced with an ornate black steel set, and a small candelabra with three burning taper candles stood in the center of the round table.