Keiko

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“Please” you whispered, your voice crumbling through a breathy tone, “please talk to me. I’m sorry”

“Really, I wont- I wont do it again. Please don’t ignore me” there was a certain desperation in your voice that made Albedo’s chest clench. Just the sight of you looking so pathetic made him feel sick to his stomach. But there was still that pride of his fighting inside of him, telling him to stay stoic. Rational, if he must.

“You act so indifferent to me whenever you get upset, but you seem to crumble the moment I do the same to you. How is that fair?” He finally caved in. He spoke for the first time in 4 hours of successfully ignoring you after the argument between the two of you. One he knew well he was in the right.

Though his voice was eerily gentle, his eyes sharp, it was what made your heart drop the moment the realization hit. It was true. He only spoke the truth, and deep beneath, you too knew this very fact. You were cruel and cold whenever the two of you argued, whenever you were so sure you were right and he was wrong. You would make him bare days upon days of harsh silence.

But you could never keep up with it if it were ever reflected back onto yourself. No. You would drive yourself to the brink of insanity if it ever occurred. You both knew this. It wasn’t fair, no. And you never thought of it as fair. But that was because he has never subjected you to such treatment till today. Till he was fed up and tired. That, was today.

It was a fair fight after all, in fact, he knew he was right, and so did you. It was all the more reason for him to be able to be cruel with the consequences of the argument. And truthfully, Albedo expected you to fight back. But instead, you took in the silence and blinked. With that, you looked down to your feet that seemed so much colder now atop of the marble floors.

“I’ll give you space” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Albedo’s eyes narrowed onto you, you weren’t letting your gaze reach his, you were avoiding it at all costs. At this point, he knew you were at the brink of letting your tears spill over. He hated seeing you that way, but you were putting on a brave front.

Braver than usual.

That in itself made his heart swoon as you walked away; you were finally going to try. But at the same time, he found it difficult to let you go. To let you walk away when he so badly wanted to pull you back and kiss away the pain.

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You were conflicted, you knew giving space meant not bothering him, but you didn’t understand how far it meant. When you were upset at him, you wouldn’t dare to even respond to any of his conversation, even those pertaining to important things like food. You decided to just leave it, if he wanted dinner, you’d make enough for him, if he didn’t, you could always use it for the next meal. As you began to cut the tomatos you started to hit realization that you were in fact, very attached to the Albedo.

His face, that look of disappointment, his tired eyes as he continued to berate you.

It haunted your very being. It reminded you of everything you went through as a child. The people you loved the most who plagued you with the concept of failure. Of letting them down. You let yet another precious person down.

Your lover, your everything.

Before you knew it, the very knife in your grasp seemed to be something that you focused on even when your mind was numb with grief.

Your eyes glazed over the sharp edge of it, mind blank. It was such a familiar sight, such a soothing feeling. A familiar feeling, one that comforted you, one that barked back at the endless scoldings from everyone. One that kept your mind at bay.

One that punished you.

One that relieved you.

“Y/N”

It was like a beautiful melody. You didn’t get pulled out right away, but with time, you seemed to regain yourself back into reality.

Tomato. Knife.

You looked up at your lover who had a pale face, his eye’s hollow, dark, as he swallowed deeply. If you weren’t so devoid of all rationality, you would have noticed these things. You would have understood why he came up to you so suddenly, why he had embraced you so effortlessly into his arms.

“Let me help” he urged, gentle in the way he made his way over to get the vegetable and the knife in his own palms. No more words were exchanged afterwards, it wasn’t a hostile silence, but you somehow felt more awful than ever.

It was your one responsibility to get dinner sorted by yourself. To please him at least once during the whole ordeal. You couldn’t even do that. What more, you couldn’t even keep your promise in offering him space, not being a burden. You held yourself together for the time you spent together, although riddled in silence, your mind seemed to be filled with thoughts of him. Missing him, wanting him to hold you closer, wanting it to end already.

After a dinner filled with suffocating silence, Albedo had spoken of washing up first.

“I cooked, so you can clean up” he says, but it made no sense to you. Though he did cook, there really was nothing to wash up. Especially since Albedo had a habit of washing up as he cooked. And with your usual routine, you would always wash up first.

You wanted to think he was being intentionally cruel, but you couldn’t think that since the only thing you needed to wash were your bowl and his. And you really didn’t need to wash a thing – you had a dishwasher for that.

You await your turn to wash off, feeling like a kid with her clothes sat on the bed, patiently waiting her turn. You were glad it wasn’t hair wash day, you were too exhausted for that. But in turn, it was a full body shave. At least that was what you had aimed to do when you settled yourself in the shower, only to find your razor out of its usual place. You were sure you had left it there, but on occasion, you would swap the blades when they felt old. You couldn’t remember at this point if this was the case – your mind was already too exhausted with everything going on. And so, you decided to just wash off.   

When you returned, Albedo wasn’t in bed just yet. You took it as a sign to quickly creep into the bed to spare any further awkwardness. You could hear him in the kitchen. Truly, you weren’t sure if you should sleep separately, or if even that would deeply upset him. So, you opted to pretend to be asleep in the bed, in the very edge of your side. So far that you’d almost fall if you shifted another inch. Albedo’s brows raise at the sight when he returns, a small smile on his lips as he watches you settle in before turning off the lights and joining.

He turns towards you, watching your breaths from your back. You were so far away. He knew you weren’t asleep. You were never one to fall asleep that quickly, nor was he. You also knew he knew.

After moments of watching, he decided he was too sleepy to even care about anything but being close to you. In seconds his palms reached out to your waist, firmly but gently pulling you back against him, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck as his arms snaked around you. You were startled by the action, not expecting it after assuming he’d just decided to fall asleep. In fact, you weren’t even expecting him to touch or talk to you at all.

Your heart fell a little when you realised the silence before his embrace was probably riddled with concern. Even though he was behind you, you could imagine his lips twisted into a small frown.

“Are you asleep?” Albedo’s voice was soft, gentle, breathtakingly painful.

“No”

“Can we talk?” he asks, and you feel your heart begin to ache all over again. The familiar tightness in your throat that hurt,

“I… don’t think I’ll be able to, properly” you manage to say with a few breaths, feeling like you’d crack and spill at any moment.

“That’s okay. I’ll do the talking then” he says, softer than ever. Almost a ghost of a kiss trembles at her neck,

“I’m sorry for putting you through this, even for a day. I knew it would hurt you and I still went through with it.”

You bite onto your lip, “I was the one who said I would give you space-”

“And I let you. I’m a fool. Don’t excuse me for it. I put you through something horrible. What I can endure isn’t something you should. We’ve had different experiences, and different ways of thinking.”

You feel yourself confused with his words. Your brows furrow now, feeling his arms tighten a little around you, his face pressed at your neck. “What… what are you talking about, I said its fine.”

You stiffened when you felt him shake behind you, his breaths shallower.

He was crying.

You turned around immediately, your eyes widening in fear at the sight as your shaky palms reached over to cradle his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, concern pooling in your eyes. Seeing Albedo like this was heartbreaking. He was never meant to cry in front of you. You never wanted to see him like this.

“Did I… remind you of them? You were thinking of it… weren’t you? When you were cooking dinner” he managed between breaths, the words confused you till you realised it.

Oh.

Oh no.

“You were thinking of it and its all my fault.” He started to sob, making you panic even more, pulling him into your chest in attempts to calm your lover down. You hadn’t seen him like this, ever. He seemed distraught just at the memory.

“No please don’t think that way” you hushed, “it’s not your fault, please don’t say that.”

But it was no use, none of your words would ever reach him. He knew well it was the trigger. He knew well of your insecurities. It was his fault, and he would never forgive himself for ever positioning you in a situation where you even thought of harming yourself.

Albedo – A, B, C, D, E, T, V, Y

1. Aftercare (Fem)

Calm, gentle, never in a hurry. He always makes you his priority.

His hands know where to touch and massage, his lips know where to kiss to bring relief after a moment of intensity between you in bed. It’s not uncommon for him to take you for a warm bath afterward, protecting you from everything—perhaps even from himself.

A candle often fills the room with scents that bring you comfort and security while his icy blue eyes watch you with genuine curiosity and affection. These are rare moments of peace, with him adjusting the sheets over your body while his voice fills the silence with soft observations, almost murmured only for you to hear.

He doesn’t speak much, but each word is chosen carefully, as if he were recording every detail of your existence in memory. And when he finally falls silent, it’s only to lie down at your side, his arm draped protectively around your waist.

“Your body is still tense, my girl… let me ease that a little more.”

2. Biting (Fem)

It’s not usual. But when something inside him awakens—for reasons you still don’t understand—he becomes a little… too interested? Perhaps obsessive. His eyes shine with a different shade of blue, his facial expressions shift so subtly you almost don’t notice in the heat of the moment that there is something deeper in the way his nails dig into the flesh of your hips, or the way his lips worship the softest parts of your breasts with such devotion that you have no choice but to accept everything he has to give at that moment.

Albedo is discreet; the marks will always remain in places you can easily hide. That doesn’t mean he spares you. On the contrary, when this side awakens, he seems driven by a silent need to leave traces of himself on you, as if every bruise and mark were a promise carved into your skin, an invisible signature to the world that you still belong to him.

The silence in the laboratory was broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths, still trapped in the intense rhythm he had imposed minutes before.

The pressure of his fingers on your hips remained, throbbing, reminding you of the unexpected strength Albedo can wield when he decides not to hold back.

He was leaning over you now, his messy blond hair falling before his blue eyes that still gleamed with something strange—something hungry. His lips slowly lifted from the curve of your shoulder, revealing a fresh red mark, and the tip of his fingers traced along your hot skin as if analyzing your body’s reaction.

“Your body always responds to me with such precision.” he murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

You tried to speak, but his piercing gaze made you swallow your words. Albedo didn’t look exactly aggressive—rather… obsessed. As if every detail of you was an enigma he needed to decipher.

He adjusted the sheets around your waist, the coldness of his fingers contrasting with your warm, marked skin. His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the scientist gave way to the man. You could only close your eyes, aware that even as calmness settled back in, there was something dangerous and irresistibly seductive in the way Albedo treated you.

3. Cum (Fem)

Usually, he chooses places like your stomach or breasts, since he can mark your body discreetly that way, leaving traces that only you and he know about. When you allow it, he will finish inside—even though he knows no life can be born from that union, he still enjoys the idea of filling you in the most intimate way possible.

4. Dominance (Fem)

Your lungs burned, but you didn’t dare look away. The weight of Albedo’s gaze held you in place more than any rope or cuff could. His blue eyes were fixed on you, cold and calculating, and even in the heat of the room, a shiver ran down your spine.

His hand gripped your hip firmly, his thumb slowly pressing against your sensitive skin, claiming territory. When you tried to move, the pressure increased—not aggressive, but enough to make you stop.

“Don’t move.” The command came low, calm, unhurried. There was no room for negotiation. You swallowed hard, obeying. Albedo’s fingers trailed up your body with precision, as if every touch was part of a meticulous study. He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Good girl. This way I can analyze every reaction.”

Heat spread through your body faster than you wanted to admit. He smiled faintly upon noticing, as if he had predicted your reaction. His hand on your chin forced you to raise your face, and his eyes gleamed with something deeper, almost obsessive.

“Look at me…” His voice was soft but firm, leaving no space for disobedience. And you obeyed. Because with him, there was no choice: Albedo didn’t need cuffs, nor brute force. Just his tone of voice, his relentless gaze, and his precise touch—and suddenly, you were entirely in his hands, begging without having to say a word.

5. Erotic texting (Fem)

Your teasing throughout the day had been enough to make him lose his patience. Or his sanity.

You: “I thought about you in the shower… my legs are still trembling.”

Albedo: “You’re provoking me on purpose. You know I can’t leave here right now.”

You: “And if I am? What will you do, Albedo?”

His silence stretched for a few minutes until another message came:

Albedo: “If you were with me right now, I’d make sure to observe every reaction of yours while my fingers explored you.”

You bit your lip, replying, and from there the conversation became a dangerous game: every description and picture of yours seemed to make him more impatient. You could almost imagine him in the lab, trying to keep his composure while reading your words.

In fact, Albedo stared at the vial on his desk, but saw nothing beyond the sentences on his phone screen. His gloves were still stained with reagent, papers scattered around, but his mind was consumed by you. Frustration built up like a chemical reaction about to overflow.

At the end of the day, when you opened the bedroom door, you didn’t even have time to greet him. Albedo stepped in right behind you, shutting it with a sharp click, his blue eyes darker than you had ever seen.

“Do you know how much time I lost trying to concentrate after that?” His voice was low, cutting, contrasting with the self-control he usually maintained. His gloves fell to the floor as he gently pinned you against the wall, his body pressed to yours. His movements weren’t rushed, but his gaze held urgency, a raw intensity that made your heart race.

You smiled in defiance, pleased to have provoked him that far. And finally, Albedo released every frustration accumulated throughout the day, turning each minute of waiting into precise touches, discreet marks, and overwhelming pleasure.

6. Threesome (Albedo x Fem x Kaeya)

You were pressed between Kaeya and Albedo in the room, both men looking at you with that intensity that made your heart race. Kaeya was relaxed, with that mischievous smile on his lips and eyes sparkling with desire. Albedo, on the other hand, was more restrained, but the touch of his precise, devoted hands showed that his calmness hid fire.

Kaeya leaned in first, his hot lips finding your neck, soft bites and kisses that made you shiver. “You know what you do to me when we’re together, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice husky, whispering promises that made your body tremble.

Albedo approached slowly, his hands sliding along your waist, your chest, in a meticulous, almost scientific way. “I want to explore every reaction of yours,” he said, his calm voice laced with intent, his fingers tracing lines over your sensitive skin as if every touch was an instruction of pleasure.

You arched against Kaeya, feeling his heat, while Albedo pressed his hand against your hip, guiding his own movements. The contrast between Kaeya’s possessiveness and urgency and Albedo’s calm precision made your body explode in opposite yet simultaneous sensations.

Kaeya’s hands roamed your back and thighs, pushing you further against Albedo, encouraging every gesture of his. “You take both of us at once so well, my girl,” Kaeya murmured in your ear, his tongue brushing your skin, while Albedo’s fingers traced the curve of your hip, exploring every reaction with meticulous attention.

You moaned, feeling the heat rise, your body trapped between the two, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable. Kaeya held your waist, pulling you to him, while Albedo explored every sensitive point, his hands and mouth working in perfect harmony.

