dissociative-delinquent

semiu g. ♬.ᐟ : 10/10 | "if you don't arch your back some more, imma have to show you how to do it right, and we will turn this into a twerking competition."

the best partner to have when clubbing, i don't care what anyone says. she's so fucking into it, it's like the two of you are in sync with how flawlessly she moves against you, her fingers tugging you back in time with the song by your belt loops. the end of the night always ends with you both covered in sweat and a little out of breath from how much you guys dance on each other. sometimes its you throwing it back on her, sometimes her on you. no matter what, any ass that is thrown WILL be caught, she is a professional at what she does.

bro s. ♬.ᐟ : 7/10 | "have i told you how gorgeous you are? mhm, the prettiest little thing, an' i've got you grinding all over me…god, 'm so lucky, baby."

if he's completely sober, then it's going to be a 2/10 because he's genuinely really flustered and doesn't know what to do with his hands. but you get a few shots in him? oh, suddenly he knows what he's doing, his hands roaming all over your body, moving from your hips, up your sides, and stopping juuust under your chest, teasing the skin there. he just needs a bit of courage to be more open with his touches to you, but just be careful, because it's not just his hands that you need to worry about, it's his damn mouth and all the dirty shit he's muttering in your ear about how good you feel grinding up against him.

tamsy c. ♬.ᐟ : 8/10 | "who said you could stop, huh? the song's not over, darling, keep dancing for me."

i hate this nonchalant blondie, tamsy's handling you like he doesn't even care. definitely the guy with a VIP section at the club too, so he's sitting with his legs spread wide while your more so sensually grinding on his lap to the song playing. he's got one hand on your waist, squeezing and rubbing up and down while his other hand pulling the mouth piece of the hookah out of his mouth, blowing the smoke against your back (the vision of you practically grinding against him with a smoky, foggy view genuinely turns him on more than it should). he's moving under you too, just barely, but it's mainly his hand that's keeping you moving, squeezing your thigh when you start to slow, those little pleased hums and the warmth of his lap telling you everything about how much he's enjoying himself.

gris r. ♬.ᐟ : 5/10 | "shit, honey, you're good at this, aren't ya? pretty, real pretty…"

the type of guy to keep drinking like he's not getting twerked on by the baddest person in the whole club, using the rim of his cup to hide the nasty grin on his face. every once in a while, he'll grind back against you, but he's not really catching much because he knows if he does, he will get carried away and he doesn't want to end the night too soon. his free hand isn't on your hip as much, instead he's running his hand up and down your back, dragging his nails against your skin when you roll your hips a little harder than before. he's honestly using this whole thing as an excuse to perv on you, unashamed in how obvious it is on his face that he's imagining you fucking yourself against him instead of just dancing...dude is not locked in at all.

follo t. ♬.ᐟ : 2/10 | "w-wait, jesus, hold on, i'm gonna pass out—!"

bro is absolutely dead, like the only way he's able to even stand is because gris and enjin are holding him up while tomme and semiu are egging you on to keep going on him even though the poor guy is literally on the verge of blacking out. he can barely keep his shaky hands on your waist, his palms soaked in sweat. the second you are done, he's gotta get to the bathroom, he's hard as fuck in his jeans and he might die from embarrassment…absolutely awful at getting twerked on, but it doesn't mean it's not fun. he'll just be out of it as enjin and gris poke and tease him for not being able to handle it at all.

tomme m. ♬.ᐟ : 5/10 | "your ass is too much, you almost knocked me over! do it again!"

honestly, she's already several drinks in and struggling to keep up with you by the time they start playing the music that you are finally shaking ass to. she's a mess of giggles and drunken blurts of the lyrics, but she's still trying, one hand on your hip and the other holding her drink up in the air as she literally cheers over you twerking on her, she's so cute. one day, she wants you to teach her how to twerk, because she's not really good at it but she wants to be able to switch places with you one day since you make it look so fun.

august s. ♬.ᐟ : 6/10 | "baby doll, you're driving, me nuts, i think 'm gonna die…actually no, wait, i'll die if you stop, so keep doing, don't stop."

baby, this man is such a freak for you grinding up against him, his bottom lip is swollen from how badly he's biting it. just like enjin, it always starts off with him being able to catch it whenever you throw it back on him, moving with you fluidly before he starts to get a little fidgety, fingers digging into the fat of your hips and tugging you against him more and more until you're barely able to pull away from him and he's not-so-subtly bouncing your hips against his like he's literally trying to fuck your through your clothes. but unlike enjin, he's not moving to a more secluded spot, he will keep that shit up right on the dance floor, knowing damn well no one else really cares.

zodyl t. ♬.ᐟ : 3/10 | "you keep rubbing up against me like a cat in heat…are you trying to tell me something?"

this man isn't even in the club, he's at fancy lounges with deep, slower music, drinking rich wines while you sit on his lap. he doesn't do well in upbeat clubs, it's just not his thing. but at home, you always like to catch him off guard when you're playing music and end up using him to dance on. it…never lasts long because anytime you start to grind up on him, he's taking that as an invitation, huffing as he tells you to stop playing around. so, yeah, he's not really catching anything because he isn't even giving you a chance to get more than 30 seconds into the song before he's asking bluntly if this is you trying to tell him you wanna ride him…he's so dumb.

jabber w. ♬.ᐟ ♪.ᐟ : ????/10 | "can we make out after this? hell, we can make out right now, mama, you're too good at movin' on me like that."

you and jabber are way too popular at clubs. you both always have this energy that never fails to get everyone on the dance floor instead of just standing around awkwardly. but when you start twerking on him? oh, it becomes a whole fucking show of people recording the chemistry going on, plus the two of you play around too much. you guys attract a damn crowd with how fluid you both move against each other with the brightest grins on your faces. he's got a crowd of guys behind him, holding him up as he dramatically leans back into them like he can't handle all the ass you're throwing back on him. he's got the back of your shirt fisted in his hand to keep you bouncing back onto him, and you two have the nastiest little smirks on your faces. and of course, just to fuck around, you guys will switch positions and it just makes everyone around you guys louder because why the hell is he throwing it back on you so well. y'all are absolutely soaked in sweat from all the dancing you guys do.

bundus b. ♬.ᐟ : 2/10 | "mm, none of that now, hon, unless you wanna get bent over my knee for being a tease…"

like zodyl, he's not in clubs, he's more of a comfy bar kind of man. and honestly, none of the bars he's going to are playing music you can . so, it's at home you play your own music in the kitchen, backing up against him and shaking your ass against his front in a playful manner. but he's fast, hand around your neck, tilting your head back to look up at him while his bionic arm is gripping your hip tight so you can't move. he's not going to let you think you can just rub up against him like that and expect him to pretend like it's just you dancing. he's an ass man, there's no way he's letting you get away with that. catching ass? never heard of it, take your clothes off.

goka n. ♬.ᐟ : 0/10 | "i…w-what…what the hell is wrong with you? god, don't move like that!"

even worse than follo, he's truly just gone. he doesn't even know how he got here, dragged out to the club by you because, well, he loves you and wanted you to have a night out with your friends. so when you start literally grinding against his crotch, he's stuttering out your name, not knowing what to do with his hands, his body, anything, he's so broken. it's not even halfway through the song that he's wrapping his arms around you to get you standing straight up, face burning and eyes wide as he struggles to get the words out. all you know is you'll have to try to come clubbing again, and save any twerking on him for the end of the night so he's not tugging you out the club to go home and change his pants. poor thing.

