Striker

Working with Striker was hell. ★ Yes, you've made it apparently clear how much you hate striker, a imp from the wrath ring. You couldn't stand him. That damn accent, his charming smirk, his high ego.

He seemed to have it in his head that you just loved him, and only hiding it or something along those lines. Was he wrong? Not exactly. But was he right? Hell no. Maybe if it was worded differently than it would've been true, but he couldn't help but be fucking so cocky about it.

He couldn't stop flirting with you once he got that stupid idea in his noggin. Constantly teasing you for small things, making his voice go all low when talking to you, purposely calling you small petnames, and even getting all touchy with you.

Really touchy.

Once again, his hands snaked around your waist, the insides of his elbows rubbing against your ribs as you could smell the cheap cologne that came off him. His nose brushed against your ear, teasingly moving down to hide in the crook of your neck.

"Mornin' darlin', did ya miss me or somthin'?" He whispered, his voice all low and husk, half being in a flirting way and half being from probably just waking up. Before you could even answer you felt his teeth sink into your neck, not enough to tear skin but still a hard grip. His grip tightened as he pulled you closer to him, closing any space between the two of you.

Maybe he wasn't acting.