“Yes, like that, hold us tighter.” Kaeya murmured, his hand sliding over you, teasing, encouraging, dominating deliciously. Albedo, meanwhile, caressed and pressed with calculated precision, every touch aimed at maximizing your pleasure.

The rhythm intensified, heat and touch blending, and you lost yourself between them, every moan and sigh reinforcing the possessiveness and desire they shared for you. Their bodies reacted just as much as yours, a dance of urgency, lust, and care, each movement sending waves of pleasure you hadn’t known you could feel.

Albedo leaned over you, his breath hot against your neck: “You belong to us now, don’t you?” Kaeya only smiled firmly, his fingers sliding deeper: “Exactly. And I want to feel her every reaction.”

When the climax finally came, it was simultaneous, intense, consuming all of you, leaving the room filled with panting breaths, sighs, and muffled moans. Both held you tightly, Kaeya kissing your forehead, Albedo caressing your back, and for a moment, everything was right—you were all connected, surrendered, and completely satisfied.

7. Voyeurism (Fem)

You hadn’t heard him come in, too focused on yourself. The soft sound of a pencil scratching against paper only reached your ears once your body was already surrendered to your own touch. Albedo sat at the table, the lamp’s shadows dancing over his features while his blue eyes never left you.

“Albedo…” you sighed, your voice small, your hands pulling the sheets to cover your body from his hungry gaze.

“Continue.” His low voice made you shiver. “I want to record every detail… the way you arch, how your lips part as you touch yourself.”

The pages were already filled with quick lines, but his eyes revealed more than art: they revealed hunger. The pencil slipped from his sweat-dampened hand, but Albedo quickly returned to sketching, as if he couldn’t stand to miss a single detail—even though his own body also craved attention.

You lost yourself in your rhythm, fingers exploring your intimacy, your body arching against the sheets. The room was filled with the mix of your breathing, moans, wet sounds, and the pencil scratching, until his low voice filled the air again.

“Don’t stop.” You moaned as if he were touching you, your heart racing while he watched every movement, far too composed for what was happening. The pencil tip scratched faster, yet his blue eyes never left you.

“I want to capture the exact shape of your body when you get close to pleasure.” Your legs trembled. You tried to cover your breasts with one arm, but his voice rose, firmer: “Don’t hide from me. Show me everything. That’s what I want.”

Only then did you notice his other hand wasn’t free. Albedo was touching himself over his clothes, the movement slow and controlled, but his parted lips betrayed that he wasn’t only seeking artistic inspiration.

“Every expression of yours…” he murmured, his pencil scratching with intensity, nearly breaking the tip. “…is more beautiful than any work I’ve ever made.” You moaned loudly, unable to hold back, and he let out a sigh, his hand tightening on himself. The pencil dropped onto the desk, forgotten. He leaned forward, his eyes burning with desire. “Good girl… give me one more sound.”

You obeyed, a moan escaping your lips as the climax neared. Albedo followed, his arm moving with precision, his gaze fixed on every detail. When you came together, the thick air of the room filled with ragged breaths. He snapped the notebook shut, tossing it aside, and stood, walking toward you with a still-hungry gaze.

“Don’t think this ends here.”

“I don’t even want it to end.”

8. Yearning (Fem)

The reunion was silent only for the first few seconds. You barely had time to close your front door before Albedo pulled you by the waist, his lips colliding with yours in a hunger that didn’t match his usual calmness.

“Too long…” he murmured against your mouth, his breath already uneven. “I counted every day without you.”

His hands were everywhere, sliding beneath your clothes, pressing against your skin as if he needed to confirm you were real. The touch was anything but patient—it was desperate, as if he feared you might vanish again.

When your bodies fell onto the bed, Albedo wasted no time. He kissed your skin with devotion, but there was a new intensity: his teeth scraping along your neck, his nails digging into your waist.

“I need you now.” His low tone, almost a growl, sounded more like a confession than a command. “I can’t analyze, calculate anymore… I just want to feel.”

He entered you with a surprising urgency, his movements steady but strong, every thrust filled with pent-up longing. His usually cold blue eyes burned like fire as he watched you moan beneath him.

“Look at me.” The firm order came with an intense kiss. “I want you to see what you do to me… how much you destroy me when you’re not here.”

The sex wasn’t slow, nor calculated. It was an explosion contained for far too long, each thrust a reminder of how much he had missed you. Still, even in his need, Albedo found ways to worship you: his mouth on your breasts, his hands gripping your waist, his hoarse murmurs in your ear.

“Never again… leave me without you for so long.” And you knew that night, he wouldn’t rest until he carved into your skin every day you had been apart.

Ayato – D, I, S, Y

1. Dominance (Fem)

Ayato loves keeping up appearances: he may be dominating you with a firm hand on your thigh under the table during a dinner, and still keep talking to the guests as if nothing were happening.

His authority comes from his calmness, his elegant smile, and the gaze that makes you submit instantly. He knows exactly where and how to touch. His thumb pressing your chin to raise your face, his fingers gripping your waist, his hand at your throat just to feel your pulse racing.

He enjoys frustrating you: he will stop when you are at your limit, just to hear you beg. He likes seeing you lose control while he remains impeccable, clothes aligned, hair perfectly in place, as if it were nothing more than another of his political games.

The meeting dragged on at a slow pace, counselors exchanging reports and forecasts, but you couldn’t absorb a single word. Ayato’s hand was firm on your thigh, hidden beneath the long wooden table. At first, he merely rested his fingers there, an innocent gesture, but little by little the touch began to climb, pressing into your skin subtly, calculatedly.

You shifted slightly, trying to ease the tension, but he didn’t relent. His thumb traced lazy circles, exploring the sensitive skin beneath the fabric, and you felt your body shiver. He didn’t look at you. He kept speaking naturally, his calm voice echoing through the room, praising strategies and answering questions, as if nothing were happening.

The contrast was suffocating. The impeccable man others saw—refined and respected—was the same one now forcing your muscles to tighten with nearly imperceptible touches. You bit your lip, trying to steady your breath.

Ayato leaned slightly toward you, just enough for his voice to reach your ear. “Look straight ahead,” he murmured softly, almost melodically, as if giving an ordinary instruction about the papers on the table. “I don’t want anyone to see your expression right now. Only me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and with every new comment he made to the counselors, his fingers dug deeper into your thigh, sliding dangerously higher. He never faltered, never lost his composure. He remained smiling, calm, in absolute control.

“Lady Kamisato?” A nobleman addressed you, noting your distant eyes and flustered expression.

“She’s fine. Just a bit tired, I believe,” Ayato replied smoothly for you while you swallowed hard, unable to push him away. You knew every second of provocation was intentional, a cruel game of patience. And when the meeting finally ended, there would be no doubt: Ayato would claim, with meticulous calm, every reaction he had pulled from you under that table.

2. Identity Swap (Fem)

The meeting ended and everyone departed with formal bows. You walked alongside Ayato through the corridors, each step weighed with the built-up tension, until finally the office doors closed behind you. Silence fell like a weight, and he turned to speak—only he didn’t have time.

You shoved him against the desk with force, eyes blazing. He arched a brow, surprised at your boldness, but a slow smile curved his lips.

“So this is how you plan to react?” His voice was low, tinged with amusement.

Your hands slid along the immaculate lapel of his haori, tugging it downward. “Do you think only you can play games with me, Ayato?” Your tone came out firmer than expected, adrenaline fueling you.

He didn’t resist. Quite the opposite: he tilted his head, baring his neck in silent surrender. His lilac eyes sparkled with restrained mischief, as if wordlessly daring you—show me how far you’ll go.

You took advantage. Guided your fingers to his collar, undoing the first buttons with calculated calm, the same calm he had used to torment you at the table minutes earlier. “Now it’s your turn to control yourself. You’ll sit still and let me decide the pace.”The sigh that escaped him was low, almost inaudible, but real. The mischievous glint in his eyes only deepened. He let his hands rest on the edge of the desk in a calculated act of surrender. But you noticed—every muscle was tense, as if ready to reclaim control at any moment.

But you wouldn’t allow it. Not yet. Not after that meeting.

You climbed into his lap, sitting firmly over his already-hard erection beneath layers of silk. Air escaped his lips in a stifled moan—soft, but enough to ignite your pride.

You leaned in, nipping lightly at his earlobe, whispering: “It’ll be hard not to moan when I make you beg.”Then you rolled your hips slowly over him, controlled, feeling him harden further beneath you. His head fell back slightly, a sigh slipping free despite himself.

“That’s it…” you murmured against his mouth. “Lose control for me, Ayato.”

When your hand slid inside his robes and gripped him firmly, you finally heard what you wanted: a low, deep moan torn from him against his will. His eyes opened wide with surprise and desire, the mask of serenity shattering for an instant.

“You…” he gasped, fingers digging into the wood of the desk. “You’ll regret provoking me so much.”

You smiled, victory coursing through you. “Maybe. But not now. Right now, you’re mine.”

And for the first time, Kamisato Ayato was exactly where you wanted him: submissive, surrendered, trapped in his own game.

3. Sensory Play (Fem)

You tugged the ribbon of your own clothing, letting the silk slide between your fingers. Ayato’s lilac eyes followed you, wary and attentive.

“What do you intend to do with that?” he asked, his tone slightly rough, as if he already guessed the answer.

You leaned over him, bringing the silk to his face. “Don’t you trust me?”

His smile was quick, almost automatic. “I trust you too much. Which is exactly why I know I’m about to lose something here.”

Before he could add another provocation, you delicately tied the silk over his eyes, adjusting it so that only blurred shadows remained in his vision. Not complete darkness, but enough to keep him on edge.

Ayato drew a deep breath, as if trying to regain control. His voice, still calm, trembled at the edges. “This is… bold.” You chuckled low, running your fingers along his jaw, down to his neck.

“And boldness is something you respect, isn’t it, Ayato?” He didn’t answer, only released a sigh when your mouth brushed his exposed collarbone.

With his eyes blindfolded, every touch seemed amplified. You explored his skin with your fingertips, sometimes feather-light, sometimes firm enough to leave marks. You kissed his neck slowly, alternating between soft bites and teasing licks, while his breathing grew heavier.

“With every second, you’re more at my mercy…” you whispered at his ear, nibbling his lobe.

“Don’t think I’ll submit so easily,” he replied, his voice deeper but faltering when your hand slipped inside his clothes to stroke his already-throbbing length.

The moan that escaped him was low but genuine—and the blindfold only made him more vulnerable. He couldn’t predict where your hands would go next: your mouth, your nails, or the silk sliding across his skin.

You trailed the remaining fabric across his chest, brushing softly until his nipples hardened under the stimulation. Ayato arched his back, holding his breath.

“You… will drive me insane like this,” he panted, trying to maintain composure.

You smiled, running the silk lower, teasing the sensitive skin before closing your hand around him with slow, deliberate pressure.

“That’s the point,” you whispered, kissing him fiercely, letting him feel the intensity of your claim. “I want to see how long you can last without losing your authority.”

Ayato moaned against your lips, his hands finally leaving the desk edge to grip your waist—not in command, but in need.

“You… like torturing me like this, don’t you?”“It’s not torture,” you answered softly, pressing the cold tip of a tea spoon against his neck, sliding it down to his chest. Ayato gasped, his muscles tensing under the icy touch. “It’s just… art.”

You watched his skin rise in goosebumps from the contrast. Seconds later, you replaced the cold with the wet warmth of your mouth, sucking at the same spot. The deep moan that tore from him made your whole body tremble.

“You’re taking advantage of the fact that I’m blindfolded.”“Exactly.”

You grabbed an ice cube from the glass nearby and dragged it slowly across his abdomen. His skin twitched under the cold, and each pass you followed with your warm fingers, creating the perfect contrast. Ayato’s body arched, unsure whether to pull away or sink deeper.

“You’re… doing this on purpose…” he muttered, voice shaky, a groan escaping as the ice melted against the sensitive skin of his groin. “Finish this already… enough teasing.”

You gave him no reprieve: dragged a feather across his chest, barely brushing, too light to satisfy, yet intense enough to draw shivers. Ayato bit his lip hard, trying to hold back his voice.

His nails dug into the desk, knuckles white with strain. You laughed at his struggle, brushing the silk over your own lips before sliding the now-warmed fabric across his body. Down to his thighs, and Ayato finally let out a loud moan, unable to restrain himself.

Every stimulus—the ice, the feather, the silk, your mouth—pushed him to the brink. The man who presided over meetings with unshakable composure now trembled under your mercy, blindfolded, stripped of all authority, moaning your name as if it were the only anchor he had left.

And when you finally wrapped your hand around him, alternating firm and teasing strokes, Ayato nearly begged, his voice breaking:

“Finish it… please… before I lose the rest of myself.”

4. Yearning (Fem)

He barely had time to close the door before you pulled him to you. The kiss that followed was urgent, hungry, heavy with pent-up longing. Every second away from you seemed to drain what was left of his sanity after so much feigned diplomacy in another nation.

His hands moved fast but still with elegant precision, roaming your body, gripping your waist, pulling your hips against him. His breath came heavy, ragged, each sigh a reminder of the weeks of waiting he had endured.

“I… waited for this…” he murmured against your lips, his voice hoarse and desperate. “I waited every moment, every memory… and still, it’s not enough.”

You chuckled softly, threading your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension in his strong muscles. “Then you’ll have to prove to me that the wait was worth it.”He groaned softly, almost desperately, sliding his hand beneath your clothes, exploring firmly, as if trying to carve every curve of your body into memory. Every touch of his was both tender and urgent, the perfect contrast between control and need.

Ayato pressed his body to yours, his hips grinding with calculated force as his mouth trailed down your neck, sucking and nibbling lightly. His skin was hot, his scent surrounding you, and every shiver mirrored his weeks of anxious longing.

“Say my name…” he whispered, biting your earlobe. “I need to hear… you calling me.”

You murmured his name, and it shattered the last of his restraint. His fingers tightened on your waist, his hips pressing harder, and a raw moan slipped from his throat, impossible to contain. He was consumed, needy, yet still refined—every movement calculated to maximize your pleasure.

“I won’t let you slip away again…” he breathed against your skin, firm but trembling with desire. “I’m here now… and I’ll make sure you feel every second of my longing.”

You smiled, cupped his face, and guided the pace slowly as your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Give me all of you.” you whispered against his lips as your orgasm hit, your walls clenching around him after so long apart. Then Ayato finally gave in completely—there was no control left, only the desperate need to feel you again, wholly and exclusively his.