𝓛𝓲𝓾 𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰

Liu Kang has and always will be a lover. Truly. He's gone for long periods of time and you knew this would be a regular thing. Your patience and willingness to enthusiastically welcome him home for every return makes his heart swell even bigger every time, if that was even possible. If he's had a particularly perilous journey to and on the way back, perhaps having you in a mating press is the only way he can finally relax

𝓡𝓪𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓷

Raiden prefers for his domestic life to be as completely opposed to his outside life as possible. Out there, he's training with a god--no, literally THE god of the universe--fighting people twice his size, wiping away buckets of sweat, and aiding in keeping the timeline from being put into shambles. When he gets home, you welcome him back and offer to take the lead most of the time. A slow intimate night of riding him is just what he needs to decompress.

𝓚𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓛𝓪𝓸

Kung Lao talks a lot of shit because he can back it up. And it's not just about his fighting skills. Sure, he's managed to make such a unique weapon out of something as simple as a hat by attaching a surrounding blade to it and nearly became the champion of Earthrealm, but he also can back it up in bed. Sometimes he doesn't even have to do anything. Nothing pleases him more than watching you get yourself off on his impressive size. Expect for him to be extra happy during practice tomorrow.

𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷𝓷𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓰𝓮

Johnny Cage apologizes over and over again about coming home so late everyday. He's filming 2 different movies back to back whilst also practicing moves at the Wu Shi that will definitely be used in the Ninja Mime sequel later down the line. He makes it up to you by taking a couple days off from filming so he can come home and give you his undivided attention. All of his focus is on you and laying you on your stomach while you take it from the back on his stupidly expensive couch. He hopes you'll forgive him!

𝓚𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓱𝓲 𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓪𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲

Kenshi Takahashi valued real intimacy long before the incident. Even while he was on his dark path with the Yakuza he still fantasized about a life he never thought he would have nor deserved. Now that he is blind, he values real intimacy AND relying on his other senses to really be in the moment. It's when you're so vocal like this that he knows he's still doing something right. Even though he can't see you, hearing what he does to you is enough.

𝓢𝓾𝓫-𝓩𝓮𝓻𝓸

Sub-Zero has an...interesting way of trying new positions. Or, rather, different variations of positions. He chose an interesting time to deal with his frustrations when you offered up your body to him. He was averse at first, but when you laid out on that king sized bed on your stomach, practically begging for him to get you squirting like nobody's business, he couldn't not take the opportunity. Just hope you don't need to walk much tomorrow!

𝓢𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓹𝓲𝓸𝓷

Scorpion also values real intimacy with the exception of the few times he just needed to let it out. But this time was a slower night. When he actually has time to spend with his gorgeous wife, he likes to tease a little before filling you up. And it's all the more worth it at the end of the day when those pretty moans fill his ears.

𝓢𝓶𝓸𝓴𝓮

Smoke gets really excited at the mere thought of finally getting back home to his wife. Yes, he's laser focused on the mission and there's nothing he wouldn't do in his power to make sure it gets complete with the utmost efficiency...but he's also practically flying through the door, ready to jump on top of you and show you how much he missed you. After telling you about what went on and hugging you a little too tight, of course. He's no animal! He just...fucks like one!

𝓖𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓼

SFW 🌫️🤍

★ Fujin is definitely a playful, affectionate soul. He’s loves teasing you, makings light hearted quips just to see you smile.

★ “If the wind could blush, I believe it would at the sight of your smile.” “That face alone could calm even the most chaotic storm. Keep it, and I’ll make sure the winds only sing for you today.”

★ At this point, you just expect the gusts of wind helping him with his antics. He’ll tousle your hair, or twirl a small whirl of leaves around you just because. Making you softly laugh, or shoot him a little warning glare if you lose balance.

★ “Did you just trip? No, no I assure you, it was not me—the wind is mischievous today. But I must admit, it’s rather convenient with the way you fell into my arms, hmm?”

★ He loves giving forehead kisses. They’re considered a silent blessing whenever you receive one from him. “You claim me rascally? Yet here you are, with my heart—stolen. A thief, truly.”

★ Fiercely protective over you, but of course he believes in your strength and doesn’t want to come off as smothering. And if danger does occur, he’ll subtly keep you within his wind currents, ensuring you’re always safe.

★ Fujin is a rather peaceful being. He prefers to avoid unnecessary conflict. But if someone threatens you? He has no issue switching to a cold, powerful force.

★ “Do not mistake my gentleness for inaction, should anyone bring you harm, they will learn why even the faintest of breezes can become a storm.”

★ Fujin comes off as a very emotionally intelligent person. He yearns for deep, meaningful connection with the one he considers his heart. He’s naturally an open person, and wants to understand your thoughts and emotions in any conversation—no matter the topic.

★ Fujin’s perspective on mortality is personal, to say the least. He’s lived countless ages and has seen mortal lives flicker like the flames of a candle.

★ He doesn’t fear your mortality per se, but he mourns the inevitability of losing you. However, this is why he reminds you often that time is precious, and that every moment together matters.

★ There’s for sure some (a lot of) teasing at Raidens expense, especially if Fujin’s brother doesn’t quite know how to react to your relationship.

★ “Brother, do you see how radiant they are? I think I finally understand why you prefer thunderstorms—because you are jealous of my sunshine.”

★ One hundred percent sentimental when it comes to giving and receiving gifts. You could give him a bobby pin and he’d keep it for eternity. (Literally)

★ His gifts usually consist of intricate pieces of jewelry, small crystals for you to carry around for different purposes. Like prosperity, luck, balance etcétera. Or he brews homemade tea/coffee flavors for you to try out.

NSFW ☁️💦

★ Fujin for sure loves taking control in the bedroom, he’s a soft dom and makes you feel good with sensual touches and commanding words.

★ “That’s it, songbird. Just like that,” He croons, guiding your body with strong hands, directing you to arch your back or wrap your legs around him.

★ He’s a god with a penchant for teasing edge play, bringing you to the brink of ecstasy only to pull back—making you pout and beg for more.

★ “Patience, love,” he chastises while tracing your curves with feather light kisses and caresses, smirking up at you while his breath fans against your skin, reveling in your needy little whimpers.

★ Gets pussy drunk. He could have his head between your thighs for hours. But you usually can’t take more than ten maybe fifteen minutes. He’s a damn tease, remember? So even if you’re writhing and squirming, tears stinging your eyes, Fujin simply moans, tightening his hold on you while flicking his tongue at your clit and pushing two fingers inside you.

★ “Just a little longer, love—please~” he softly pleads with flushed cheeks, before diving right back in without warning, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, making your legs shake and toes curl.

★ He’s sentimental, as you may already know, and prefers bare skin. Talking about skin on skin touch. He loves you naked and exposed before him, admiring the sight of your soft, perfect, bare flesh.

★ “Absolutely exquisite.” He hums, taking his sweet time to worship every inch. His calloused hands mapping out your nipples, flanks, hips, ass. Kneading and groping, pressing you impossibly close to him.

★ Has an appreciation for lewd art. More specifically he loves admiring erotic pieces and photography featuring you as the subject. He has many pieces like this for…personal reasons. His glowing eyes hungrily tracing your figure and the sinful poses that make his cock stir and throb with want.

★ Adventurous and open. Loves exploring kinky positions. He’s always seeking new and thrilling ways to join with you. He’ll have you bent over the bathroom sink, gripping your hips. “Look at us.” He grunts, pounding into you from behind, sliding one hand up your back to grip your chin, forcing you to look at your reflection in the mirror. “See how perfectly we fit?”

