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

91. The Party, Pt. 2

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"It's nice to see you again, Your Majesty."

Queen Lilith smiled at me and placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Likewise, (Y/N). Charlie still speaks a great deal about you — all good things, of course."

I smirked at Charlie. "I hope so," I quipped.

"Are you still living in Imp City?"

"I am. Still at St. Ann's, too."

"They're still treating you well there, I hope."

I shrugged coyly. "For the most part. There are still some hellborn that aren't too fond of seeing a sinner taking care of them — or working with them."

"Hm," Lilith hummed, raising an eyebrow. "Should my husband or I pay them a visit?"

"No, it's alright. I don't want any special treatment." My smirk widened slightly. "Besides, I think they got the picture when my boyfriend was there."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he was pretty upset when he saw how my coworker was treating me, to say the least," I answered before taking a sip of my cocktail.

"I'd like to meet him at some point," said Charlie. "I was kind of hoping he would be able to make it tonight."

I smiled apologetically at her and replied, "Maybe next time I can convince him to come with me."

Lilith looked down at her daughter. "Apple blossom, would you please direct me to the bar? I'm in the mood for something a bit stiffer than wine."

"Sure, Mom." Charlie said, loosely wrapping a hand around her arm. "I'll talk to you later, (Y/N)."

I waved at the pair as they headed into the banquet hall. Once they were out of sight, I let out a heavy sigh and downed the rest of my cocktail in hopes that it would dull the ache slowly building in my gut. Not long after I arrived to the party, my wound had started to pester me. I tried to keep activity to a minimum in order to stave off the pain, but it was definitely easier said than done, especially with Angel telling me to come dance with him and Cherri to nearly every song the DJ played.

While talking with Charlie and her mother, I had started to feel a small wave of nausea creeping up on me, and my body was gradually growing hotter. I would have chalked it up to solely the booze, but the cocktail I had just finished off was only my second drink of the evening. After a moment's thought, I tossed the empty plastic cup in a garbage can by the double doors and made my way back into the banquet hall, grateful that the noise wasn't quite as blaring as before. I reclaimed the table where I'd sat earlier and hopped onto the stool, holding my head in my hand while I played on my phone. I frowned at the warmth emanating from my flushed cheek, wondering if the booze or my pain was the culprit.

"You don't look so hot."

I turned my head to see an imp in notably colorful clothes approach my table and prop an elbow on the tabletop. He wore a large floppy jester hat that vaguely resembled a pair of horns, and the bells on the two ends lightly jingled when he moved.

I forced a friendly smile and replied, "Oh, I'm okay. I, um, I have . . . some problems with my stomach sometimes — it's probably just that again. . ."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

Attempting to redirect the conversation, I held out my hand toward him. "I'm (Y/N)."

The imp glanced down at my hand before clapping it in his own to shake. "Fizz."

It was when he gently gripped my hand that I noticed his robotic arm beneath his long sleeve, and my eyes quickly shifted to his other arm to see that it was robotic as well. I blinked in realization. "Like Fizzarolli?"