Capitano – C, E, F, I, M, Y

1. Cum (Fem)

He enjoys seeing the effect of his own pleasure on you, so areas where your reaction is visible are his favorites: stomach, breasts, and thighs—especially your thighs. The way he uses his own fingers to spread the warmth of his essence across your skin is at the very least unsettling—in the best way.

For him, release isn’t just something physical; he likes to see and feel your surrender, the complete submission that reinforces the intense bond between you. That’s why he also has the habit of finishing inside you when he wants to show possession and intimacy, reinforcing the feeling of closeness and control.

2. Erotic texting (Fem)

He was in an elegant hotel, freshly arrived from a diplomatic negotiation with an important figure of that nation. His garments were immaculate, long dark hair neat even after days away on mission, his face still hidden behind the mask that conveyed impassivity.

But then his phone vibrated in his pocket, and your message appeared. The photo was subtly provocative—a picture of you, lying in bed, looking directly at the camera with a smile he knew well.

His heart raced. He drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “This is inappropriate. I’m on a mission.” He typed, trying to sound firm, but his own message betrayed the tension in his fingers.

Seconds later, an audio came through. Your voice, soft, low, dripping with mischief: “I hope I’m not disturbing… because I can only think about you pinning me down in bed when you get back.”He shifted in his chair, the glass in his hand nearly breaking between his fingers. Blood ran hot, his body demanding an answer. He took a deep breath and typed:

“You have no idea what you’re doing. If you keep this up, I won’t be able to hold back.”

But you continued. Another photo, this time the edge of lingerie visible. Then another audio, short, a breathy sigh laced with desire. “I wish it were your hand here…”He closed his eyes briefly, trying to hide the urgency hardening within him. He replied quickly, as if the words had escaped on their own: “Keep going and I’ll punish you when I return. You’ll beg me to stop, but I won’t.”

You smiled at the screen and sent another audio, your breath heavy, a small moan that made him groan quietly in the room. He nearly growled in frustration, his fingers clenching the phone tightly.

“You’re cruel. I’m on a mission and can only imagine you open for me. How do you expect me to finish this here?”

He tried to turn his attention back to the papers on the desk before him, but every time the phone vibrated, it was another precise strike against his discipline. Provocative pictures, your soft voice teasing him, and Capitano’s patience reached its limit. The next reply came harsher, almost like a command:

“When I return, I don’t want excuses. I want you naked, waiting for me. You’ll regret every message.”

3. First time (Fem)

Night fell over the residence, and you were finally alone. The air felt heavy, thick with anticipation built from weeks of furtive glances and restrained provocations. Capitano stood behind you, firm hands gripping your waist, his breath hot and almost tangible. The heat of his body pressed into yours, making your heart race with a mix of fear and desire you couldn’t control.

He said nothing, only lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours in a deep, urgent kiss. Every touch, every pressure of his mouth conveyed possession and need. His hands slid across your back, firm, exploring every curve with certainty, showing that he wanted you there, fully, with no distractions. You arched against him, unable to resist, feeling your body respond instantly to his touch.

Capitano pulled back just enough to whisper against your neck: “You’re mine… and I won’t wait any longer.” His low, husky voice sent waves of heat through you. Before you could react, his hand slid over your hip, guiding you slowly until you pressed against the edge of the bed. His urgency grew, but still he kept precision in every movement, every touch, as if choreographing your first time together.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding his head firmly as his lips returned to yours, biting lightly at your lower lip before pushing his tongue past with insistence. You moaned softly, unable to contain the rising excitement. His touch wasn’t just physical; there was weight in his authority and desire that made your body tremble.

He leaned forward, his hands sliding along your thighs, slowly creeping beneath your clothes, teasing without hurry, savoring every reaction. “Look at me, my girl,” he murmured between kisses, holding your face firmly. His eyes burned with need, and even in your first time, you felt he was completely surrendered to the moment—yet still controlling the pace.

When he finally entered you, the pressure was immediate, intense, but perfect. Every movement was firm, secure, calculated to maximize pleasure without hurting. You arched, moaning and gripping his shoulders, and he responded with deep thrusts, holding your waist to keep you close. The heat of his body, his ragged breath, every moan—he felt it all and reveled in every reaction.

He alternated between intensity and tender touches, holding your face for ardent kisses, then trailing his mouth down your neck, biting and licking, while his hips moved with controlled force. Every moan of yours was fuel, every arch of your back confirmation of the pleasure he was causing.

When the peak came, he didn’t hold back: he finished inside you, feeling every tremor, every moan, every shiver of your body. The heat of you clinging to him, your racing heartbeat, and his burning eyes completed the moment. He remained inside you for seconds, soaking in every reaction, every sigh.

Then he rested over you, arms circling your waist, whispering against your ear: “Always mine… never forget that.” And in that touch, in that blend of possessiveness and tenderness, you knew that even in his intensity, Capitano knew how to make the first time unforgettable—a perfect mix of urgency, dominance, and care no one else could replicate.

4. Identity Swap (Fem)

You barely waited for the door to close behind him. Weeks of distance had been cruel, and every message, every provocation had only stoked the fire. But this time, when he advanced to pin you against the wall, you placed your hand on his chest and pushed lightly.

“Not today…” you murmured, your voice low but firm.

His ice-blue eyes narrowed, surprised. Capitano wasn’t used to hearing no. But instead of backing down, he tilted his head, intrigued.

“So… you’re going to challenge me?” His voice came out low, almost amused, with that tone that mixed threat and excitement. You didn’t answer. You simply grabbed his cloak, tugging it until he sat on the edge of the bed. A faint smile appeared on his lips, followed by a low, husky laugh that made your skin prickle. “Brave. Continue.”

And you did. You climbed onto his lap, your hands sliding to the back of his neck, but this time you dictated the rhythm of the kisses, the intensity of the touches. He let you lead, his muscles tense beneath his clothes, his hands resting firmly on your thighs as if he could take control back at any moment.

You moved slowly against him, provoking, drawing a low moan that slipped from his throat despite his attempts at restraint.

“Out of breath already?” you teased, biting lightly at the skin of his neck. He laughed, panting, his eyes fixed on yours.

“Enjoy it. I’m letting you.”

When your hands slid to his belt, undoing it piece by piece with deliberate calm, he inhaled deeply, tilting his head back, allowing himself to feel. The self-control that had always marked him was now being tested, and the visible strain in every tense muscle betrayed that you had indeed shaken him.

Penetration came slow, paced by you. He reflexively grabbed your hips, but didn’t impose force. He let you take the lead, riding him at your rhythm, savoring every inch, every moan torn from him against his will. Teeth clenched, eyes locked on your face—he was yielding, but not completely.

“Look at me.” he ordered through heavy breaths, even while submissive under your control. “I want to see your face while you use me.”You obeyed, quickening the pace, feeling his body strain beneath you. His voice grew rougher, deeper, laden with desire.

“Continue, torture me like this… but don’t think I’ll forget.”

And when climax overtook him, it was intense, his whole body trembling beneath your dominance, his eyes locked on yours until the very last second. Capitano moaned low, muffled, trying to preserve dignity even at the peak of surrender.

Afterward, as you leaned against his chest, breathing hard, he slid a firm hand along your waist, pulling you closer. His lips brushed your ear in a whisper that made your skin tingle:

“You were bold… and delicious. But next time, little one… there will be no truce.”

5. Mutual Masturbation (Fem)

He sat on the edge of the bed, still slightly disheveled, his shirt open, chest exposed. His gaze on you was heavy, cold and hot at the same time, as if he could tear your skin apart with his eyes alone.

You took a deep breath, lay back against the pillows, and let your hand slide slowly over your own body. The silence of the room was broken only by your breathing.

“Continue,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “I want to see how far you’ll go.”

Heat flushed your face, but arousal was stronger. Your fingers found their way between your thighs, and a soft moan slipped free before you could stop it. Capitano tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on every detail, every movement.

“Good girl,” he murmured, as his own hand finally moved to his lap. The sound of his belt loosening filled the air, followed by the zipper. The sight of him touching himself slowly but intensely, syncing to your rhythm, made your body tremble even more.

You bit your lip, moaning louder, knowing you were provoking him. He responded with a husky groan, muffled, his gaze never leaving you.

“Deeper,” he commanded, his voice sharp. “I want to see you lose yourself with just your fingers.”

Your hips moved on their own, seeking more friction, more pleasure. He sped up too, his large hand stroking with force and urgency, his abs tightening. Every moan, every ragged breath of yours seemed to excite him even more.

You moaned his true name when your fingers reached your sweet spot, orgasm closer than ever. Closing your eyes at the overwhelming sensation, you barely heard him:

“Look at me,” he said, breath heavy. “Don’t close your eyes. I want to see your face when you come.”

You obeyed, your entire body trembling. His gaze locked on yours made everything more intense, as if his presence alone pushed you to the edge.

A louder moan escaped your lips, the sensation building in strong, uncontrollable waves. He groaned with you, his movements faster, his whole body taut, ready to break.

“That’s it… come with me. Come for me,” he panted, finally letting vulnerability seep into his tone.

And then, the two of you reached your peaks together—bodies arching, moans echoing through the room, ragged breaths filling the silence that followed. Even without a single direct touch between you, the intensity was overwhelming.

Capitano ran a hand through his hair, chest heaving. His ice-blue eyes stayed fixed on you, but now they carried something new: a mix of pride and renewed desire.

“Don’t think it ends here,” he said low, a half-smile carrying threat. “I’ll use my hands on you until you can’t take it anymore.”

6. Yearning (Fem)

The door had barely shut behind you when he pushed you against the wall, his massive body pressing into yours. There was no room for words, only his heavy breath burning against your mouth before a crushing, hungry, desperate kiss.

Weeks apart, each day a weight on his chest, each night torment. Now, all that longing exploded in urgent, almost brutal contact. His hands gripped your waist with force, fingers digging in as if he could mold you back into his palms.

“Never again…” he growled between kisses, his voice deep and hoarse. “Never again leave me so long without you.” You tried to respond, but another kiss cut you off. He lifted you easily, pressing you against the wall, his hips grinding into yours. The heat between you was suffocating, friction that left no space for thought—only feeling.

Clothes were stripped hastily, carelessly, driven by need. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving burning marks, possessive bites. He wanted you to remember this reunion for days, your body bearing proof of his longing.

When he finally entered you, the moan that burst from both of you echoed through the room. Capitano wasn’t slow—he couldn’t be. His thrusts were firm, deep, hungry. Each one a promise that he would never again allow such distance.

You clung to him, nails scraping his shoulders, hips matching his desperate pace. Sweat dripped, breaths mingled, and his eyes never left yours. There was something almost painful in that need—as if he had to prove to himself that you were there, real, his.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your ear, panting, his voice raw with desire. “Always… mine.”

Climax hit like an inevitable explosion, overwhelming, both of you collapsing together, moans muffled by the kiss that didn’t let you separate even at the peak. He remained inside you, pressed close, his whole body trembling with the moment’s intensity.

Even as the pace slowed, Capitano didn’t release you. He stayed pressed to you, arms around your waist, his face buried in your neck. His breath was hot, heavy, slowly calming.

He trailed soft kisses across your marked skin, as if silently apologizing for the brutality of his longing. His voice came low, almost a whisper:

“I missed you… like a starving man.”

You smiled faintly, fingers stroking his damp hair. And in that instant, you understood: behind the mask, behind the armor and authority, there was only a man who desired you uncontrollably, desperately, as if you were the only thing capable of keeping him human.

Dainsleif – D, I, S, Y

1. Dominance (Fem)

The room was bathed in shadows, lit only by the glow of a few candles. Silence pressed in, suffocating, until he stepped closer behind you, tall and imposing, his shadow cloaking your body as though it belonged to him by right.

Dainsleif’s fingers brushed lightly against your waist, settling there as a reminder of possession. You tried to draw a deep breath, but the heat of his voice at your ear made you falter.

“My dear…” His low, husky tone was more a promise than a call. “I thought about you all day.”

The words seared against your skin like burning iron. His cold blue eyes locked onto yours. That gaze left no room to retreat. It was command, pure silent domination.

He guided you to the bed, pressing you gently against the sheets but never breaking eye contact. His movements were calculated, as though he was inscribing a story onto your body—his story, or yours together.

When Dainsleif’s lips touched your neck, you felt the contrast between the softness of the kiss and the firm grip of his fingers holding your thigh open.

“Good girl…” he murmured, almost like a reward, before biting gently into the sensitive skin.

Each thrust was slow, savoring your surrender, yet carried the weight of someone who didn’t need haste to prove his authority. He was already in control. You tried to turn your face away, to hide your expression of pleasure, but his hand caught your chin firmly, forcing your eyes back to his.

“Look at me. I want to see you lose yourself in me.”

The command was unbreakable, and you obeyed, feeling even more vulnerable and exposed under that piercing gaze. Every movement, every touch, every chosen word—all of it made clear that you were his, at least for that night.

When pleasure finally overwhelmed you, your voice broke in a ragged moan, and his lips curved in a satisfied half-smile.

“That’s it… my girl. Good.”

2. Identity Swap (Fem)

He was on top of you, body firm, dominating every movement as always. But this time, you refused to be intimidated. Your fingers traced his chest, exploring tense muscles, provoking a shiver that drew a low gasp from him.

“Dain…” you whispered, gripping his chin between your fingers, forcing his gaze to meet yours. The low, steady, provocative tone made something tighten in his chest—he recognized that voice. It wasn’t just a request. It was a command. “Show me how much you want me.”

You began to guide his hips, even while lying beneath the weight of his body—each thrust dictated by your control, pace and depth set by you. He raised a brow, not in surprise but in genuine curiosity, yet his body’s response was involuntary: muscles contracting, breath growing heavier, husky moans slipping free.

“You know… what you’re doing…” he muttered, but made no attempt to reclaim control. The heat in his eyes betrayed him: even though the position was his, you were dictating the rhythm of pleasure.

Your hands trailed up his back, pressing, lightly scratching, guiding every touch, every movement. He groaned against your lips, trying to resist, but the pleasure and the silent dominance of your voice broke him.

“Feel that? You’re obeying me… even though your body begs you to take control.” you teased, biting your lip, gaze locked with his. “Kiss me.”

His reaction was instant. The hands that had pinned you so firmly began to tremble, his hips moving exactly as you demanded, every husky groan revealing his complete surrender. He was on top of you, yet utterly vulnerable—a Dainsleif rarely seen, fully yielded to your lead. The kiss was hot, urgent, desperate. He sighed into your mouth in defeat—he was wholly yours.