★ He can get down with a little bit of rough play. Though he doesn’t like to leave welting marks. Even if you beg “harder!” —he’s soft yet firm with his smacks and slaps. But pounding into you with brutality? Yes please!

★ He’ll fuck into you at a punishing pace, grunting with each thrust. “You can take it, lovely.” He huffs out, your tits bouncing, bed creaking and groaning as you hold onto the sheets for dear life. “Take every inch of your lord’s cock.”

★ Feel like he indulges in steamy, sexy bathing rituals with you. Your slick, wet bodies slipping and sliding against each other, affectionately cleaning each other’s backs, exploring and caressing with soapy hands and fingertips.

★ Fujin has a liking for the….finer points of BDSM. Silk ties, blindfolds, light impact play intermingled with your guys’ intimacy. Binding your hands, letting the fabric bite into your skin as he stands to rummage through the collection of ties. “Color?” He checks in, ever the considerate lover.

★ Of course, after fucking your senseless, the god is an incredibly tender lover (more so than before). He’ll clean you up and get you into freshened garments. Gathering you into his strong arms, peppering your face with soft kisses as he strokes your hair (or cheek).

★ “You did so well, songbird.” He praises gently. “Truly, I am blessed to have you as my own.”

Johnny rubs his eyes with one hand, squinting them at the unfinished script of the video game

the pen in his hand shakes as he circles and scribbles in comments about what he liked and what he didn’t like about what the script writer had put in

he wonders if he had hired an idiot because the dialogue sounded stiff and the staging of the scene seemed to make no sense

perhaps he should just hire a new editor and write his own script and then send it to an editor to have them tweak any small details he might’ve missed

his hand reaches out for the coffee cup next to him, and he lifts it up only to find it empty

Johnny looks up from his script with a disgruntled look, lips curved downward and eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the empty cardboard

throwing it into the wastebasket beneath his desk along with the three other empty coffee cups, he stands up from his seat, hearing the bones in his back creak and his knees pop with pain

he groans and presses both of his hands to his lower back, stretching out after spending so long hunched over his desk trying to edit this ridiculous script

maybe he should just go to bed, wake up with a fresh head and fresh eyes

Johnny glances once more over to the script, the red pen decorating the paper at almost every corner, and he lets out a displeased hum

for as much as the weight on his eyelids felt heavy, he really wanted, needed, to get this done tonight, at least before the next shoot happened

he checks his phone for the time, greeted with the sight of you as his lock screen, a bright smile on your face with the sunset perfectly framing you

you hadn’t been able to come with him this time to shoot the current movie, a new project at work had a deadline that happened to cross over into the workflow of the shoot, and you couldn’t afford to slack off

every day and night, he would text you updates about his day, how he felt, whether the food was good on set tonight, and you tried to do the same, complaining about your colleagues, your boss, the traffic getting to and from work

it never failed to make him smile as he read your texts

lately, however, the actors had pressing questions, the cameramen had questions and positions to be marked, the stuntmen needed more clarification on the moveset

he hadn’t had much time for you, and he tried his best to respond to you, typing as fast as he could with one hand as he went on lunch breaks, eyes glued to his screen whenever the actors needed a short break before they could continue

it was absolute hell for him to not be able to talk to you so freely

Johnny steps out of his trailer, trudging over to the coffee machine, checking his phone for any new messages from you

there are a few from a few hours ago, telling them that the dinner party you had been to had been a bust and that one of your colleagues had passed out from drinking too much

he smiles at the text and goes to text you back, quickly pressing the buttons on the coffee machine to give him the largest coffee possible, when your face shows up with your caller id

that was strange, it was past midnight for you usually you’d be fast asleep at this hour, always claiming you needed your beauty rest to get an early start on the grocery shopping on the weekend

nonetheless, he picks up the call, “hey sweetheart, what are you doing up so late?” and he blows on the steaming coffee in his cup and takes a sip

“‘m miss you, miss you Johnny,” you sound breathless, words all slurred together and slightly too high-pitched to be normal

panic strikes through his heart, had something happened? were you safe? had something happened? Shang Tsung?

the memory of you being at the dinner party flits into his memory, and he realizes that you’re probably just drunk and a little needy for him, just as needy as he was for you

“are you drunk? you should go to bed, honey. drink some water before you do.” Johnny takes another sip of his coffee as he starts striding back to his trailer

he wonders if you’ll be able to get up in the morning, you always complained so heavily about hangovers, he’ll send you a text in the morning to remember to take some medicine

“no, not drunk, want you, Johnny, hah-” you practically whine into your phone, and Johnny stops in front of his trailer, hand frozen, his phone tucked right between his ear and his shoulder

suddenly, with his phone so close to his ear, he can hear the faint shuffle of the bedsheets, the way you breathe heavily into the mic and the familiar wet squelch of your pussy

Johnny practically rips the door open in his hurry to get inside, “oh honey, i know, what do you want? tell me.”

suddenly, the coffee in his hand seems redundant, not when adrenaline rushed through him, the thought of you so desperate for him on the sheets sending all of his blood rushing downwards

he places the coffee on his desk and sits on the edge of his bed, pressing his phone as close to his ear as possible to hear you

“want you, want you to kiss me, mark me all over, want you fucking me right now,” you pant into the phone, a low drawn out moan escaping you

Johnny swears his hand is dangerously close to cracking his phone with how tightly he grips it, and he presses his free hand against the bottom of his chin, still trying to remain calm as thoughts of you naked and covered in a slight sweat filters into his thoughts

“i wish i could, honey,” he lets out a sharp exhale through his nose as he tries to imagine what you look like, the soft caress of your skin against the sheets, your eyes that glossy faraway look, lips turned into a slight pout, “tell me what you’re doing right now.”

“mm, wearing your shirt, your favorite, missed you, i miss you,” Johnny resists a groan at the image of you wearing nothing but his shirt, the purple one that had cost too much money

still, it was worth all the money, especially now that you were wearing it right now, all needy and whiny for him

“what else are you doing, honey? c’mon keep talking to me, you’re doing so well.” he encourages to talk more, to fill out the details of your want for him so that he can fuel his own imagination of you

“riding, riding you, but it’s-i-i can’t,” you sound pained at the end, your voice tinted with tears

“hey hey, what’s wrong, what can’t you do?” Johnny presses his chin further into his free hand, trying to decipher what you meant by you riding him

he wasn’t there, but you wouldn’t take on another partner just for this, you wouldn’t do something like that, at least not without his permission

Johnny closes his eyes, listening to you whimper, voice slightly warbled through the phone line, “can’t make myself cum, can’t without you, please, Johnny.”

you sound so desperate for him, and he exhales through his nose, almost proud of himself for ruining you for anyone else, but he could stroke his pride later

“honey, why don’t you facetime me? show me what you’re doing, i’ll guide you. how does that sound?” he hears your small sound of confirmation on the other end, and he pulls his phone away from his ear and waits for your caller id to show up again

as soon as it pops up, he clicks on accept and is met with the sight of you, the phone resting on the headboard of the bed, slightly tilting as you move away after setting up the camera

you look divine, better than he remembered, better than anything he had ever seen actually

his heart slightly aches at the sight of you, just as desperate as you to see each other again, to feel your touch on his skin, to feel your warmth hold his soul

