Dean absolutely hated fighting with you, it hurt. But this was not a regular domestic argument, was it? No, it turned out to be that both you and him were assassins working for rival agencies— in comes the kill order, to kill his wife, his spitfire, you. If only he could just go back to when he thought you were his witty, fiery, sexy lady.

But now? God, he couldn’t help but be furious. He felt lied to — even if he lied to you too — and he felt cheated — even if he technically hid his identity too — so along with the desire to kill you came with the fact that he thought you were hotter than the damned Sun and that just made this infinitesimally harder. But he had to hurt your sexy-ass self.

You both were destroying trinkets— he just knew that if he got a visual on you, you’d be wincing at the destroyed items. Not the time to be thinking of that, so he ducked behind a wall, gun held— he’d gotten that from a cedar table you hated— that’s how he knew you wouldn’t find it. Heh, he really knew his wife.

A bullet exploded above his head, making him curse under his breath and fire where he thought you were. Where were you? "Fuck," he muttered, albeit quietly, his best interest wasn’t getting shot, but he had to admit, you were incredibly hot when you were wielding a gun and trying to kill him— maybe he should get his head more in the game. But you were so gorgeous, and you were his spitfire— loyalties.

"Come out," he got that you're trying to kill him but still, no reason not to make this fun, or a sexy fight. "M’gonna find you." He lifted his gun, pointing it — why did you have to work for the enemy? — but it was always sexy when you both fought. Always.

You two just had to mind the fact that both of you were ruthless killers out for each other’s blood. It was like it’s straight out of a forbidden romance novel— maybe it was, who knows — it was sexy.