When climax came for you both, your mingled moans filled the room. He stayed above you, breathing ragged, fingers still gripping your thighs, eyes fixed on yours, as if struggling to process what had just happened.

“You… have no idea what you’ve awakened in me.” His voice was rough, low, heavy with desire and awe.

3. Sensory Play (Fem)

The room was dimly lit. Dainsleif held a black silk blindfold, the cool fabric brushing your skin before he positioned it over your eyes.

“Trust me.” he murmured, voice low and steady, laden with promises.

Darkness fell instantly, and the loss of sight sent a shiver racing through you. Every sound sharpened—the crack of a candle, his breathing, the brush of his fingers on your skin. He guided you with the lightest touches, every gesture measured, unhurried, yet commanding every inch of you.

His hands explored your thighs, your waist, your shoulders, while his lips trailed across your nape and shoulders, leaving faint marks. Every touch was a silent command: you reacted only to instinct, wholly dependent on his guidance.

“Don’t move without my permission.” he said firmly, and you whimpered softly, obeying instantly. Without sight, every contact burned deeper—every stroke, every kiss, every bite magnified a thousandfold. “Good girl.”

He alternated pressure and gentleness: a firm grip on your thigh, followed by soft caresses along your stomach, hands roaming slowly as his lips sucked at your neck. Every sensation was heightened by the darkness and his absolute control.

“Breathe deeply… feel every touch…” he whispered, his voice the anchor pulling you deeper into pleasure. He studied each of your reactions, each moan, each shiver, adjusting his pace, always hovering between torture and bliss.

When he finally had you trembling at the edge of climax, he slowed, gripping your waist firmly, stretching the anticipation until every second felt like eternity. Then, when you least expected, he granted the most intense touch—his fingers circling your clit as two more prepared you for him—earning your release with frightening ease.

Even in control, there was reverence in every gesture—every touch, every kiss, every command was aimed at extracting pleasure from your body without haste, reminding you that in that moment, you were completely his, and he knew exactly how to use and care for you.

4. Yearning (Fem)

You could hardly believe your eyes when he walked through the door. The time apart had stretched into eternity.

“Why the hell did you disappear?” you nearly shouted, arms crossed, heart hammering between anger and relief. Dainsleif only stepped closer, expression calm though his breath was heavier than usual.

“I had matters… impossible to postpone.” he murmured, his gaze drinking in every detail of you as if trying to erase every second of absence.

Your irritation began to twist into something else—the heat of seeing him there, real, whole.

“I went months without a word from you…”“I’m sorry.” He closed the distance, gripping your waist firmly. “But making you wait… was intentional.” His voice was low, husky, somewhere between apology and provocation.

Before you could protest again, he pulled you against him, his lips crashing onto yours in a long, urgent, hungry kiss. Every second apart poured into that possessive touch, his hands gripping every curve, claiming every reaction.

“Now… let’s make up for it all.” he whispered against your neck, his fingers sliding firmly along your back, exploring, reminding, marking you as his. “Let me apologize for the lost time.”

Even with anger still flashing in your eyes, you couldn’t resist. Every touch, every moan, every shared breath promised he was here for you, fully, trying to make you forget his absence—yet still cloaked in the mystery that always followed him.

Frustration melted into shared pleasure—months of waiting condensed into raw surrender, Dainsleif dominating, but every gesture of yours accepted, every whisper answered. He was compensating, yes, but in his way: controlling, possessive, ravenous, and completely yours.

At the end of the night, he cupped your face, breath still ragged, blue eyes fixed on yours. “Never again… will I make you wait that long.” he said, half promise, half threat.

You could only laugh softly, exasperated yet completely undone: “We’ll see if you keep that, Dain…”

Diluc – A, I, L, N, S, U, Z

1. Aftercare (Fem)

He doesn’t let you go at all. He holds you pressed to his chest, arms firm around your waist, as if he wants to make sure you feel safe.

He expresses his feelings through touch after sex. That means stroking your hair, rubbing your back and arms, and kissing the marks he left on your body are common in the aftercare.

Comforting words are always present: things like “You were good, my girl,” “You’re safe now, with me,” “How are you feeling?” leave his lips constantly while his voice lulls you to sleep.

You settled against his chest, still breathless, your body trembling from the pleasure and intensity you’d just shared. Diluc wrapped you firmly, arms squeezing your waist as if trying to fuse you into one body.“Everything’s okay… you’re safe now,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, full of warmth and care. His lips brushed the top of your head as he slowly ran his hand through your hair, letting each strand fall between his fingers with a silent, almost reverent, affection.You closed your eyes, resting your face against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath and the heat of his body. He varied the pressure of his arms—firm enough to make you feel protected, but gentle, as if saying that here, in this embrace, nothing could harm you.“Stay here… just with me,” he continued, and you felt the whisper vibrate against your ear, sending a shiver that had nothing to do with sexual desire but with security, intimacy, surrender.His hands began to travel slowly along your back, each touch measured, stroking and pressing in ways that relaxed every tense muscle still remembering the intensity before. He lingered on each gesture as if he wanted to engrave the memory into your body with care and attention.Even in silence there was possessiveness: his fingers rested on your hips, a firm hand on your thigh, the light pressure reminding you that you belonged to him, even though the physical act had ended. Each touch was at once a reminder of possession and care.You stayed like that, tangled together, bodies pressed, until breathing slowed and your heart returned to a calmer rhythm. He left small marks of affection: soft kisses on your shoulder, temple, forehead—unhurried, just to prolong the feeling of closeness.

“You’re mine,” he finally said, voice almost a hoarse whisper but steady. “And I take care of you.”

2. Identity swap (GN)

Diluc’s body was warm beneath yours, not just from his natural heat but from an inner flame that seemed to burn in every tense muscle. You slowly released his wrists just to see what he would do—and to your surprise, his hands stayed still, braced against the chair, as if he didn’t trust himself to touch you without losing the little control he still had.

“Good choice…” you whispered, sliding your fingers down his chest to his firm abdomen. He gasped, jaw clenched, eyes closed as if that could shield him from the vulnerability now consuming him.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing his neck before you bit the skin gently. The low sound that escaped Diluc’s throat was rougher, more urgent, and you smiled against his warm skin. “So easy to provoke… I never thought someone so proud would let himself be undone like this.”

He opened his eyes, the deep red glowing in the dim, and tried to regain some control. “You don’t know what you—” The sentence died in a muffled moan when you rode him harder, feeling every inch sink into you and reaching the deepest place you’d felt that night; the heat between you was unbearable.

“I know exactly what I’m doing.” you answered firmly, in a tone that made his shoulders relax into surrender.

Your hands explored deeper, moving slowly until he gasped with a broken sound. His body arched to your touch, desperate, but still unwilling to move his hands. It was as if every fiber of him fought between obeying pride and losing himself to you.

The low sound escaped before he could contain it, and you smiled, satisfied. You leaned in, nipping his earlobe and whispering: “Too proud to admit you like this?”

Control finally broke. His hands rose, grabbing your waist tightly and pulling you against him in more desperate movements. The moan that came from him was low, full of pent-up frustration and pleasure. “You… will drive me insane…” he murmured, defeated, voice faltering between moans.

You held his face in your hands, forcing him to look directly into your eyes as you rode him at your pace, setting the intensity of every stroke while your eyes stayed locked on his.

He shut his eyes tight, breath growing erratic, as if the mere act of giving in was both painful and pleasurable. When you increased the tempo, the tension finally broke, and Diluc let out a deep, hoarse moan, stripped of any control.

In that moment, you had not only his body but his pride in your hands. He was surrendered—vulnerable, burning, consumed—but still looking at you as if you were the only flame that could truly dominate him.

3. Lap sitting (Fem)

The argument still echoed in the corners of the room, the sharp words from before hanging in the air. Diluc stood firm, posture rigid, jaw tense—wounded pride and anger mingling with a tension he couldn’t hide.

You approached slowly, a teasing smile on your lips. Without warning, you sat on his lap, facing him, your hips pressing against his, arms resting on his shoulders, your gaze steady on his. The contact sent a shiver through both of you.

He arched an eyebrow, surprised, trying to keep his composure. “What are you… doing?” His voice was steady, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed how bothered—and turned on—he was.

You swayed your hips slightly, biting your lip, bringing your face close to his, and said in a low, hoarse, provocative tone: “How long do you plan to give me the silent treatment?”

The effect was immediate. He bit his lip, breathing heavier, hands trembling slightly as he held your waist firmly, trying not to give in completely. But it was impossible to ignore how his body reacted to the touch, the heat, the proximity.

You leaned in more, grinding against him, exploring every silent reaction. Every restrained moan, every heavier breath, every involuntary touch showed he was wholly yielded despite trying to maintain wounded-pride control.

“You’re pushing me too far…” he murmured, voice rough, steady but loaded with desire. Each word was an effort to keep authority, but you could feel the tide turning: he was consumed, surrendered to the touch, to the tease, to the power you held over him.

You smiled, satisfied, running your hands down his back, leaning forward to kiss his neck softly, leaving his pride in shreds while desire exploded with every touch.

“Damn you, bold girl…” The hoarse moan that escaped him was final proof: no matter how he tried to keep the commanding pose, in that moment he was entirely yours, consumed by your provocation, burning with rage and desire at once. “Just let me have you.”

4. Night of drinking (GN)

You placed the bottle on the table. Diluc watched you, eyes half-closed, suspicious.

"I know you don't like alcohol, but I thought maybe..." you began, your voice a little hesitant. He crossed his arms, serious.

"What do you want from me?"

"I thought maybe we could have a glass together." His gaze hardened, as if the idea challenged his discipline. You drew back slightly, murmuring an apology. Before you could take the bottle, he spoke, dry and direct:

"One glass. Just one." You blinked in surprise and smiled. "That's enough." He poured the wine with a restrained gesture. When the ruby ​​liquid touched your lips, something changed. His serious expression remained, but there was a different glow in his eyes—as if the wine had ignited a more intimate flame. Perhaps he avoided alcohol for reasons beyond the cliché "I don't like the taste."

The first glass went by too quickly. The second—because, of course, there was a second, even though he was reluctant to admit he'd refilled it both times the bottle emptied—was accompanied by a low, almost inaudible laugh when you commented on the taste. "You don't know anything about wine," he said, his voice more relaxed and almost husky with amusement. It was then that you realized: wine wasn't making him foolish, it was breaking down barriers. The tension in his shoulders eased, the red in his eyes deepened, and the hand that always hesitated to touch yours slid gently up your arm, squeezing firmly.

"Diluc..." you murmured, surprised. He leaned closer, his lips close to yours, his warm breath mingling with the aroma of wine.

"Don't get used to it," he said. "It's just for tonight." The kiss that followed was unbridled—it was intense, searing, like liquid fire. Each touch grew bolder, each movement more urgent, as if the wine had released something he'd long held back. His strong hands explored carefully, but without hesitation, as if he'd finally allowed himself to desire you without reservation. With the taste of wine still on his lips, Diluc deepened the kiss, exploring your mouth as if he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time.

The kiss was fervent, full of urgency, and you barely had time to breathe before he pulled you close, as if he couldn't stand the distance any longer. His hands were different—less restrained, more determined. One ran up your spine, pressing you against his chest, while the other slid down your arm, holding you tightly, knowing every detail. You sighed against his lips, feeling the heat build too quickly.

"You don't know what you're doing to me," he murmured between kisses, his voice deep and slurred by the wine.

"I know exactly," you teased, smiling against his mouth. A husky sigh escaped Diluc, muffled as he covered your mouth with another kiss, as if it were his last. There wasn't the usual controlled gentleness; there was hunger, thirst, a raw desire that was always there, just waiting for the right moment to emerge. Soon, you were together, the candles flickering as if reacting to the heat emanating from his body. Diluc leaned in, his red eyes glowing brightly, his breathing heavy. "Just one glass, uh? Pff." He repeated with a wry smile, before caressing your neck, leaving soft marks, his hands exploring every part of you, as if trying to memorize every detail.

When you finally came together, the movement was firm and full of meaning, eliciting a sigh from you that echoed through the room. Diluc closed his eyes, consumed by pleasure, his body pressed against yours, every gesture charged with intensity. "You're... more intoxicating than any wine," he panted against your skin, his pace quickening.

The heat of his body, his husky sighs, and his firm hands gripping your waist as if they wouldn't let go—it was all intense, overwhelming, and you felt every part of yourself surrender to his rhythm. When the moment arrived, it was overwhelming. He collapsed on top of you, panting, his body still trembling with exertion, and gave a low, rare laugh, muffled against your skin.

"Never... make a suggestion like that again," he murmured, but the slow, possessive kisses that followed proved otherwise: he had loved every second of it.

5. Sensory play (Fem)

The room was dim, the warm, dancing glow of small flames reflecting on the walls. Diluc stood behind you, close enough to feel every move, every quickened breath. The heat of the flames seemed to wrap you both, amplifying the tension between touch and expectation as he watched your reactions with intense attention.

“Stay here… just feel.” he whispered, voice low, hoarse, filled with authority. Without warning, he moved his hands around your body, controlling tiny sparks that hovered near your skin, warming without touching. The nearby heat made you tremble involuntarily, goosebumps rising on every exposed inch.

His hands finally touched you—firm, sure—gliding over your waist, thighs, and back. Each touch was calculated, alternating between firm pressure and gentle caresses, while the warmth of his power made every shiver more intense.

He leaned down, lips brushing your shoulder, nibbling lightly, and whispered: “Don’t move… feel every touch, every heat, every breath of mine.”

You arched into his hands, moaning softly, and he only tightened his hold, guiding each reaction. The contrast between the flame’s warmth and his firm touch was almost unbearable, pushing each sensation to the edge.

When he traced his fingers along the inside of your thigh, keeping the heat close without directly touching, you lost yourself. Every breath was a shiver, every moan echoed in the dark room, every touch pulsed in harmony with the Pyro’s heat.

“See how your body answers the slightest stimulus, my girl?” he murmured, voice rough and steady, drawing his hands to your hip and steering every movement. Pleasure rose, heat intensified, and your whole body surrendered—each cell given over to the mix of touch, heat, and silent domination.

He varied the intensity—bringing the flames closer, pressing firmer here, sliding softer there—using his power to control each reaction. You were entirely surrendered, lost between his firm touch, burning heat, and the hoarse voice that dictated every second of pleasure.

When you finally came untouched, the heat, firm fingers, and the pressure of his body—all converged into an explosion of sensation that left you breathless. He continued to hold you to his chest, the heat still present, breathing hard but keeping you fully protected and marked by his touch and power.

