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

24. Entangled

About an hour later, Striker sat on the side of the bed in silence. He had pulled on his bottoms, but couldn't reach his shirt or wife beater — his tail was still very much entangled with (Y/N)'s. She had fallen asleep not long ago, and he simply didn't have the heart to wake her now. It could wait.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a lighter and pack of cigarettes, removing a single cigarette from the pack with his teeth. He held the lighter to the end of the cigarette, then paused. (Y/N) didn't smoke. And she probably wouldn't like it if her apartment started to smell like cigarette smoke. Sighing softly, he dropped the cigarette back in the half-empty box and slipped it and the lighter back in his pocket.

He found it odd. He never bothered being so considerate with other people. But (Y/N) was different, for some reason. He felt a sort of peace with her that he hadn't experienced since he was a small child. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He turned his head to look at her. She lay naked in bed, lazily clinging to the pillow in her sleep. He had covered her with the blanket at the foot of the bed soon after he realized she was asleep. Her lids were gently closed over her eyes — she looked like she was actually resting peacefully for once. His mind replayed the events of that night: the feverish heat of her skin pressed to his, the insatiable hunger that grew with each kiss, the smile on her face as they held each other.

Did you see the way she looked at you? he thought. In that moment, her warm smile had become burned into his memory, like the blotchy shadow that remains in your eyes after staring at the sun.

And what's more, he reciprocated the gesture, however briefly.

Striker would never admit it, but the tenderness she showed him made his heart ache. He wasn't used to caring about someone else — and he certainly wasn't used to someone else caring about him.

I need to be careful, he told himself, clutching a fistful of the bedsheets. This has the potential to end very badly.

His eyes fell to the hand lying on the bed near him. (Y/N) had shifted in her sleep, her arm sprawling across the mattress. He reached out for her, but hesitated. Slowly, gently, he snaked his fingers between hers. Her hands were so much softer than his. He had working hands, calloused and rough. Though not without their own callouses and imperfections, hers were smooth and delicate.

It was then that Striker realized how truly different they were: He was a master manipulator, conniving and opportunistic. She was bright and honest and caring. He was a skillful assassin capable of killing powerful demons and overlords in cold blood. A killer. She was a healer, someone who gave relief to the sick and injured. Wherever he went, he brought death with him — but she brought life.

A grimace tugged at his lips as he was cloaked in a wave of dread. I shouldn't be involved with her.

He was pulled from his own thoughts when he felt (Y/N) squeeze his hand. He looked down to see her eyes, now open, staring back at him. Her lips curled into a warm smile, and his heart clenched at the sight of it.

(Y/N) wiped the sleep from her eyes and sat up, holding the blanket over her chest. Her smile dissolved and morphed into a worried frown as she noticed that he was half-dressed. "Are you leaving?"

Striker blinked, glancing down at his jeans, then quickly shook his head. "No," he sputtered. "No, I'm not." He looked at her again, and relaxed in the soft glow of her eyes.

His mind was telling him not to do it. Don't get too close, you fool, it said. Someone like you can't be involved with someone like her. This will only end poorly.

But he hadn't been listening to his mind much of late.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, keeping them there for a long moment. She melted into the kiss, letting out a contented sigh.

"No, I'm not," Striker whispered against her lips. He shifted on the mattress and lay down beside her. His hand found the back of her head and wove his fingers in her hair. Her warm smile slowly returned, and he could feel his chest tighten.

"Good," she murmured, settling back into the mattress. She laid a hand on his bare chest.

Her touch soothed him further, and he pulled her a little closer to his frame and rested his chin on the top of her head. He realized he had been holding his breath, and he exhaled deeply as he felt himself drifting off to sleep.