Johnny sucks in a breath and concentrates back on you, how he can slightly see your chest through the unbuttoned front of the shirt, how your thighs slightly trembled as you ride a toy

your baby hairs stick slightly to your forehead, and you look breathless, lips parted in a moan and your brows furrowed upwards as you sink back down onto the toy

he stares at it, rummaging through his mind which one it could possibly be when it suddenly clicks in his head

you were riding him, him as in the prank gift he had given you on your birthday before presenting you with your actual gift

Johnny thought you had thrown it out, but you had kept it and now you were riding it, riding him and his lips slightly part in surprise

as he stares at you, you continue to ride the dildo and let out a long whine as one hand travels downward to rub harsh circles onto your clit

it snaps him out of his shock and back into the moment as he coos at you, “you look so gorgeous, so pretty on my cock.”

a slight hum escapes from you as you stare at the camera with half-lidded eyes, drinking in his praise, and Johnny has to bite his tongue to keep himself from cumming into his pants at the sight alone

“that’s it honey, slow down your hand, you’re being too rough on yourself,” he says it gently, voice a little breathy as he strains to control himself, and you listen obediently, your fingers on your clit slowing down into small gentle circles

you whine pitifully, wanting more, but you listen anyway, trusting him

the fact that you do so easily in such a vulnerable moment fills him with something more, something proud and smooth, like gold shining underneath the sun

“good, you’re being so good for me, sweetheart. use your other hand to pinch your nipple,” he stares, unblinking at his phone as you follow through, legs shaking as you ride him slowly, whimpering as you twist and pinch your nipple

Johnny can’t look away, not, he drinks in the sight like you were the stars in the sky, the galaxies flying in the universe, a marvel, a miracle, a beauty to behold

because you truly were, something wonderful and marvelous and more than anything you would ever know

“that’s it, just like that, speed up just a little bit, good, so good for me” he watches as you bounce a little faster, your fingers against your clit just a bit faster, your pinching at your chest just a bit rougher

“haah, ahhh aghh, Johnny, please, please,” you can barely speak, mewls of pleasure interrupting your own thoughts

“let go for me,” it’s all he needs to say as you moan loudly, and you sink down fully onto the toy, fingers rubbing against your clit desperately as your thighs tremble and twitch

he watches as you ride through your orgasm, as your breathing slows, as your body slouches over, exhausted and spent

“you did so well, so well for me,” he isn’t sure if wants to push it, to tell you to try and get yourself cleaned up, and he decides against it as you lower yourself to the bed and grip onto a pillow, no doubt the one on his side of the bed

his fingers itch to stroke your hair, to massage out your muscles, to hold you close in his arms and fall asleep next to you

Johnny settles with watching you fall asleep on the bed and then ending the call, sending you a text message asking how you felt and to call him when you woke up

setting his phone off to the side, he drags a hand over his face, the image of you riding the toy, the toy based off of him, buried deep inside of you

“Are you together?”

“Are you sure you’re not together?”

“Then why did he call you princess in the training hall?”

You stonewalled him every time and the man was vibrating with curiosity like a bored cat.

Bi-Han, meanwhile, had simply given the two of you The Bi-Han Special™ look—arms crossed, jaw tight, irritation simmering.

“This will not interfere with your duties.”

A friendly deadly threat suggestion disguised as a reminder.

And yet, despite the entire Lin Kuei having a betting pool about whether Tomás would finally claim you or keep playing house without the title, the man himself still hadn’t officially asked you to be his girlfriend.

Much to your dismay.

It was actually starting to grind on your nerves because you knew Tomás wanted to ask you out.

Everybody knew.

He followed you around like a puppy, looked at you like you were the last meal on Earth, and rearranged your guts like he was being graded on it.

But asking you to be his woman?

Apparently that was the one enemy he couldn’t defeat.

The man had the confidence of a solar flare when it came to spearing you onto his cock like it’s nothing, but somehow lost all motor functions when it came to forming the sentence:

“Be my girlfriend.”

Tragic. Embarrassing. Infuriating.

Fine.

If he wasn’t going to do it on his own, then you’d just have to nudge him.

You poked Kuai sharply in the ribs.

He choked and flinched like someone stabbed him with a fork, and turned to glare at you.

“Kuai…” you murmured sweetly—too sweetly if you ask him—as a slow, dangerous smile curled onto your face.

“I need your… help.”

His eyes narrowed.

He knew that smile, the one that promised chaos and suffering.

“…Help with what?” he asked warily.

You leaned closer, lowering your voice like you were about to discuss classified intel.

“I need to make your brother jealous enough to grow a spine.”

Kuai stared.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

“…No.”

You gave him a harder poke.

“Kuai.”

He rubbed his side like you’d stabbed him again.

“You’re going to get me killed.”

You shrugged, smile weaponized.

“Not if Tomás finally asks me to be his.”

He groaned into his hands.

“Why am I involved in this.”

“Because you’re the only one he actually gets competitive with,” you whispered, grin only getting worse, “and if he thinks you want me…”

Kuai froze, then groaned louder.

“Absolutely not,” he muttered—already knowing he was going to fold.

You patted his arm, victorious.

“Oh, come on, Kuai. It’s for love.”

He stared at you like you had personally ruined his entire evening.

“It’s going to be for my funeral,” he corrected flatly.

But he didn’t say no.

You grinned, leaning in with weaponized sweetness.

“Kuai, you’ll be fine. Besides, I got you. Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

He didn’t even blink, voice hollow and defeated, already mourning his own life choices.

You clicked your tongue and shoved him lightly.

“Whatever. Listen up, here’s what’s gonna happen.”

Kuai braced like he was about to get hit by a truck.

“You’re gonna flirt with me,” you said casually, “and touch me all the damn time whenever Tomás is around.”

He stared at you like you had just sprouted five heads and asked him to go hug Bi-Han.

You rolled your eyes at the dramatics.

“What? Did you seriously think he’d get jealous if you just stood there looking cute and did nothing? No! Absolutely not. Man up, Kuai.”

“I’m going to die,” he muttered, face blank, soul gone. “If Tomás doesn’t kill me, Bi-Han will for entertaining this.”

You snickered, delighted.

“Stop being such a wuss and help me get an official perma-dick!”

“You already have that!” he snapped, offended.

“Not officially!”

“What is the difference?!”

“Will you help me or not?” you growled, patience almost gone.

Kuai dragged a hand down his face, sighed like someone told him to retire early, and said nothing, which, unfortunately for him, was the same as saying yes.

For the next couple of days, you and Kuai were practically glued together, which was impressive, considering Kuai spent most of that time looking like he wanted to evaporate out of sheer embarrassment.

His hand was always somewhere on you: your waist, your lower back, your hip and every time he hesitated, you’d hiss at him through your teeth and physically shove his hand closer.

“Make it believable, dumbass!”

Your smile was getting strained enough to crack porcelain, but Kuai was genuinely trying. He deserved a medal for surviving this long.

And every single time Tomás saw the two of you?

His eyes darkened.

His jaw clenched.

He gave you both the most unimpressed, “I know exactly what the hell you’re doing and I hate it” glare.

Still, he didn’t do anything.

Didn’t say anything.

“This isn’t working,” you muttered under your breath while Kuai pretended to inspect a training spear just so he didn’t have to make eye contact with Tomás.

Kuai winced before removing his hand from your hip slowly.

“…It did,” he murmured.

You shot him a confused glare.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Kuai didn’t answer.

Instead he flicked his gaze behind you—a tiny, warning look—right before he took a small step back.