“Stay with me.” he murmured again, as if sealing the moment. Every word, touch, and warmth was a reminder that you belonged to him and that he knew exactly how to use both body and power to dominate you without haste. “I’ve got you.”

6. Unrestrained (GN)

The bedroom door had barely slammed behind you before Diluc pinned you to the wood, his lips crushing yours in an urgent, almost brutal kiss. There was no patience, no calculation—only the raw need that had built up over days of tension.

His hands explored roughly, grabbing, squeezing, ripping from you sounds that ignored delicacy. His body heat seemed to burn, breath heavy, red eyes dark with a hunger bordering on famine.

“Diluc… what—?” You barely had time to form the thought—he was already on top of you.

“I can’t take it anymore.” he murmured against your mouth, voice deep and hoarse, as if on the verge of imploding.

Clothes were torn off without care, falling to the floor as he shoved you onto the bed, covering your body with his in quick, almost desperate motions. When he finally sank into you, the deep groan that escaped his throat was more like a muffled roar, as if he’d waited far too long for this.

There was no gentle rhythm—only powerful, deep, intense thrusts, each one drawing your gasps and shivers and his low, rough moans. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, mixed with the creak of the bed and ragged breaths. Diluc held your waist tightly, nearly painfully, as if he needed to keep you anchored so he wouldn’t lose control entirely. His teeth marked your skin—on your neck, on your shoulder—leaving hot trails that burned against the internal heat.

“You’re… mine.” he panted, voice breaking amidst raw pleasure. “All mine.” And with every deeper, faster, more desperate thrust, the world around seemed to vanish. It was only heat, moans, sweat, and the overwhelming pleasure consuming you both.

Climax came like a violent wave, stealing both of your breaths. Diluc collapsed on top of you, chest heaving against yours, muscles still trembling from the effort, hands gripping your skin as if afraid to let go. For long minutes there was nothing but the heavy sound of breathing and racing hearts. Then he lifted his face, red eyes shining with intensity, and murmured against your lips: “Never again… let me get to that point.”

“I won’t… ” you breathed, exhausted but utterly satisfied. The hungry kiss that followed belied his earlier words—he wanted it all again if it meant it would be with you.

7. Zephyr teasing (GN)

At first, he still tries to keep his composure. Seated in the armchair, upright posture, arms crossed, brow furrowed as if it’s impossible to give in to your provocations. You approach slowly, like you mean nothing, fingers tracing gentle lines across his broad shoulder, down his exposed collarbone.

“You’re tense, Diluc…” you whisper, letting your lips barely touch his neck, almost not touching—just enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath.

He holds his breath for a second, jaw clenched. “Don’t start this.” His voice is dry, but already deeper than usual. You smile against his skin, planting a delicate kiss just below his ear. Then another, and another, moving slowly down the base of his neck. With every touch his body tenses more, breath escaping involuntarily.

“I just want to take care of you…” you tease, letting your nails trail across his chest beneath his shirt—light, barely scratching, but enough to make him shiver. He closes his eyes, hand flying to the arm of the chair, like that gesture would save the rest of his dignity and pride.

“You’re testing me.” he murmured, almost bitter. And you were. Your lips traveled down his neck to his shoulder, biting lightly, then softening into a slow kiss. Your hands roamed his waist, rising slowly along the jawline, forcing him to turn his face toward you. The red gaze he gave you is desperately contained but trembling.

“Say you want me, Diluc.” Your voice is low, firm, demanding.

He grits his teeth, trying to resist, but when you grind your hip against his, slow and provocative, the gasp that escapes gives everything away. The hands that had been gripping the chair arm move to your waist in a sharp, hesitant motion.

“You know I want you.” he admits, voice raw, almost a moan.

You bite your lip, leaning in to brush your mouth against his without properly kissing him. “Then ask.”

And the last barrier breaks. Pride melts as fast as restraint. He buries his face in your neck, words coming out in a low, desperate growl: “Please… I can’t take it anymore. Let me have you… right here.”

Contained Diluc disappears. His plea vibrates against your skin, his whole body trembling with desire. When you finally kiss him properly, he can’t hold back—the hands pull, grasp, beg fiercely, as if every second without you was torture.

Dottore – F, G, I, R, U, W, Y

1. First time (Fem)

The smell of chemical reagents still lingered in the air when he pulled you closer to the lab bench. There were no sweet words, no careful preparation. Just the sharp sound of glass clinking, a bottle almost tipping over, and your body pressed against the cold wood.

“Are you sure about what you’re asking for?” His voice sounded like a threat, but the gleam in his eyes said otherwise: curiosity, desire disguised as scientific experiment. You didn’t answer with words—there was no space for that. The knot in your throat was more anticipation than fear. Still, your racing heart betrayed you: this was dangerous. With Dottore, everything was.

His touch was rough from the start, hands gripping as if to leave marks, testing your limits the way he tested his creations in the lab. Every movement was direct, without hesitation, without a trace of romance. He didn’t kiss you—he pushed your face away whenever you tried to close the distance, as if that were the only inviolable boundary. “Don’t dare.” He murmured, firmly moving your face away when you reached for him. “This isn’t about affection.”

The words burned, but they also ignited. It was raw, merciless, and perhaps that was exactly what kept you there, even knowing you should retreat. The only preparation you received was his fingers stretching your sex, slowly getting you ready to take him in a few minutes. He easily found the most sensitive spot inside you, curling and scissoring his fingers to familiarize you with the coming invasion.

Penetration came moments after he withdrew his fingers, and when you moaned in discomfort, a satisfied smile crossed his lips. He was still the mind behind the mad scientist, after all, right?

“Having a hard time there, my girl?” He asked with a hint of humor, but even against his own will, he waited for you to get used to having him inside you—he only moved when your permission came.

Each thrust into your body was paired with terrifying control—he knew how far he could go, how to elicit sounds you didn’t want to release. Yet there was a perverse detail: he seemed more interested in observing your reactions than losing himself in them. It was almost as if you were a specimen in one of his experiments, a variable to be studied and kept under control.

His eyes never left you, attentive to every tremor, every suppressed moan, every arch of your back. He studied you as if pleasure were just another experiment. And yet, amidst the coldness, there was a strange fire: the way his fingers dug into your hips, the way his body pressed yours against the bench—it was clear this wasn’t just science—it was raw, voracious desire.

When the climax came, it was quick, almost cruel, inside you. You were a territory to mark, after all. He left no room for thought, only taking you with him in the same relentless rhythm, and then, as if no longer human, simply stopped. Regulated his breathing, adjusted his coat and clothes, and walked away as if nothing had happened.

You were still breathless, leaning on the bench, trying to understand what had just happened, when he approached again. This time, without warning, he leaned down and pressed a quick, cold, almost insignificant kiss on your lips. But precisely because it was him, it became devastating.

“Now, go. I have work to finish.”

And just like that, as if he hadn’t just taken everything from you, he returned to his notes and bottles, ignoring the whirlwind of feelings he had left behind.

2. Grinding (Fem)

His shirt was too big on you, but not enough to hide anything. The sleeves slipped down your shoulders, revealing bare skin, and the fabric brushed lightly against your breasts with each quickened breath. He was seated in the lab chair, legs apart, as if he didn’t even need to exert effort to assert authority.

You were straddling his thigh, feeling the thick fabric of his pants against the most sensitive spot of your body. The friction was cruel, intense, even without skin-to-skin contact. And the worst part was that he knew it.

“Go on…” His voice was low but firm, full of command. His red eyes glinted as they fixed on you. “Use me.”

Your face burned with shame. Your heart seemed to leap in your chest. You tried to move but hesitated. His gaze held you in place—judgment, expectation, and something darker.

“I…” Your voice faltered, and you bit your lower lip, trembling.

“Don’t make me repeat.” He interrupted, the tone sharper now, an unquestionable order. His hand gripped your waist, pressing you harder against his thigh, making the friction draw an involuntary sigh from your lips.

You moaned softly, embarrassed, trying to hide your face in the curve of his neck. But he laughed lightly, a cold, satisfied sound. “Look at me.”

With effort, you lifted your face. The shame only increased under the way he observed every reaction, as if analyzing a live experiment.

Then, you gave in. Slowly moving your hips against his thigh, feeling the friction intensify, the shirt riding up slightly with each motion. Pleasure came too fast, too cruel, and his gaze never wavered.

“Good girl…” he murmured, squeezing your waist, guiding the rhythm. “That’s how it should be. No resistance, no shame. Just pleasure.”

Your moans were muffled, timid, but inevitable. Each rub, each wave of heat running through your body mixed shame with relief, until all that remained was raw, urgent need.

“Keep going…” he demanded, his voice husky, eyes fixed on you as if nothing else mattered. “I want to see you undone just from this.”

The friction was unbearable. Each time your hips slid against his thigh, the fabric of his pants scraped in a way that seemed to etch pleasure directly onto your sensitive skin. You could no longer control the sounds escaping—low moans, punctuated by shame and urgency. “Look at me.” His hand gripped your chin firmly, forcing you to meet those eyes full of something sinister that glowed in the dim lab light. “I want to see you come.”

You tried to look away, but the pressure of his fingers wouldn’t allow it. His gaze burned hotter than any friction. It was cruel, analytical, and utterly intoxicating.

“Dottore, I…” Your voice faltered, choked by pleasure.

“Don’t stop.” He interrupted, sharp as a blade. “You made it this far, now show me how far you can go.”

Your breathing was erratic, body trembling as you moved faster and faster against his thigh. Heat built in desperate waves, and he could already feel how wet you were through his pants.

He tilted his head, lips so close his breath brushed your face. Still, he didn’t kiss you. Just whispered, hoarse, like a sentence: “Come undone for me.”

The command was enough. Shame shattered along with the tension building inside you. A loud moan escaped as your body arched, lost in spasms of pleasure. Legs trembled, hips still moving for more, even when you had no strength to maintain the pace.

He held you firmly against him, watching every detail of your expression, every tremor, every sigh, as if recording everything in his mind. A scientist before his most chaotic masterpiece. When the heavy silence finally fell, he released your chin and leaned back in the chair, impassive, as if he hadn’t just taken every fragment of control from you.

“Good girl.” He murmured, cold, almost clinical, yet a trace of satisfaction hid in his voice. “Now… get out of my sight before I decide to see how much more you can take.”

3. Identity swap (Fem)

You stood before him, eyes locked on his, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. Dottore crossed his arms, posture rigid, trying to maintain control, but his gaze betrayed him: he was on the verge of giving in.

“You really think you can boss me around?” He asked, voice firm, trying to sound authoritative.

“I don’t think. I know.” You replied, moving closer slowly, your body heat contrasting with his rigidity. “And today you’ll obey… just so I can make you come.”

His smile faltered, breath quickening. “This is… inappropriate.” He murmured, trying to push away the thought you had already planted in his mind.

You said nothing, just slid your hand down his chest slowly, teasing him. His body shivered, fighting the urge, gritting his teeth.

“I said… no…” He started, but his voice failed when you moved even closer, pressing your lips to his provocatively.

You felt his jaw tremble under your touch and smiled, knowing you were in control. Slowly, you guided him, showing who was in command. His body reacted without thinking, eyes closing reluctantly but yielding.

“Go… do it.” He murmured, low, almost begging, though trying to keep pride. “I… I can’t stop you.”

You smiled, leaning in, making your touch more intimate, each movement calculated to heighten his pleasure, forcing him to surrender completely. Dottore breathed heavily, gasping against your neck, each involuntary contraction proving he was at your mercy. “This… this is humiliating…” He murmured, trying to maintain authority, but his hand trembled, body too hot to resist.

“Humiliation is my gift to you.” You replied, firm, guiding his body with each movement, leaving him completely surrendered. “But you like it, don’t you? That’s why you give in…”

His gaze met yours, resigned, yet need was too clear. Every moan, every sigh, showed he could resist no longer. Finally, he lost himself to pleasure, letting you guide everything while his pride succumbed to the pleasure you knew so well how to provoke. When he finally came in your hand, he leaned back, breathing heavily, still trying to compose himself.

“You… are impossible.” He murmured, low, almost vulnerable. “Hate to admit… but you won.”

You smiled, gently caressing his face, knowing that no matter how hard he tried, he would always give in when overcome by desire.

“Now, on your knees. You’ll suck me until you choke for trying to control me.” And when you obeyed: “Atta girl.”

4. Rough sex (Fem)

The lab was plunged in shadow, the cold light reflecting off the glass and mirrors Dottore always left strategically placed. He pushed you against the bench, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding from your shoulder to your neck.

“Look at me.” He ordered, low and hoarse, as you tried to pull back. “Look into my eyes and count every slap I give.”

Your heart raced. He raised his hand, and the first slap landed firmly on your ass, drawing a low moan. “One…” you whispered, legs trembling.

The second came faster, harder, and you shivered. “Two…”

He smiled, satisfied with the sound of your voice. Each slap was calculated, firm, not cruel—the goal was to make you feel, surrender, obey. His hand continued, alternating intensity, and you began to lose your breath between counting and moaning, each strike a mix of pain and pleasure leaving you nearly out of control.

When he pulled back just enough to grab your hair, you tilted your neck back for a few seconds, eyes still on the mirror in front of you: your own reflection, with him behind you, made your body shiver more.

“Now look at yourself.” He murmured, still gripping your hair. “See how you are while I take you.”

“I want more…” You could barely speak, voice faltering, trying to obey every command.

“Good girl.” He laughed low, cold, satisfied. His hand guided your body against him, every movement deliberate, every hard thrust almost making you lose balance, showing his power over you. “Speak louder. I want to hear you while I fuck you.”

The heat, the weight of him, the mirror—everything together made you lose control. Moans escaped involuntarily, mixed with trembling words of submission, and he didn’t hesitate: every touch, hair-pull, slap reminded you how completely you were his.

When you came, he stepped back just enough to let you breathe, hands still firm on your hips, red eyes glowing with intensity, observing every detail of your surrender.

“Now count again.” He murmured low, almost clinical, a subtle smile on his lips. “Every slap. Every moan. I want to memorize it all.”

You swallowed dry, breathless, looking at him and yourself in the mirror, completely consumed by his power, yet trapped in the pleasure only he could give.

“Dottore… I…” Your voice faltered, mouth dry. He knew exactly what you would say—you were overwhelmed, skin burning, body exhausted—but he didn’t seem ready to let go yet.

