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

78. The Festival

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It was just after dawn when I awoke the next morning. Low rays of light from the rising Wrathian sun shone through the window, slowly painting our room various shades of yellow and orange. I eventually peeled my eyes open to find the other side of the bed empty, and I rolled over and caught sight of the light peeking through the cracks in the bathroom door. I relaxed into the mattress when I heard the water running, lying on my back and shutting my eyes again.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open, and footsteps travelled across the room toward the bed. The creaky old bedframe shook slightly as someone perched themselves beside me, and I heard a low chuckle.

"I know you're awake, darlin'," he said.

I opened my eyes and saw Striker sitting at my side, clad in only his boxer briefs. His hair was wet and slicked back from a recent shower, a few small alabaster strands falling onto his forehead. He wore a humored grin on his face as I looked up at him and smiled sleepily.

"Mornin', darlin'." He slipped a hand under the blanket and laid it on my thigh, slowly moving it back and forth over my warmed skin. "How'd ya' sleep?"

I mirrored his expression, raising an eyebrow at him. "Which part of the night are you referring to exactly?" I quipped. "Because if it's the first half of the night, then not at all."

A deep laugh escaped Striker's throat, and his grin morphed into a smug smirk. "Now don't look at me like that, darlin'. You're the one who kept hoppin' on my dick like it was a horse you were tryna break."

The heat rose in my cheeks, causing his smirk to widen, and I looked away sheepishly. "Well, it had been a little while, a-and I was feeling better. The dry air down here doesn't seem to make my stomach hurt as much."

Striker leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on my lips. "Good." His eyes softened as he fixed me with that hypnotic gaze, his hand gently squeezing the flesh on my bare hip. "Now c'mon and get ready. We oughta grab some breakfast from downstairs before headin' to the festival."

"Mmgh," I groaned, lazily clinging to the pillow. "But I'm still tiiiiired."

"Well, ya' shouldn't've been so damn horny last night," he remarked, grabbing my ass. "Now get up before I crawl back in that bed and punish you for makin' me late to the games."

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About an hour later, Striker and I were finally dressed and ready to start the day, and we locked up the door to our room and headed downstairs for breakfast. The saloon was unusually busy considering the time of day, with patrons seated at almost every table. As we weaved through the packed tables, I couldn't help but notice all the eyes shifting toward me. Some were simply staring curiously, like they were surprised to see a sinner down here. But some, however, had fixed me a cutting, almost contemptuous glare. Their looks didn't shock me — I had grown used to the hellborn's silent bigotry not long after I'd moved to Imp City.

I was following Striker between two cramped tables when my foot caught on something. I tripped over what I assumed was an imp's tail, and I gasped softly as my body fell forward. A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders before I hit the floor and pulled me back up, their owner quickly looking me up and down.

"You alright?"

I nodded. "I'm okay."

Striker released my shoulders and cut his eyes at one of the tables behind me when one of the imps spoke:

"Watch where you're goin', ya' fuckin' apple-muncher!"

I heard Striker's tail begin to rattle, and I clenched my jaw in frustration before letting out a small sigh and continuing to an open table, loosely wrapping a hand around his arm to pull him along. I led us to a small table in the corner of the saloon and sat down in the chair against the wall, watching Striker still glaring back at the imp.