You frowned, confused, and began to turn.

You didn’t even get halfway before a hand—large, warm, and very familiar—wrapped around your waist from behind firmly.

Possessive.

A low voice breathed against your ear:

“Can we talk, princess?”

Your breath hitched.

Tomás pulled you tighter against his chest, tone dangerously calm.

“Now,” he added.

And then he shot Kuai a look so vicious the poor man nearly ascended.

You shivered in Tomás’ hold, feeling his fingers tighten just enough to make your pulse skip. You turned your head, slowly, carefully, and met his grey eyes, darker than you’d ever seen them, unreadable.

Your gaze flicked toward Kuai.

He was already halfway down the hall, shaking his head like he had just witnessed his own funeral.

Smart man.

You looked back at Tomás and forced a smile, small and sweet.

“Sure, love. Where to?” you asked, tone light but edged with growing alarm.

He hummed, thumb brushing along your waist in one last fleeting moment of softness before he released you, only to lace his fingers with yours.

Always a gentleman, even when he was absolutely furious.

“Come,” he murmured, voice low and clipped.

He guided you down the hallway, turning corner after corner in silence, until he stopped at his room. He pushed the door open, nodding for you to enter. You stepped inside, glancing around the neatly kept space—tidy, organized, nothing out of place.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Then locked.

You didn’t even have time to turn.

A hand wrapped firmly around your throat, pulling you back flush against his chest, your breath catching hard as heat spiked through your body.

His mouth brushed your ear, voice rough and low.

“Did you think you were being cute?” he growled.

You gasped softly, gripping his forearm on instinct.

His grip tightened just enough to make your knees weaken.

“Parading around with my brother,” he continued, tone simmering with jealousy and something else entirely. “Letting him put his hands on you.”

Your heart hammered.

He pressed you tighter against him, his breath dragging hot along your neck.

“Did you forget who you belong to?” he murmured, the words a dangerous whisper, vibrating against your skin.

Your pulse jumped beneath his palm, and you felt him smirk against your cheek.

“Oh,” he breathed, “you didn’t forget.”

His fingers flexed at your throat, controlling your breath, your voice, the way your body melted in his hold.

“You just wanted me to say it.”

Now, here’s where a reasonable person would give up this stupid little game and apologize.

A normal, functioning adult would cut their losses, beg forgiveness, maybe offer cookies.

You, however?

Yeah.

You were not that person.

If anything, your specialty was shooting yourself directly in the foot and then reloading for fun.

“…Technically we’re not together,” you breathed, tone just shy of smug. “I was just… exploring options, you know?”

He hummed, low and thoughtful, the kind of sound that should’ve made you shut up immediately.

“Is that so?” he murmured. “Well… did you enjoy what you found so far?”

You shrugged.

“Not sure… didn’t get a lot of time to experiment.”

Someone should genuinely sew your mouth shut.

Nothing good ever comes from taunting Tomás.

You know this.

Your body knows this.

Your soul knows this.

And yet here you are.

His free hand slid down your torso, slow and mocking, tracing your curves with deliberate purpose. He dipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers dragging across bare skin.

“Tell me,” he taunted softly, voice lethal in its calm,

“what’s there to compare?”

His grip on your throat tightened, making your breath stutter. Then he tilted your head back, forcing your gaze up to his. His eyes were dark, jealousy and hunger swirling together like a storm breaking.

“Go on,” he said, tone razor-sharp, “Look at me while you try to come up with a pathetic answer.”

Your pulse jumped violently under his palm.

His thumb stroked your jaw, mockingly gentle.

“What could you possibly think another man has…” he leaned closer, lips brushing your cheek, “…that I don’t?”

His fingers splayed across your stomach, sliding lower, teasing.

“Say it,” he murmured, voice dipping into something possessive and deadly.

“Tell me what you were looking for.”

His breath dragged slow across your ear.

“And I’ll show you exactly why you don’t get to look anywhere else.”

Your lips parted on a shaky breath, eyes blown wide as your mind scrambled for a answer, yet not a single coherent thought survived.

Instead, what left your mouth was the softest, most humiliating whimper.

Tomás chuckled, the sound vibrating straight through your spine. His silence made everything worse. He was still waiting, still giving you a chance to talk yourself out of your own grave.

Your face flushed hot, your body twitching in his hold. Unfortunately, the devil on your shoulder decided to take the wheel.

“I’m…”

You blinked up at him, dazed, breath trembling, before that wicked, bratty spark snapped right back into place.

A smirk curled onto your lips.

“I’m looking for a person who can actually fuck me correctly,” you purred, lashes fluttering as if you weren’t actively detonating a bomb. “Not one who pretends.”

His head tilted slowly.

His face was neutral, blank, but the air around him changed into something thicker and tighter.

You should’ve stopped, but your mouth kept going.

“A few orgasms are nice and all but…”

You sighed dramatically, letting faux disappointment drip from every syllable.

“It’d be amazing if my boyfriend fucked me so good I couldn’t walk for a few days.”

Silence.

His fingers flexed at your throat, his thumb pressing just enough to force your chin up.

Then, very quietly—too quietly—he exhaled a single laugh. A laugh that said:

You have no idea what you’ve just done.

“Well,” he murmured, voice dropping into something low and lethal, “I suppose I should thank you.”

He pulled you flush against him.

“For finally telling me exactly,” his lips brushed your ear, “how you want me to ruin you.”

His hand slid down your body—firm, claiming, leaving no room for doubt.

“And sweetheart…”

His voice turned molten with hunger.

“If you wanted to be unable to walk—”

His mouth grazed your jaw, hot and possessive.

“You only had to ask.”

You huffed at his words, glaring up at him with all the misplaced confidence of someone who had just kicked a hornet’s nest barefoot.

“Like I said… I want my boyfriend to do it. We’re not together.” Your tone dripped defiance, lashes fluttering in mock innocence, “Therefore, you don't count.”

You sang the last part at him.

His hand dropped from your throat and he took a single step back.

You smirked, triumphant—thinking you had already won.

In the next breath, his arms locked around you, lifting you clean off your feet. Before you could even gasp, your body hit the mattress with a bounce and a startled cry.

“TOMÁS!” you shrieked, eyes wide, scrambling to sit up. “What the he—”

He flipped you over wordlessly.

Your sentence died on your tongue as your face met the sheets.

Your pants and underwear were yanked down to your thighs in one rough, efficient motion.

“Tomás! What are you—”

He sat down and pulled you sideways across his lap like you weighed nothing.

You huffed at the manhandling, ready to spit out another sarcastic jab.

“What? You gonna spank m—”

The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

A smack, sharp and loud, echoing off the walls as your body jolted violently in his hold.

Your breath punched out of you in a shocked, broken gasp, skin stinging where his hand landed.

Your eyes were wide open, mouth parted in stunned silence as the burn bloomed across your skin. Tomás’ hand stayed planted on the curve of your ass, firm, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

You let out a stunned little laugh as you turned your head toward him, eyes narrowed in challenge.

“You think a couple of spanks is gonna make me b—”

CRACK.

You whimpered at the second hit, your body jolting, thighs squeezing instinctively as the sting ripped through you. You bowed your head, hair falling in your face, breath hitching as your body tried to process the shock.

“You want to keep going?” he muttered, voice low and dangerous, vibrating against your spine.

Your mouth opened and closed, debating.

“…I’ve been spanked harder…” you breathed out.

