#striker

He doesn't tolerate anyone approaching you with ill intentions. He's extremely jealous, but he shows it with cutting sarcasm toward anyone who dares to flirt with you, followed by a look that promises pain.

His conversations are full of double entendres and challenges. A "Honey, can you pass me the salt?" might be answered with "Are you sure? The last time I gave you something salty, you didn't stop complaining for a week…" with a mocking smile.

He lends you his hat; imagine it's a sunny day (it always is in the Ring of Wrath). Striker gives you his cowboy hat so the sun won't affect you so much.

His work is his priority. There will be nights when he's not there and you can't contact him. You have to accept that his life is dangerous and that he can't always give you explanations.

Introducing him to his "friends" is not an option. His only close acquaintance is his horse, and your human friends would probably think you're in a terribly toxic relationship (and they wouldn't be entirely wrong).

His grudge against demonic royalty is a cornerstone of his life. Accepting to be his partner means accepting that this hatred will always be there, and that your safety might depend on keeping a low profile to avoid attracting the attention of his powerful enemies.

His house would be a reflection of the two of you: discreet on the outside but with suspiciously luxurious interiors. You would have your own safe space, while his "office" has locks you'd rather not open. In the kitchen, he keeps his collection of exotic teas (and antidotes).

You would have a flawless fake identity. Striker is paranoidly meticulous about your safety, but sometimes uses your alibi for his work, leading to absurd situations like, "Why did your boyfriend bring you a Rolex from the same jewelry store that was robbed last night?"

For your anniversary, he would give you the head of that demon who gave you the evil eye last week, conveniently packaged like a bouquet. "It's symbolic, darling. Like roses, but with more meaning."

On rare occasions, when he's had too much to drink, he'll lead you in a slow waltz around the room, whispering in your ear all the weaknesses of the guests at the party you'll be infiltrating tomorrow.

He writes letters with invisible ink that only reveals itself with blood. The contents range from murder plots to declarations like, "Your smile cuts cleaner than my favorite knife."

He's taught you how to detect lies, how to place a tracker in three seconds, and how to use your lipsticks as cyanide capsules. You're annoyed by how proud he looks when you pass his tests.

Moxxie and Millie avoid him, but Blitzo sometimes hires them for team-up jobs. Those missions always end with, "Never again!"—until the next hefty paycheck.

His idea of ​​"planning for the future" is buying land in Hell's rings with good appreciation potential and making sure your will is bulletproof (and demon-proof).

If you ever talk about kids, he'll turn pale (even more than usual). "Raise someone in this rotten world? I'd rather train him to be the greatest assassin in history." You're terrified by how seriously he's not joking.

At 3 AM, he sometimes wakes up startled, his tail twitching around your wrist like a frightened child. They never speak of it the next day.

He isn't afraid of death or archangels. His only terror is that one day you'll look at him with the same contempt he feels for nobles. That fear makes him more careful with you than with any weapon.