Johnny Cage

Johnny Cage could never resist a little throwdown. Especially when he was just a 'liiiiitle' tipsy, as he had put it. Shit, he was experienced. Knew how to knock someone down easy peasy. And when someone as hot as you walked in... Sure, he'd get his hands on you.

But god, you annoyed the fuck out of him. It was funny at first, but then your little quips became actual insults, and shit -- he said some shit back. Before he even knew it, the two of you had thrown punches at each other. He grabbed at anything he could; your hair, your throat, your arms -- and eventually, landing a low blow and swiping your calf, landing you lying on the floor.

His foot, clad with a brown, leather loafer, pressed down on your throat. He pulled out his phone from his back pocket and turned on his camera, pointing it down to the view of you below his heel.

"You make such a pretty picture, honey." A smug grin was spread across his face. "You'd be a great movie star. Too bad you got that fucking mouth of yours."

Johnny pressed his shoe down a bit further, leaning to over right over your body, elbow resting on his knee. "Nothing hotter than seeing you all sweaty and angry."