His hand moved in a slow, deceptively gentle caress across the fresh heat of your skin and then lifted.

You barely had time to tense.

CRACK.

You squeaked as the pain surged white-hot, your fingers digging into his thigh, breath shuddering.

“You keep letting your mouth run,” he warned, tone bored, almost amused, “and you won’t like the consequences.”

His hand slid over your burning skin, massaging where he’d struck, admiring the red bloom of his handprint.

You bit your lip hard, shivering beneath the attention.

“T-Tomás…” you whimpered, voice thin and trembling.

He hummed a low, knowing sound, his free hand drifting down, tracing a single teasing line along your soaked cunt.

He chuckled as you jolted in his hold.

“I haven’t even started,” he murmured, dragging a finger through your wetness slow enough to make you gasp. “And you’re already dripping for me.”

Your cheeks burned.

“Mm… maybe I should stop,” he mused, tone fake-thoughtful.

“Wouldn’t want to outdo your future boyfriend, right?”

Your whole body went still.

His finger pressed against you again just enough to make your lungs forget how to function.

“Unless…” he taunted softly, “you’d like to explain how you’re soaking for a man who ‘doesn’t count.’”

You let out a slow, shaky exhale, glaring at the sheets as if they were personally responsible for your life choices. Your lips pressed together, mind finally catching up to the exact level of danger you’d walked yourself into.

Maybe—just maybe—it was time to stop talking.

His hand resumed its slow massage over the fat of your ass, warm and steady, kneading like he owned every inch of you.

“Why so quiet all of a sudden?” he cooed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Thought you felt like talking.”

You shivered, scrambling for a response that wouldn’t toss you headfirst into hellfire.

“…M’sorry…” you mumbled, barely audible.

Tomás snickered. A low, derisive sound that went straight to your core.

“Yeah?”

You nodded weakly, shame warming your cheeks.

“Didn’t… didn’t mean to make you jealous…”

His hand struck before you could breathe.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

Three sharp, punishing smacks landed in rapid succession, each harder than the last. You jolted violently, hands clutching the sheets, breath tearing out of you in a startled cry.

He hummed in disapproval, the sound low and cold.

“I don’t like lies, princess.”

You whined, your cunt clenching around nothing, need pulsing through you embarrassingly strong. Your breath came in shaky bursts, your thighs trembling, brain stuck in the delicious agony of indecision:

Continue being a brat and suffer for it?

Or sink into obedience like you knew he wanted?

“Tomas…” you panted, torn between pride and instinct, “I…”

Your voice broke, hips involuntarily rocking into his grip.

He chuckled—soft, cruel, indulgent.

“That’s better,” he murmured, hand smoothing over your stinging skin, thumb brushing the outline of his own handprint. “Now you sound like my good girl.”

He leaned in, breath warm against your ear.

“So try again,” he whispered, tone a dark promise, “Tell me why you really did it.”

You let out an overwhelmed, broken whine, squirming in his hold. You were not ready to admit the truth, that all this chaos, all this bratting, all this pushing was because you wanted one simple title from him.

So you fell back on the safest lie you had.

“I dunno…” you mumbled weakly.

He exhaled sharply, frustrated and disappointed, like he could see straight through you. His hand slid between your thighs, pushing them apart with no effort at all.

His palm settled on your inner thigh, fingers digging in just enough to leave dents in the soft muscle.

“Y/N.”

You whined again, shaking your head, hiding your face. Anything to avoid the truth.

His grip tightened once before disappearing.

Only for his hand to land directly on your cunt with a sharp, echoing smack.

Your moan came out shocked and high, hips jerking off his lap, his other hand pressing your lower back down, pinning you in place.

“Tell me the truth,” he repeated, tone calm as steel.

Another smack landed on your soaked center, even harder, the wet sound ringing obscenely through the room.

Your mouth fell open in a choked yelp.

“T-Tomás— I—”

You struggled, breath tripping over itself as you writhed in his hold.

He waited patiently, unmoving except for the slow glide of his fingers along your inner thigh, teasing dangerously close.

“Use your words,” he murmured, “Tell me why you did it.”

You shook, fighting the instinct to break, to fold. Your hips twitched helplessly against his lap.

“I— I wanted—” your voice cracked, shame heating your chest, “I just—”

His fingers brushed the edge of your soaked folds, barely grazing you, the lightest tease.

“Say it,” he urged softly, voice dipping into something firm, commanding, “Be a good girl.”

Your breath hitched, trembling out of you.

“I— wanted you to—”

The rest of the sentence dissolved into a desperate gasp when his hand slid just a little closer, fingertips nudging your entrance.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he murmured against your ear, breath warm, smug. “Finish the sentence.”

He dragged a slow stroke through your wetness, then sank a finger inside you just as you finally broke.

“Just wanted you to make me yours,” you moaned, clenching tight around his digit.

Tomás cooed as he began gently pumping his finger, teasing your walls.

“Sweet girl,” he murmured, voice thick, “you are mine.”

You shook your head in tiny, helpless movements.

“O-officially… wanna be your… g-girlfriend officially.”

That made him freeze for half a second before smiling fondly, a wicked crook to it.

“Ahh,” he sighed softly, almost lovingly, “So that’s what my pretty girl’s been bratting for.”

He slid a second finger in, stretching you, spreading them just enough to make your breath hitch and your hips jerk back against him, needy for more.

You shivered, grinding back onto his hand on instinct.

“You could’ve just told me that from the beginning, princess,” he teased, voice full of warmth and reprimand all at once, “No need to act out just to get what you want.”

His fingers drove deeper, harder, curling just right, his tone shifting from gentle to something darker.

“How about you fall apart for me right here,” he breathed against your ear, “and I’ll make your wish come true?”

Your hips stuttered helplessly.

“P-promise…?” you mewled, so soft it barely counted as a word.

His smile sharpened.

“How about you find out?” he murmured.

His fingers plunged into your soaked cunt in earnest, pumping into you with a rhythm that knocked the breath out of your lungs. He wrapped his free arm around your waist, pinning you down firmly so you couldn’t squirm away from the assault.

“T-Tomas…!” you gasped, fingers clawing into the sheets, hips jerking despite his iron hold.

All you could hear was the obscene plap-plap-plap of his fingers driving into you, mixed with the wet, messy sounds of your cunt clenching around him. You felt his breathing deepen behind you, as if he wasn’t absolutely wrecking you with his hand alone.

Then he added a third finger, curling them together, dragging hard against that devastating spot inside you, making stars burst behind your eyelids.

Your whole body jolted.

Your cunt spasmed, trying to clamp down on his fingers desperately, unable to escape the relentless pleasure he was building inside you.

“Tomás—!” you sobbed, burying your face in the sheets as the pressure in your belly coiled tight and sharp.

“Cum for me, sweet girl,” he murmured.

His fingers slammed into that spot once more and that was all it took.

Your hips jerked violently in his hold, your walls tightening hard around his fingers as the orgasm tore through you. Your moans broke apart into breathless cries, your whole body trembling on his lap as the pleasure crashed over you.

He kept working you through it with steady, controlled strokes, guiding every last aftershock from your shaking muscles until you finally sagged forward, panting and boneless.

When you went still, he slowly pulled his fingers from you and lifted them to his mouth, eyes half-lidded as he tasted you.

“Good girl,” he growled out, possessive and hungry.

He shifted you off his lap with surprising gentleness, turning you onto your side. His gaze drank in the sight of your flushed face, the tears gathered on your lashes, your swollen lips—something dark and hungry flickering through his expression. He bit his lip as he slid your pants the rest of the way down.