He didn’t step back. The movements started again, each thrust measured, firm, cruel in precision, yet controlled. The hair-pulling marked his authority, each squeeze guiding your body where he wanted. You could feel every tense muscle, every deliberate motion, and the mirror ahead showed the full scene: you on all fours, undone beneath him, completely at the mercy of your own pleasure and his will, exposed, vulnerable, yet unable to pull away.

When the climax came a second time, it was devastating. Your body arched, trembling, moans escaping uncontrollably, and he didn’t release anything—each squeeze, tug, slap intensified, keeping you at that point of total submission while receiving everything he had to give.

Only after you completely surrendered, gasping and trembling, did he relax pressure, release your hair, and pull back slightly, breathing deeply. His eyes still glowed with intensity, watching every detail of your surrender.

5. Unrestrained (Fem)

It was rare to see him lose control. Dottore always seemed two steps ahead, as if even the rhythm of pleasure was planned, regulated, studied. But that night, something in him broke.

You were beneath him, hands gripping his shoulders, and each movement of yours drew a low, muffled sound that seemed to cut through the lab air. His hair fell across his forehead, messy—not his usual impeccable posture, but a chaos revealing the urgency consuming him. “Damn…” He gasped, heavy breath against your mouth. His red eyes, usually cold, now burned with near-feverish intensity. “What did you do to me?”

The question sounded more like a confession than an accusation. His hands gripped your hips hard, pace fast, erratic, as if he couldn’t hold back anymore. You moved against him, enough to elicit a deep, hoarse moan, sending shivers through your body. He pressed his forehead to yours, panting, hair stuck to his skin from sweat.

“No… it shouldn’t be like this…” He murmured between desperate thrusts, almost talking to himself. “I should be in control… but you…”

The sentence was lost in a muffled moan, his hand sliding along your body, pulling you closer, needing to feel every inch. A brutal contrast: the scientist who never showed weakness, now moaning against your skin, breathless, movements erratic.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, and that was the final surrender. He let out a loud, ripped moan, voice full of pleasure impossible for someone like him. His body trembled against yours, the rhythm chaotic, and for the first time, you realized—Dottore wasn’t invincible.

When it finally slowed, he collapsed over you, chest rising and falling irregularly, breathing completely off rhythm. Hair fell over his eyes, and for the first time, he didn’t rush to compose himself.

“This…” He gasped, hoarse, almost failing. “This doesn’t happen to me.”

You smiled slightly, caressing his messy hair, seeing a rare spark in his eyes: vulnerability.

6. Wake-up sex (Fem)

The room was still silent when you felt something soft—warm, wet—between your legs. Your body reacted before your mind fully awoke, a sigh escaping your lips. When you opened your eyes, you found blue hair falling over your thighs, broad shoulders moving firmly as he delighted in you. Initial shock quickly turned into uncontrollable shivers.

“D–Dottore…?” Your voice came weak, choked with pleasure already coursing through your body. He lifted his blue eyes to look at you, a crooked smile curving his stained lips.

“Finally awake. I was getting impatient.” Before you could respond, his tongue slid back in slow, calculated movements, as if dissecting every reaction. Your hands gripped the sheets, heat rising, as he sucked your clit with perfect pressure to make you melt against the mattress.

“Why… you…” You tried to speak but were cut off by his moan.

“Because I wanted to taste you like this. Restless, vulnerable… surrendered to me before you even had time to resist.” His voice was low, hoarse, vibrating against your skin. Each stroke, each firm suction made you writhe under him. His fingers gripped your hips firmly, preventing escape. “No, no. You’ll stay quiet for me. I decide when you get relief.”

The wet sounds mixed with your desperate sighs, and when you arched your back, almost begging, he just laughed against your skin. “So easy to read… so predictable. Yet I never tire of experimenting on you.”

When he finally slid two fingers inside you, the pressure was too much. Your whole body trembled, breathing broken, moans too loud to control. He increased the pace, devouring every reaction, until you lost complete control under his mouth and touch. He guided you through your orgasm until the last spasm of your walls ended, then lifted his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes flashing with satisfaction.

“Good morning, my favorite test subject.” His smile was cruel, but the look betrayed his excitement: he wasn’t finished with you yet.

7. Yearning (Fem)It had been weeks since you last stepped into the lab. His silence, the sharp words exchanged during the argument, still echoed in your mind. Dottore hadn’t come after you—at least not visibly. But even at a distance, you felt as if his eyes followed you everywhere.

That morning, coffee was quiet, familiar aroma wrapping you like a breath of normalcy. You almost relaxed—until you felt the presence. Strong, suffocating. You lifted your eyes and saw him standing at the door.

Dottore’s cold eyes fixed on you. No masks, no pretenses, only raw intent. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly. “About everything. And about you. Always you.”

Your pulse jumped. Your lips parted, words failing. He stepped closer, deliberate, careful, yet dominant. “You’ve been trying to ignore me… but it doesn’t work, does it?”

You swallowed, body tense. “I—”

“No excuses.” His voice cut the space between you like a knife. “I’ve missed you. Missed this. Missed you like a specimen I can’t stop studying. Like a desire I can’t contain.”

Every word made your knees weak. His fingers brushed your cheek—light, teasing, commanding all at once. Your breath hitched. He smirked slightly, satisfaction hidden behind a veil of cold professionalism.

“Come here,” he whispered, a command disguised as a suggestion. “Let me finish what we started. You’ve been craving it as much as I have.”

And the heat between you ignited again—wild, uncontrollable, complete. You surrendered, knowing Dottore would leave no inch of desire unexplored, no hesitation tolerated.

Heizou – D, T, V

1. Dominance (Fem)

He held you firmly by the hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted. His gaze was intense, dominant, loaded with desire, and your body trembled just from feeling his security and power.

“Don’t move… let me do everything,” he murmured, his voice rough and deep, making you submit just from the tone alone.

Before you could think of responding, Heizou lowered himself, his tongue exploring you with precision and firmness. Every touch was calculated, controlled, yet perversely sensual—he knew exactly how to make you moan. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading and holding you, guiding your body while he licked and sucked without mercy. Every moan you let out made his muscles tighten, his pleasure rising along with yours.

“Ah… so good… so mine…” he growled, biting lightly on your skin and pressing his tongue harder. You arched your back, completely surrendered, unable to think of anything but the pleasure he was extracting from you.

He alternated slow, deep movements with fast, urgent attacks, showing that he was in control and that you were there just to feel. With every moan, he squeezed your thighs tighter, murmuring hoarse praise: “Beautiful… all mine… feel how much I like it…”

The pace increased, and you realized that every smack, every sigh, every arch came exactly from his dominance. He savored each of your reactions, every sound, every shiver of your body, showing that he dictated every second of your pleasure.

When the climax arrived, it was violent, overwhelming—Heizou held you firmly, not letting go, licking and sucking every part of you until your whole body exploded in waves of pleasure. He didn’t slow down until he felt you completely surrendered, your body still trembling against his.

And even after, the heavy breathing, satisfied smile, and his gaze showed: he loved every second of dominating and fully savoring you.

2. Threesome (Fem)

You were leaning against the office desk, breathing quickly, as Heizou approached, that familiar mischievous and dominant look. But this time he wasn’t alone—a fellow detective, unknown to you, watched closely, his presence heightening the tension in the air.

Heizou grabbed your waist, pressing you against him, and before you could think, his lips were on yours, sucking and biting with urgency. The colleague moved closer, hands exploring your back and shoulders, feeling every reaction you had.

“Just for you two now… only mine to feel,” Heizou murmured against your mouth, his rough voice, while the colleague placed a hand on your thighs, spreading you open, exposing every part of you to both.

You moaned, unable to resist, feeling both of them touching you at the same time—Heizou sliding his hand over your chest, massaging firmly, while the colleague explored your intimate area, sending shivers and loud moans from you.

They alternated, yet also coordinated, every touch, every kiss, every calculated pressure driving you insane. You arched, hips responding involuntarily, feeling pleasure growing almost uncontrollably.

Heizou took control of the rhythm, guiding your movements, while the colleague followed implicit commands, pressing, licking, holding you firmly. Every moan of yours was met with murmurs of pleasure and further teasing: “This is how you like it… feel us both… feel my mouth and his…”

The heat, the touch, the shared attention made your body erupt in pleasure, wave after wave, as they continued, each extracting moans and sighs, forcing you to completely surrender, receiving and feeling both at once, each sensation amplified by the dual contact.

When the final climax came, it was devastating—you trembled between them, sweaty bodies, breathing heavily, moans and murmurs mingling, with Heizou holding your waist and the colleague supporting your back, keeping you at the center of all pleasure.

But it wasn’t over. Now you were kneeling between them, Heizou holding your waist firmly, guiding every movement, while the colleague positioned himself behind, hands gripping your thighs, spreading you for him without shame. The heat between you was intense, impossible to ignore.

Heizou entered slowly, deeply, controlling every thrust, while the colleague followed simultaneously, each movement provoking involuntary moans from you. You felt both inside you at once, sweaty bodies pressing and sliding in perfect sync.

They coordinated without speaking: Heizou increased the speed, pushing you against the colleague, while he pressed deeper, both exploring every moan, every arch, as if wanting to extract all possible pleasure.

Their hands never stopped: Heizou held your hips and arms, forcing you to lean, to move exactly to the rhythm he dictated; the colleague explored your back, your neck, every touch provoking more shivers and sighs. Each moan of yours was met with murmurs and whispers: “So beautiful… feel us… feel both of us…”

You couldn’t think anymore, only feel. Every thrust, every pressure, every touch exploded inside you, as they alternated between fast and slow movements, each controlling part of your pleasure, keeping you lost in simultaneous ecstasy.

When your second orgasm finally hit, it was devastating: waves of pleasure shaking your entire body, both holding you firmly, guiding you until you couldn’t anymore. Heizou whispered your name between stolen kisses, while the colleague moaned low, holding you tight, as if unwilling to let the pleasure end.

Even after, sweaty and breathless, both kept their hands on you, stolen kisses, teasing caresses—making it clear that you were theirs, completely surrendered.

3. Voyeurism (Fem) 

He was leaning against the door, eyes fixed on every movement of yours, breath low, rough, full of contained desire. His entire body seemed to react just to seeing you there, exploring every curve, every sensitive point.

“This is just for me? You know I’m watching everything…” he murmured, his voice deep, loaded with mischief.

You arched, biting your lip, as your hands explored your body, touching every inch. He didn’t need to move—his gaze, intense and attentive, was enough to make every touch more exciting, every moan escape involuntarily.

“Slower… or faster? Tell me, my girl, I want to hear you ask,” he teased, approaching without touching, just letting his presence amplify every sensation. You let yourself go, moaning softly, breath quickening, knowing he loved every second of you surrendering like this.

He moved closer, fingers gliding over his own body lightly, mirroring your movements, and every arch of yours drew low moans from him. “Look how you drive me crazy… every shiver, every sound…”

When you finally lost yourself in climax, your entire body trembling, he smiled, satisfied, breathing heavily. His voice was hoarse, firm: “So beautiful… only mine… and I saw everything.”

Even afterward, his gaze didn’t leave you, fingers still lightly caressing, as if wanting to prolong every sensation, every reaction, keeping the pleasure and provocation alive.

Kaeya – A, E, H, I, L, N, S

1. Aftercare (Fem)

He doesn’t let you pull away immediately. He holds your waist and pulls you into his lap, still sweaty and out of breath. He uses humor as a shield, whispering things like, “Look at you, exhausted like this… should I feel flattered?” But at the same time, his fingers caress your skin gently, as if to calm you.

He loves playing with your hair, twirling strands around his fingers as you rest against his chest. He always offers water or wine—but if you say you’re tired, he just laughs and kisses your forehead, murmuring: “It’s okay, I’ll take care of you anyway.”

Despite the playful tone, his gaze during aftercare is serious and full of something he rarely shows: vulnerability. It’s like in those minutes he lowers his guard and lets it show how much you really matter.

The room was still warm, your breaths mingling in silence. You tried to move away, but Kaeya’s hand on your waist stopped you, firm yet lazy at the same time.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” he murmured against your skin, his voice dragged, with that unmistakable smile even without looking. “Leaving me like this already?”

You giggled softly, exhausted. “Just… wanted to breathe.”

“Ah, breathe here.” He pulled you back, laying you on his chest. His heart was still racing, and the way his fingers glided through your hair was hypnotic.

For a few minutes, Kaeya said nothing. He just caressed your skin with light, almost lazy touches, tracing invisible patterns on your back. When he noticed you relaxing against him, he opened one eye and commented, in that teasing tone: “Look at you… completely surrendered. Should I feel flattered, or what?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t have the strength to respond. He laughed, kissing your forehead lightly, the teasing softened by the gesture.

Soon after, he leaned to grab a towel left aside. He cleaned you carefully, without rush, every movement full of disguised delicacy. “There. Don’t say I’m not a gentleman.”

You sighed, resting your face on his neck. “You’re not going to let me get up, are you?”

“Not in a thousand years.” His voice was low, sincere. For a rare moment, the playful shine in his eyes gave way to something vulnerable, almost reverent, as he held you tight against his chest.

2. Erotic texting (Fem)

(This one is an actual text exchange, lol)

[You send a discreet photo, only his t-shirt covering your body]

You:

“Look what I decided to wear today…”

Kaeya:

“Do you realize I’m in the middle of a meeting right now?”

You:

“Ah, I thought you were good at keeping up appearances.”

Kaeya:

“You want me to lose composure, don’t you?”

“If I were there, you’d already be in my lap, learning the consequences.”

You:

“Then imagine… me with nothing under this shirt.”

Kaeya:

“God.”

“You really don’t play fair.”

“Tell me… where are your hands right now, darling?”

You:

“Between my legs. Thinking about you.”

Kaeya:

“You love torturing me, don’t you?”

“Touch slowly. I want to imagine every detail.”

You:

“What if I don’t send anything else? I’ll leave you curious until you get here.”

Kaeya:

“Don’t even think about it.”

“If you tease me like this, I’m going to make you pay for every second. You won’t leave the bed until you beg.”

You:

“Promises, promises…”

Kaeya:

“No. Guarantees.”

“Save that energy, daring girl. Tonight, I’ll make you pay for every message that left me hard in front of everyone.”

3. Heated (Fem)

“You disappear for days, show up out of nowhere, and still think I’ll smile and pretend everything’s fine?” Your voice trembled, more from frustration than anger.

Kaeya leaned back in the chair, a glass of wine in hand, that lazy smile that only irritated you more. “You know how my work is. I can’t just drop everything because you miss me.”

