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

131. More Than You Could Chew

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I was awoken one afternoon in late autumn by the sound of the deadbolt turning, and I quickly sat up and pushed myself out of bed, throwing on my robe and tiptoeing out of the bedroom. I entered the living room to find Striker kicking off his boots and removing his hat, a few plastic grocery bags in one hand. He glanced up at me and smiled as I approached.

"Hey, darlin'," he said, bending down slightly to give me a small peck on the cheek. "Sleep good?"

"Pretty good," I replied, eyeing the grocery bags in his hands. "Whatcha' got there?"

He turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, setting down the bags and filing through the contents. "Just some stuff for supper. Thought I'd fix us some soup, since it's startin' to get cold again."

"Fine with me," I said. "I've been in the mood for some ever since the temperature dropped."

Striker put away the groceries and prepared to make dinner. I sat back on the couch in the living room, absentmindedly scrolling through Sinstagram while I listened to the relaxing sounds of Striker cooking from the kitchen. We ate at the table for a change, discussing possible wedding venues and invitations and attire—I asked if he would wear an all-black suit, while he wanted me to wear a white dress.

"That was good, honey," I said when we had finished our food, and he gave me a quick kiss on the top of the head and reached over for my bowl and silverware.

"Glad you liked it, darlin'," he said, walking into the kitchen to deposit our dishes in the sink.

I turned around in my chair to watch him rinse our bowls under the cold water. "You've become pretty good in the kitchen since I met you," I remarked, smirking, then added with a wink, "I'll make a househusband out of you yet."

Striker didn't respond, only letting out a small, airy chortle through his nose as he washed the dishes, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

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I spent most of the evening relaxing on the couch browsing for local bakers. Striker lay across the couch with his head in my lap, half-listening to my suggestions. He kept his eyes closed most of the time, at one point finally opening them and hopping to his feet to head to the bathroom. I stood from my spot on the couch and retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen, walking back over to the couch and setting the glass on the coffee table just as Striker returned to the living room.

A mischievous smirk crawled up my face when an idea spontaneously popped into my head. "Oh, honey," I started, pointing to the end table near him. "Can you pass me that bag? It's an outfit I was thinking about wearing for our wedding night, but I think I'm going to return it."

Striker picked up the tiny shopping bag, taking a peek inside and saying, "Darlin', there's nothin' in here but a tube of lipstick."

My smirk widened as a light blush dusted his cheeks. His luminous eyes slowly wandered down my body, his pupils dilating slightly.

I teasingly plucked the bag out of his hand and slipped a finger under his chin. "My love, if you keep undressing me with your eyes, I'm gonna catch a cold."

Striker's blush darkened for a moment, and I giggled and turned to place the shopping bag on my catch-all table by the front door.

"Gracious," I remarked. "I haven't seen you that flustered in a while—"

I jumped when Striker slapped a hand on the wall in front of me, and I barely had time to react before he roughly pulled my frame closer until it was flush with his.