“Since you were so good for me and did exactly what I asked, I’ll reward you,” he said softly, stripping himself quickly after.

He spread your thighs with firm hands, lifting one leg to rest over his shoulder as he straddled the other one, the position leaving you open and helpless beneath him. He aligned his tip at your entrance and pushed forward slowly, deliberately, forcing you to feel him inch by inch.

“How about becoming my girl hmm?” he moaned out, voice strained with control. “You wanna be mine? Wanna be my girlfriend, princess?”

You mewled, hands reaching out weakly to grab his arm as he kept feeding you inch by inch.

You both panted as he sank in fully, your walls pulling tight around him. His lashes fluttered, a shiver running through his body as he held himself there—deep, unmoving—just long enough for you to feel every inch of him settling into place.

Then he laughed quietly, breath warm against your calf, the sound low and merciless.

His hips slipped back, inch by agonizing inch, until only the tip of him remained.

And then he drove forward again, harder, sharper, your body taking the impact with a broken gasp.

Your hand flew to his waist, fingers latching on as he set a brutal pace, each thrust dragging a helpless shudder through your limbs. The sheets bunched in your other hand. You could barely think, barely breathe—just feel him, everywhere.

“You haven’t answered me, princess,” he panted, voice unraveling as he hugged your leg higher, holding you tighter under him. The new angle made the next thrust strike deep enough to punch a sound from your throat.

“I—uh…mmm..mmmm…w-what?” you slurred, words dissolving each time his hips met yours, every shock of pleasure scattering your thoughts.

He let out a long exhale, half-groan, half-complaint, as if your inability to speak was somehow your fault and not the result of him completely ruining your ability to function.

“First you act up, then you don’t answer me,” he grunted, each word punctuated by a hard, deliberate thrust. “Now you pretend you can't understand what I’m saying. What more, princess?”

You shook your head in a daze, nails digging harder into his skin just to ground yourself.

“Ngh, I’m s-sorry… I… can’t focus… you’re… you’re…” you gasped, the words melting into nothing as your back arched under him.

“You’re too cock-dumb?” he mocked softly. The affection in his voice twisted around the cruelty, turning it into something even more overwhelming. “I understand, princess... but I asked you a very important question.”

His pace slowed, each thrust deep and dragging, forcing you to feel every second of him moving through you. His free hand drifted down your side, gripping your hip, holding you steady while he took his time grinding the answer out of you.

Your breath hitched violently, your voice barely a whisper when you tried to speak again.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“You’re stalling,” he murmured, rolling his hips just right, “and I’m losing my patience.”

He angled his next thrust so perfectly it stole the sound from your throat, leaving your mouth open in a silent plea.

“Ngh…question..?” you mewled out helplessly, walls fluttering weakly around him.

“Will you be my girlfriend,” he murmured, voice rough and devastatingly steady for a man already this deep inside you. “If the answer is yes, I want you to cum on my cock.”

He barely finished the sentence before pulling out just enough to lay you onto your back with infuriating ease. Your legs were guided around his waist, his hands spreading you open without hesitation. And then he slid back in, slow for a single heartbeat.

“T-Tomas!” you yelped as he snapped forward, hips pistoning into you with sharp, relentless force. Your back arched off the mattress, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto as the pleasure surged through your body at a pace you couldn’t keep up with.

“Tell me, láska,” he growled, every thrust knocking your breath loose. He felt the telltale flutter around him, your body betraying you before you could even think of speaking.

You tried.

You genuinely tried.

But the words never made it past your lips.

Your mouth opened, your breath hitched, and your orgasm hit like a shockwave.

Your body seized, vision blurring as sensation tore right through you, your walls tightening violently around him.

“Shit…” Tomás cursed, grip tightening on your hips as he stuttered through the force of your release. He slowed, just enough to keep control, chest heaving as he felt every pulse of your climax milk him.

Then, he laughed. Soft, low and wicked.

“I don’t think I heard that correctly,” he drawled, dragging his hips back with a slow, taunting grind before slamming forward again. “Let's try again.”

He set a new rhythm, deep and deliberate. Designed to break you down one trembling breath at a time. Each thrust pushed another sound out of your throat, each roll of his hips dragged you dangerously close again.

And again.

And again.

Your body kept unraveling, helpless under the way he worked you, another orgasm coiling tight before you could recover from the last.

Your body was twitching uncontrollably now, every muscle shivering under the strain of too many highs stacked on top of each other. The sheets beneath you were completely soaked, evidence of every time he’d pushed you past your limit. Tomás wasn’t faring much better—his hips, stomach, even his chest was streaked with the mess you’d made on him.

He’d given you one break.

One.

And it was only to tear the rest of your clothes off your trembling body before dragging you right back into his rhythm.

Tomás lay beneath you, hands locked around your hips, guiding every shaky movement as you straddled him. His mouth roamed hungrily over your chest, licking away sweat, kissing any part of you he could reach. His hips kept driving up into you from below, the force of each lift making your already-wobbly arms buckle.

A broken moan caught in his throat when he felt your walls flutter around him again—weak, desperate, exhausted. He covered your nipple with his mouth, sucking greedily, tongue flicking at the hardened bud until your whole torso jerked.

“Give me one more, láska…” he mumbled against your skin, his breath hot and pleading. “Just one more, I promise.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, your head shaking in tiny frantic motions as your nails dragged across his slick back, slipping helplessly against his skin.

“N-no more,” you sobbed, voice thin and shaking. “It h-hurts…”

He groaned, a sound raw and wrecked, his breath coming in sharp pants as he kept thrusting up into you, unable to stop even if he wanted to.

“Please baby, please,” he begged, forehead pressed to your chest, voice cracking with the strain. “I promise you, I just need you to cum one more time.”

His hands tightened on your hips, holding you down against every desperate snap of his hips, as if he could pull that last release out of your trembling body sheerly by wanting it hard enough.

By sheer force of will and the way he kept driving into you, your body began tightening again, another release coiling low, violent and uncontrollable, even as tears streaked down your cheeks. Your lungs stuttered with every breath, the sensations crashing through you in ways that you were far too gone to fight anymore.

Tomas’s thumb dragged down, searching, and the moment it brushed your clit, your entire body jolted so hard it almost threw you off him. A sharp, helpless sound tore from your throat.

His other hand clamped around your hip and hauled you back down onto him, pulling you into the rhythm of his thrusts with a force that left no room to breathe, let alone think. His hips slammed up into you, his breath catching with each snap of his pelvis.

“Lásko moje, jsem blízko,” he panted, voice frayed, close to breaking.

His hand slid from your clit to your throat, fingers wrapping across the skin, pulling you down onto him, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper, like he was dragging that last orgasm out of you whether your body could take it or not.

Your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a broken gasp, the sensation barreling into you so intensely your whole body seized around him. Your hand reached up blindly, fingers grasping his wrist, needing something—anything—to anchor you as your pleasure ripped upward.

“There… that’s my sweet girl,” he panted, the words strained and ragged, each thrust becoming less controlled as your walls spasmed around him.

He managed a few more thrusts before he pressed himself fully inside you and stayed there, hips trembling. His head fell back as a harsh moan of your name tore from his throat.

His release hit you in heavy pulses, hot and thick, his body jerking with every wave of it.

You could only produce a small, broken sound somewhere between a whine and a sob as your body finally gave out, collapsing forward, boneless and shaking.