“It’s not about missing you, Kaeya! It’s about you never being here. About me feeling… disposable.” His smile faltered for a moment, but quickly returned.

“You’re exaggerating. You always come back to me in the end, don’t you?” That answer was the last straw.

“You know what? Keep your wine and your cheap charm. I’m not going to beg for attention.” But before your hand reached the doorknob, strong fingers grabbed your wrist. You turned your face to find Kaeya standing, his gaze burning with something no longer playful.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was low, rough, loaded with something dangerous.

“Let me go, Kaeya.”

“No.” He pulled you back firmly, his body colliding with yours. The glass of wine fell, forgotten along with any pretense of calm. “Do you really think you’re disposable? That I’d spend nights thinking about you if you were?”

“Then prove it.” you spat the words, trying to hide the tremor in your voice.

And he did.

His mouth fell onto yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, as if punishing you and begging for forgiveness at the same time. His hands slid down your waist, squeezing tightly, as if afraid you’d disappear again.

You moaned against his lips, trying to resist, but your body already surrendered. Kaeya lifted you by the waist, pressing you against the nearest wall, the spilled wine still staining the floor behind you. “You drive me crazy.” He whispered between kisses, breathing heavily. “Crazy for wanting so much… and hating how much I need you.”

His hands gripped your waist like he wanted to leave marks, his mouth devouring yours with no space to breathe. Each kiss was a silent confession, a raw, wordless apology.

You tried to pull away, panting. “You can’t just treat me like this, Kaeya—”

“Shut up.” He bit your lower lip, pulling until you moaned. “Talk later. Now… let me prove you’re mine.”

The words sounded like both an order and a plea. He turned you around, pressing you against the cold wall, his hips flush with yours. One hand held your wrist above your head, while the other slid down your thigh, pulling it closer against him.

“You wanted to leave?” His voice brushed your ear, deep, full of restrained anger. “Now you’ll have to swallow every word before going anywhere.”

His hard rubbing against you drew a loud moan, and Kaeya laughed low, hoarse, satisfied. “That. That sound. Drives me crazy every time I try to stay away.”

The friction became faster, stronger, and your breath started failing. You tried to speak, but he didn’t let you, kissing your throat, sucking the skin until it was marked.

“Say you’re mine,” he demanded, tone broken between control and desperation. “Now.”

“Kaeya…”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.” The answer came as a whisper, but it was enough. You were completely surrendered.

4. Identity swap (Fem)

You grabbed Kaeya by the collar, pulling him slightly up, looking into his blue eyes with determination. “Now it’s my turn to be in control,” you murmured, voice low, hoarse, loaded with desire. He raised an eyebrow, surprised, but let a mischievous smile escape, as if enjoying the challenge.

You slid a hand across his chest, pressing firmly, guiding him to sit on the sofa. “Stay still… and just feel what I’m going to do,” you said, wrapping your legs around his thighs, pulling him completely close. Kaeya tried to resist, but every touch, every calculated rub of your hips against his showed he had no control this time.

Your hand glided over his neck, holding him firmly, while the other guided his hips against yours, setting the rhythm. Kaeya moaned softly, arching slightly into you, realizing this time he was the one surrendering, not commanding.

You nibbled his neck gently, tugged his hair softly, every touch reinforcing that you dictated the pleasure. “Don’t try to escape… you’re mine now,” you murmured, pressing your hips against his, guiding each of his reactions with precision and intensity.

Kaeya breathed heavily, eyes fixed on yours, clearly surprised by the reversal but unable to resist. Every thrust, every firm touch, every hand pressure made him lose himself completely, surrendered to the control and desire you imposed.

When he finally moaned, arching into you, you smiled, holding him tight, fingers entwined in his hair. “See? Now I’m in charge,” you said, low and triumphant, as he breathed heavily, eyes still on yours, fully submitted to your dominance.

5. Lap sitting (Fem)

He was leaning in the armchair in your bedroom, a glass of wine in hand, the typical smile on his lips as if he controlled the situation.

You approached slowly, stopping right in front of him. “Are you just going to watch me all night?”

Kaeya arched an eyebrow, spinning the glass between his fingers. “Depends… do you plan to give me a better view?”

Without answering, you climbed into his lap, sitting slowly, feeling his body react immediately beneath you. The glass almost slipped from his hand, but Kaeya set it on the side table in a hurry, eyes fixed on yours.

“Look at you…” he murmured, smile growing. “You came to tease me on purpose, didn’t you?”

You swayed slightly, just to test. His air escaped in a long sigh, fingers automatically gripping your waist. “God, you’re going to kill me like this.”

“You don’t seem to complain,” you whispered near his ear.

Kaeya laughed low, breath already heavier. “Complaining? I could stay like this all night… but you won’t just let me watch, will you?”

His hips moved against yours in a slow, teasing rhythm, as if wanting to see how far you’d go before losing control. The heat built up, and every friction drew involuntary sighs from both of you.

He held your face with one hand, forcing you to meet those intense blue eyes. “Look at me while you do this. I want to see how you lose yourself in my lap.”

6. Night of drinking (Fem)

The warmth of the wine still burned in your throat, sharpening your senses. You were leaning on the sofa beside him, laughing at some bad joke that sounded much better after a few glasses. His hair fell slightly over his face, and his blue eyes shone in a way you rarely saw—disarmed, open.

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” you murmured conspiratorially, shoulder brushing against his.

He smirked, leaning close until your lips almost touched. “Maybe… but it’s the only way you can keep up with me, hm?” His voice was deeper, huskier than usual, sending shivers through your entire body.

The kiss happened without warning. It was hot, slow at first, as if Kaeya savored not just the taste of wine on your lips, but also the longing he hid so well. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you into his lap naturally, as if it had always been where you belonged.

His touches were full of restrained desire, something that had been building for too long. Every sigh of yours was swallowed by him, every small moan encouraged him to deepen the kiss.

“You’re… intoxicating,” he murmured against your mouth, lips wet, breath heavy. “And it has nothing to do with the wine.”

The confession made him kiss you with even more hunger. Clothes disappeared along the way to the bedroom, amid stumbles and muffled laughter. The world seemed to spin around just the two of you, until his body completely enveloped yours.

In bed, Kaeya didn’t rush to take you. The alcohol made him bolder, more open in showing how much he needed you. Kisses traced your neck, your chest, each soft bite drawing a sigh. He lost himself in your body as if he knew it by heart, but wanted to rediscover it in every possible way.

When he finally joined you, it was with a low moan, almost a lament, as if he had waited too long for it. The pace started slow, to prolong every second, but soon heat, longing, and wine spoke louder. Movements became intense, desperate, and the room echoed only with the sounds of the two of you—moans, ragged breaths, scattered words escaping unfiltered.

“You’re my downfall,” he whispered amidst the frantic rhythm, blue eyes fixed on yours. “And I don’t want to be saved.”

Pleasure took both of you almost simultaneously, explosive, leaving you gasping, pressed together.

Afterwards, Kaeya lay beside you, pulling you to his chest. The smell of wine and sweat mingled with the heat still lingering between your bodies. He kissed your forehead with a softness contrasting the earlier intensity.

“Don’t let me sleep alone tonight,” he asked, almost a whisper.

You smiled against his chest, closing your eyes. “Never would.”

7. Sensory play (Fem)

You were already surrendered before even realizing it. Your body pressed against his, warm breath brushing your skin, and those sharp blue eyes seeming to pierce every defense. But this time, something was different. His touch carried a literal coldness that sent shivers down every exposed inch.

Kaeya’s fingers glided over your waist, leaving a cold trail that contrasted with the heat building between you. You squirmed, gasping at the sensation, and he smirked, clearly satisfied with your reaction.

“Are you cold, or is it me warming you too much?” he teased, voice low, captivating.

When his lips found your neck, the kiss was hot, hungry. But shortly after, a Cryo breath made your skin burn in a completely different way—a mix of cold and heat that left you breathless. He noticed and gripped your waist tighter, holding you in place.

“Every shiver of yours is mine,” he whispered against your ear, cold breath mingling with desire.

The touches alternated—sometimes hot and urgent, sometimes cold enough to make you flinch, only for him to hold your face and make you look at him, blue eyes shining in pure satisfaction.

When he penetrated you, the rhythm was firm, but the real torment came from little games. A burning kiss followed by a frozen touch between your thighs. A moan ripped from you as he slid the cold tip of his fingers across your chest before biting the skin with his warm mouth.

The contrast was maddening.

“You like it, don’t you?” Kaeya asked, panting, burying himself deep inside you. “This cold… this sweet pain. Don’t lie to me.”

You couldn’t answer—just moaned loudly, clutching his shoulders as if they were the only anchor left. He chuckled softly, satisfied, and continued the game, alternating heat and cold, pleasure and agony.

When the climax finally came, it was intense, almost unbearable, as if every fiber of your body was taken at once. Kaeya pressed against you, holding your wrists with one hand, still panting. His breath hit your lips, icy, as he murmured:

“I want you to remember… no one will make you shiver like this but me.”

Kazuha – B, C, G, L, Y

1. Biting (Fem)

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing as Kazuha leaned over you, his silver hair falling like a curtain around your face. His lips found your skin with an almost insane devotion, marking every inch he could reach—wet kisses, deep suction marks, gentle bites that became memories etched into your flesh. “Allow me… to write on you with my mouth,” he murmured, his voice low, poetic, and husky with desire. “So even when I’m away, your body will still tell our story.”

You gasped as his teeth sank into your shoulder, the sharp sting giving way to a spreading warmth. He sucked deeply, making sure the mark stayed, then lifted his eyes, blue and burning. 

“You belong to me, just as every petal belongs to the whisper of the wind.” His hand moved to your waist, holding you firmly, while his mouth continued its possessive path across your collarbone and breasts. Each mark was his signature, a poem written in shades of red and purple.

“Don’t you dare hide it,” he continued, his tongue tracing the bite he had just left. “I want the world to see… that you still belong to me.”

You moaned his name, trying to pull him closer, but Kazuha took his time, savoring every second, every reaction of yours. His hips pressed into yours, strong, and his voice escaped in a lust-laden sigh:

“Say you’re mine… that your skin exists for me to seal with the eternity of my touch.” You responded with a breathy moan, enough to make him smile against the curve of your neck before biting again, harder.

His body was already pressed against yours, each mark on your skin pulsing like verses Kazuha had etched with his mouth. He lifted his face just enough to meet your gaze, dark blue eyes sparkling.

“Do you feel it? Each bite of mine… it’s a connection. Each suction, a reminder that the wind never forgets its home.” Without waiting, he slid inside you, deep, all at once, drawing a loud moan from your lips. His hips collided with yours, and Kazuha closed his eyes, breathing deeply as if inhaling poetry.

“Heavens… you wrap around me so perfectly. Tight, hot… made just for me.” His movements began slow, but firm, each thrust accompanied by a possessive kiss to your neck or shoulder. His poetic rhythm contrasted with the intensity of his dominance—it was delicacy and brutality, all at once.

You tried to moan his name, but Kazuha silenced you with another bite, sucking your skin until it burned. His hand held your waist firmly, guiding you against the voracious rhythm that now consumed him.

“No… don’t say anything,” he murmured against your skin. “Let me claim your body. Every time I enter you… it’s a verse. Every time you moan… it’s the chorus I’ll never tire of hearing.” Pleasure came in waves, and he knew it—the half-closed eyes, the quickened breath, the way his hips struck against yours without losing cadence.

“Look at me,” Kazuha commanded, his voice husky, poetic, yet possessive. “I want you to see in my eyes who you belong to.” You obeyed, and his gaze was enough to ignite a fire within you. He quickened his pace, merciless, each thrust deeper, more precise.

“My muse… my girl…” He gasped, nearly losing control. “I’ll fill you until your body never forgets me. Until the marks on your skin are small reminders of how I claim you as mine.” When the climax came, it was overwhelming. Kazuha bit your shoulder hard, his hand pressing even more firmly against your waist, as if wanting to fuse you to him. Panting, he whispered, still inside you:

“You are my most intense poem… and I will recite you until the last breath.”

2. Cum (Fem)

Between breasts or thighs: The sensation of being pressed between the parts of your body he loves to touch excites him. He’ll lose himself in the friction and probably finish with low, panting moans, murmuring, “Even your skin knows how to hold my essence.”

Inside you: He’s a man of surrender. Feeling you clench around him and knowing he’s left a part of himself in you is almost spiritual. He’ll hold you tightly, pressing his forehead to yours, whispering something like, “Let me lose my breath inside you… I want you to carry the memory of us.”

On the body (belly and thighs): He has something artistic about him. Cumming over your skin, seeing the hot white contrast against your body, then running his fingers across you, “painting” on you—it’s almost like creating an ephemeral artwork. He would probably say something poetic like, “Your skin is the canvas I wish to mark.”

3. Grinding (Fem)

You were seated on the sofa, his shirt slightly falling over your body, eyes shining with mischief and need. He was leaning beside you, reading something in a notebook, completely unaware of how much you were writhing inside.

Without warning, you pressed against his thigh, slowly grinding your hips against him. The friction of his pants against the most sensitive part of your body sent waves of immediate pleasure, and you arched, letting out a soft moan.

Kazuha looked up, his smile small, almost lazy. “Having fun at my expense?” he murmured, his voice low, filled with curiosity that quickly turned to desire.

You didn’t answer with words. You pressed closer, feeling his body react beneath you. His hand brushed your hip, sliding slowly, as if rehearsing before fully surrendering.

“Going to… use me like this?” he said, huskily, unable to hide the heat rising in him.

You blushed but couldn’t stop. You needed release, needed to feel the pleasure pulsing within. Each more intense friction drew muffled moans, each touch from Kazuha made your body tremble further.

He put the notebook aside, leaning more firmly against you, his hand holding your waist, guiding your movements. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, almost laughing, but his hand remained firm, not letting you escape.

Tension rose quickly, every touch, every movement bringing you to a point of no return. His moan mingled with yours, muffled, intense, as he leaned slightly, feeling you grind against his thigh.

“You’re my undoing,” he whispered, face close to yours, lips almost brushing your ear. “And I have no intention of holding back.”

The heat of the friction, the teasing, his touch—it all combined into a perfect mix of need and restrained lust. When you finally gave in to desire, it was quick, intense, as if the frustration of entire days had been released in seconds.

Afterward, Kazuha held you close, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours. “Always so naughty with me,” he murmured, his smile returning, now tender.