Tomas immediately loosened his hold, his hand slipping from your throat to your jaw, guiding you gently as he caught you against his chest.

He kept himself buried deep as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tight as if he needed every inch of contact to ground himself.

His breath came out uneven, warm against your shoulder, his chest rising and falling against your back as the last slow pulses of his release settled deep inside you.

His hand moved slowly up and down your spine, steady and soothing, each pass grounding both of you as he caught his breath. When he finally tilted his head to look down at you, he saw you were completely unconscious.

His lips twitched into a grin before he let out a quiet, breathless laugh.

“Whoops…”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, pressed a light kiss to your shoulder, and set to work.

When you came to again, everything felt hazy and warm.

You were clean, skin freshly washed, hair damp, wrapped in one of his oversized shirts that smelled like him. The sheets beneath you were crisp and new, and the entire room felt softer somehow, quieter.

An arm was secured firmly around your waist, holding you to a warm body behind you. Slow, steady breaths ghosted across the back of your neck.

You shifted slightly, craning your head back.

Tomás immediately pulled you closer.

His face scrunched, annoyed at being woken up, before smoothing out as his eyes fluttered open. They were still heavy with sleep, pupils soft and warm, before focusing on you.

“Hey there, princess,” he rasped, voice gravelly from sleep as he let you turn in his arms to face him. His hand slid up your back, anchoring you against his chest.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore…” you whispered, nuzzling deeper into his hold.

He softened immediately, kissing your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest flutter.

“I’d say sorry…” he began, that teasing smile tugging at his lips, “but you did ask for it.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of you, your head nestling under his chin. “Yeah… I did.”

Silence settled between you—comfortable, warm, woven with the afterglow of everything that had happened. His fingers traced slow shapes along your spine, breaths syncing with yours.

“Yes…” you whispered suddenly.

Tomás hummed, confused and still half-asleep.

“Your question.” You tilted your face up toward him, eyes soft. “I never got the chance to answer. My answer is yes.”

His expression shifted all at once—confusion melting into realization, then into something bright and helplessly adoring. Before you could blink, he leaned in and kissed you, cradling your face like you were something fragile he was terrified to mishandle.

“You’ve made me the luckiest man alive today…” he murmured against your lips. “Let me show you how much I love you for that.”

He gently kissed you again before disappearing beneath the blankets.

Your breath caught as warm hands spread your thighs, and then his tongue slid through your folds, slow and indulgent. Your back arched, a soft cry of his name leaving your lips as pleasure fluttered up your spine.

And gods, you couldn’t help the smile on your face as your boyfriend took exquisite care of you all over again.

if you’re having a bad day, he gets weirdly attentive. he does not know how to comfort people normally, so suddenly you’re being handed food, blankets, tea, random flowers he definitely stole from somewhere. he never acknowledges what he’s doing — “the flowers were in my way.”

he acts like he hates physical affection in public. but five minutes later he’s got an arm draped around your shoulders, your hand trapped in his lap, and his chin resting on your head. if you point out the hypocrisy, he just says, “this isn’t affection. this is security.”

he secretly memorizes tiny details about you and pretends he doesn’t. your favorite snack, your favorite color, the exact expression you make before you start complaining about something. he notices everything.

he gets jealous of the dumbest things imaginable. not jealous in a scary way, jealous in an unbelievably pathetic way.

you spend ten minutes petting a cat? suddenly he’s staring at it like it’s a rival.

you mention a nice conversation you had with someone? “and what was so interesting about that?”

if you ever dare to call another man handsome he acts normal for approximately three seconds. then: “really?” “what?” “nothing. just surprised.” “why?” “no reason.” there is a reason.

he has genuinely threatened to fight liu kang “for your honor” multiple times even though liu kang literally just smiled at you politely.

the worst part? he genuinely thinks he’s being subtle. he’s not. everybody knows. even the person he’s jealous of knows.

if somebody flirts with you, kung lao spends the next three hours pretending it doesn’t bother him. which somehow involves bringing it up every five minutes.

he keeps score of everything. everything. who won the last spar. who picked dinner last. who said “i love you” first after an argument.

he uses his hat to impress you constantly. constantly. like every day.

you’ve seen every trick but he still expects applause. if you don’t react: “you didn’t even look.” “i’ve seen that one.” “no. this was a different spin.”

he absolutely practices dramatic entrances before seeing you. not consciously. but if he spots you first. suddenly his posture improves. hair gets adjusted. walk gets smoother. voice gets deeper.

but the second you’re actually paying attention to him he forgets every cool thing he was about to say.

forehead kisses are extremely rare, and extremely dangerous. with kung lao, they are the emotional equivalent of getting hit by a truck, because they usually happen when you’re upset. or sick. or exhausted.

he’ll brush your hair back, press the softest kiss to your forehead, then immediately ruin the moment. “you looked awful.” “thanks.” “you’re welcome.”

he genuinely believes that being your boyfriend grants him special rights. your food? shared. your blanket? shared. your attention? his.

if you’re sitting somewhere, he automatically assumes there’s space for him too. doesn’t matter if there isn’t. that’s your problem.

if anyone asks why you’re dating him, he answers before you can. “she has excellent taste.”

deep down, though? he’s never completely sure how he got so lucky.

some nights he’ll just look at you when you aren’t paying attention, quiet for once. like he’s trying to figure out how someone chose him.

then the second you catch him staring: “what?” “you were looking at me.” “no i wasn’t.” “kung lao.” “you have no proof.”

nsfw (18+) . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

he fucks like he fights: flashy, competitive, and convinced he’s the best you’ll ever have (and annoyingly, he usually proves it).

turns everything into a competition. “bet i can make you cum in under two minutes.” “bet you can’t stay quiet while i eat you out.”

will straight-up say things like “i trained all day just so i could fuck you properly tonight” with zero shame.

gives the messiest, most enthusiastic head. moans into your pussy like it’s his favorite meal, sucks on your clit like he’s trying to physically pull orgasms out of you, and won’t stop until his face is shiny with your cum.

he always makes sure you cum first. multiple times if he can manage it. his pride is tied to your pleasure.

he loves making you cum while he’s still fully dressed in his monk robes and hat, just to remind you how easily he can wreck you.

makes you ride his muscular thigh until you’re soaked and shaking, then makes you clean up your own mess with your tongue while he praises you.

before he slides his cock in, he rubs the head against your clit every time to make you whimper.

he loves fisting your hair and yanking your head back so he can bite your throat while thrusting deep. light choking too… his hand wrapped around your neck while he stares into your eyes, daring you to keep eye contact as you cum.

after a real argument he’ll storm in, pin you against the wall, and fuck you so hard the furniture shakes. lots of growling “you drive me fucking insane” while slamming into you.

he turns any bath into a slippery, loud mess. sits you on his lap facing him, water sloshing everywhere while he guides your hips and sucks marks into your wet skin.

100% has a breeding kink, and it gets nastier when he’s close — “gonna fill this tight cunt until it overflows… fuck, imagine how pretty you’d look carrying my child.”

he cums inside you almost every time and gets visibly turned on watching it drip out. will push it back in with two thick fingers while telling you how perfect you look “stuffed full of me.”

he gets hard again stupidly fast. you think you’re done after two rounds? he’s already half-hard against your thigh asking if you’re “really tapping out already.”

kung lao doesn’t just fuck you — he claims you, worships you, teases you, ruins you, and then puts you back together like it’s his sacred duty.