4. Lap sitting (Fem)

He was reclined in the armchair, relaxed posture, but red eyes watching your every move. You approached slowly, sitting in his lap with a mischievous smile, pressing your hips against his deliberately.

“Came to tease me, didn’t you?” He murmured, voice husky, a mix of mockery and desire.

You smiled, beginning to move slowly over him, hips drawing provocative circles as his hands slid over your waist, holding firm. Every friction sent waves of pleasure through both of you, his body already reacting uncontrollably.

“You’re driving me crazy…” Kazuha whispered, breathing heavily. “But… please… don’t stop.” You leaned your body, rubbing further, feeling his erection pressing against you. His hand found your hip, guiding your movements more firmly, while the other held your waist, keeping you close. “Faster…” he requested, voice urgent and lustful.

You arched, grinding precisely, each intense contact almost unbearable. He held you like you were solely his, every moan from you encouraging him. Soon, Kazuha groaned softly, almost desperate:

“Go on, help me lose myself completely… let me feel you like this.” You leaned forward, pressing against him, and his smile widened. The touch of your thighs, his warmth, the way he gasped at every movement—you felt your heart race, each friction more intense than the last.

“Perfect… exactly like this…” Kazuha whispered, body trembling, ready to explode. “You’re my undoing, did you know?”

“I won’t last much longer…” he confessed, voice husky, almost desperate. “Keep… going, until I lose all control.” You moved faster, hips rolling over his, feeling him respond intensely, each moan escalating your arousal.

He leaned forward, holding you tighter, breathing heavy, until finally succumbing, lost completely in the heat of the moment. Then he rested his forehead against yours, still holding you close, breathing uneven.

“Always… always so provocative…” He murmured softly, almost vulnerable. “And I never can resist my girl.”

5. Yearning (Fem)

The wind blew through the streets of Inazuma, carrying that familiar scent of rain and wet wood, and you could hardly believe your eyes when you saw Kazuha sitting at the café you used to frequent. His silver hair tousled by the wind, gaze lost between the cup and the horizon. For months, he seemed to have vanished from the world, and now there he was, as real as the memories you kept of him.

Your heart raced, hesitant steps quickening until you finally stood before him. He lifted his eyes, and the air seemed to freeze for a second.

“You… you came back,” he murmured, voice husky, full of surprise and something you could only call accumulated longing.

You crossed your arms, trying to seem firm, but your body betrayed the mix of anger and need. “And you, Kaz… why the hell did you disappear?”

His smile appeared, slow, almost melancholy. “Carried by distant winds… but I never could fully leave you behind.”

The tension between you was almost tangible. He stood slowly, and your heart beat faster seeing every gesture so familiar yet charged with months of absence. Without thinking, you stepped forward, and he did not retreat.

Kazuha held your face gently, thumbs stroking your cheeks, his blue eyes shining intensely. “I missed you,” he murmured, bringing his forehead close to yours. “More than words could ever express.”

Silence fell for a moment, heavy with all that remained unspoken. Then, with an almost desperate impulse, he pulled you to him, arms wrapping around your body, pressing you against his chest. The warmth of his body, the scent of wind and coffee, all merging into a feeling of home you hadn’t felt in months.

“Don’t let me go again,” he whispered, voice husky, lips brushing your forehead in a gesture both tender and possessive.

You breathed deeply, feeling the warmth of longing turn into need. “Never again,” you replied, surrendering to that embrace that finally filled the emptiness of months apart.

When he finally kissed your lips, it was with all the intensity held back during the time away. The kiss was urgent, full of repressed desire and accumulated longing, and you gave in without resistance, feeling every second as if compensating for months of absence.

The world around you disappeared. There was only you two, the wind, the scent of rain, and the heat that now consumed you.

At home, another kiss came, leaving both breathless. Kazuha held your face firmly, thumbs caressing your cheeks while his eyes shone with a mix of desire and relief. “I won’t let you slip away again,” he murmured, voice husky, full of promise.

You pressed against him, feeling his body respond instantly. Every touch, every hip rub was an explosion of long-held longing, clothes falling piece by piece, each touch making your bodies burn with need.

He leaned you against the wall, hands bracing on each side of your body, eyes locked on yours, stormy blue. “I missed you in a way words can’t explain.” He confessed, breathing heavy. “But now… now I’ll make you feel everything we held in that time.”

His touch was both possessive and gentle. He bit your lower lip hungrily, caressed your back with intensity, each movement calculated to make you lose control. You arched against him, moans escaping involuntarily, each sigh driving him further.

“Want me to show you how I waited for you?” he whispered, leaning to bite your collarbone, sending shivers through your body.

You answered only with loud moans, letting your body speak for you. Kazuha held you tight, moving slowly and intensely, feeling every reaction, every shiver, every twitch. He lost himself in you, in the heat you shared, in the pleasure you finally allowed yourselves after so long.

Each touch, each kiss, each thrust was loaded with longing turned into desire, a need that seemed endless. When climax came, it was explosive, overwhelming, a release of months of frustration and accumulated desire.

Afterward, he held you to his chest, breathing still heavy, forehead resting against yours. “I’ll never let you go again.” He murmured, voice soft now, almost vulnerable. “The wind may blow us apart, but we’ll always return to each other.” You smiled, arms winding around him, knowing you were finally together again, closer than ever.

Kinich – C, D, G, H, J, L, R, Y

1. Cum (AFAB)

Inside (penetrative): He probably feels intense pleasure when cumming inside you, especially with close body contact and dominance involved. It’s a mix of need, possessiveness, and intimate connection.

In the mouth: Depending on the level of trust and submission, he might enjoy oral sex, appreciating the care and devotion of his partner, but in a restrained, contemplative way, since he’s more silent and calculating.

On the body (external): Kinich might also like marking you with his release—on your breasts, stomach, or thighs—reinforcing possessiveness and leaving physical “marks” that symbolize submission and intimacy, not aggressively, but intensely and sensually.

2. Dominance (AFAB)

You felt his weight behind you, his firm body pressing against yours as the vines wrapped around your waist and hips, holding you in place. He didn’t need to say much—his intense green gaze said it all, full of control and restrained desire.

“Stay here… just for me,” he murmured, low and husky.

One vine held your wrists above your head, while the other gently pressed your hips, keeping you trapped against him. Each touch was precise, firm, demonstrating he was in command, guiding every movement. You tried to shift, but he adjusted you with careful precision, maintaining the rhythm and position, making it clear that any attempt to escape would fail.

His fingers traced your skin, exploring slowly, brushing every curve deliberately, while small bites appeared on your shoulder or neck, soft yet memorable. He loved watching your reactions—muffled moans, quickened breaths, arches—reinforcing the silent power he held over you.

“See… mine,” he said, pressing you into his body with the vines and hands. “Every movement of yours is mine now.”

Still, there was care in his touch. Every squeeze, every brush, every bite was measured, letting you feel pleasure and possessiveness at once. You lost yourself in the warmth of his body, the vines pressing lightly against your hips and wrists, and the intensity of his green eyes that never wavered.

When he finally leaned in to kiss you, it was firm, deep, dominant, yet controlled, as if recording every second of your surrender. Every touch, every pressure, every brush of the vines reinforced the sense that you were entirely his, and he guided you with patience and absolute power.

3. First Time (Fem)

“Are you ready for this?” Kinich murmured, low and husky, green eyes fixed on yours, studying every reaction.

You nodded, nervous, feeling the heat of his body near. One of his vines slid lightly around your waist, pressing softly, as if marking territory while offering reassurance.

Kinich ran a hand along your face, caressing your cheek gently, while the other held your hips firmly but carefully. “Breathe slowly… I’m here with you,” he said, leaning in gradually to kiss your lips, first soft, then deeper, sending shivers with every touch.

When he finally positioned himself between your legs, you felt the vines wrap around your hips, holding you in place. He entered slowly, each movement calculated, deliberate, slow and firm so you could adjust. “That’s… very good… let me take care of you,” he murmured, voice rough, as his fingers traced your back and hips, guiding each movement with care.

The combination of his firm hands and the vines made everything intense yet safe. Every thrust was slow, deep, measured, while you gasped, feeling pleasure and surrender. When you finally reached climax, he held you tightly, body pressed to yours, eyes locked on yours as if memorizing every sensation.

“You are mine… and I’ll always take care of you,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you in firm, comforting, absolutely safe arms.

4. Grinding (Fem)

“Do you feel how perfectly you fit against me?” Kinich murmured, husky, as he gripped your waist firmly.

You straddled his lap, bodies pressed together, hips pushing against his. The vines wrapped gently around your waist and thighs, maintaining light yet firm pressure, heightening every movement.

He guided you subtly, but every touch carried intention: hands gliding along your waist, hips pressed, calculated rubbing to send shivers through you. Small moans escaped, and he smiled against your neck, tightening the vines slightly around your hips, silently marking his presence.

“Move like this… slowly… exactly like this,” he murmured, fingers lightly tracing your back, keeping you at the perfect rhythm. Every brush of hips increased the tension, making your body respond intensely even without penetration.

Soft bites appeared on your collarbone or shoulder, gentle but firm, intensifying pleasure while the vines pressed your waist and hips, creating a deep, silent connection.

You arched, moaning with him, feeling how every movement and brush of the vines amplified heat, pleasure, and his possessiveness. Kinich remained firm but fully immersed in the sensation of having you pressed to him, controlling every impulse, every reaction, every moment of shared pleasure.

5. Heated (Fem)

“You never listen to me!” you yelled, hands flailing, face flushed with anger.

“Do you think you can challenge me like that?” Kinich replied, husky, green eyes flashing. Before you could step back, he grabbed your waist firmly, pressing you against him.

The vines coiled around your hips and wrists, tightening lightly, keeping you trapped as he pushed your bodies against the wall. “I won’t let you run… not now, not ever,” he murmured, voice heavy with desire and possession.

He tilted you into lap sitting, hips pressed firmly to his. “Feel… how perfectly you fit against me,” he said, hands gliding along your waist and back, guiding each motion. Each brush was intense, loaded with heat and pressure, as you lost yourself in the firm grip of the vines on your hips and wrists.

The kiss was abrupt, deep, almost aggressive, mixing anger with desire. He nibbled your shoulder and neck lightly while your bodies pressed impossibly close. “Don’t try to escape… every move of yours is mine,” he murmured huskily, grinding his hips with precision.

You moaned, arching against him as he quickened the rhythm, hands exploring your back and hips. Soft bites landed on collarbone, shoulders, and neck, firm but gentle, intensifying each sensation. Every brush of the vines increased silent possessiveness; each sigh and moan of yours reinforced his need to keep you pressed to him.

“That’s it… feel it… you’re mine,” he whispered, pressing you closer, hands and vines dominating every part of your body. You surrendered completely, moaning loudly, every movement synced with his firm, calculated rhythm, blending anger, desire, and intense pleasure.

When climax hit, inevitable, you arched, crying his name, and Kinich moaned shortly after, holding you tight, bodies pressed, green eyes locked on yours. “You may irritate me… but only I know how to make you lose yourself like this,” he murmured, vines relaxing slightly but still keeping you enveloped, maintaining that intimate, possessive intensity.

He traced kisses along your neck, gentle nibbles, hands caressing hair and back, ensuring you felt safe, loved, and entirely marked as his.

6. Jealousy (AFAB)

You noticed him glance at someone else, and a warm mix of jealousy and desire surged through your body. Before you could retreat, Kinich approached, green eyes locked on yours, flashing possessiveness. One vine slid around your waist, gripping firmly, while the other wrapped your wrists, keeping you pressed against him.

“Don’t look at anyone else… only at me,” he murmured, husky and intense, pressing his body against yours. He gripped your hips, guiding you against him. “You’re mine, do you understand?”

You gasped, feeling the heat of his body and the vines’ pressure, each touch heightening arousal. He tilted you against the wall, holding your waist firmly, then entered you slowly, deeply, making you arch against him.

“This… only you… only mine,” he whispered, green eyes never leaving your face. Every thrust was firm, intense, designed to mark dominance and pleasure simultaneously. The vines pressed lightly against your hips and waist, keeping you trapped.

Soft bites landed on your shoulder and neck, blending slight pain with pleasure as he increased the pace, guiding you with hands and body, pressing each movement. “Look at me… you belong to me,” he murmured between low moans, holding your chin so you’d maintain eye contact.

You surrendered completely, moaning and arching, feeling every stroke, every press, every brush from his body and vines. The climax came fast, inevitable. You arched, screaming his name, and Kinich groaned, holding you tight, body pressed to yours, eyes fixed on yours. “Only you… only mine. Always,” he whispered, caressing your hair and back, ensuring you felt utterly claimed and loved.

7. Lap Sitting (Fem)

You sat on his lap, still clothed, feeling his body’s warmth immediately. Kinich held your waist firmly but gently, vines wrapping lightly around your hips and thighs, keeping you pressed without hurting you.

“Stay like this… just with me,” he murmured, husky and low, green eyes locked on yours. He pressed you closer, hips fitting perfectly, each brush sending silent shivers up your spine.

You moved slightly, grinding against him, and he smiled, holding your hips firmly yet tenderly. “Move just like that… let me feel every reaction,” he said, fingers tracing your back and shoulders carefully, while the vines maintained consistent pressure.

The warmth of his body and the contact of the vines created a mixture of tension and pleasure, even with clothes on. Each calculated touch increased closeness and control. Soft bites landed on your shoulder and neck, gentle but noticeable, reinforcing that he was yours and you were his.

You gasped, feeling his touch intensely even without penetration, bodies pressed, every hip movement synced with his rhythm. “See… you’re mine,” he murmured, holding your chin and pressing you to him, reinforcing silent possessiveness.

He kept you on his lap long enough that each touch, each brush of the vines, each movement left no doubt that only you existed in that moment, totally surrendered to his warmth, intensity, and control.

8. Passionate Slow Burn (Fem)

You leaned against the wall, the air between you thick with tension and restrained desire. Kinich approached slowly, green eyes locked on yours, each movement deliberate, as if prolonging anticipation.

“You know I can’t take my eyes off you,” he murmured, low and husky, a vine sliding gently around your waist, enveloping you without squeezing, simply marking presence.

He leaned to kiss your neck slowly, nibbling lightly, each touch sending shivers up your spine. You gasped, trying to pull away, but the vines and his body kept you in place, unable to escape the heat and intensity rising between you.

“Don’t try to run… every reaction of yours drives me crazy,” he whispered, sliding a hand along your waist and the other along your shoulders, guiding you to press fully against him. Each brush of hips, every touch of fingers, every light bite intensified desire slowly, torturously.

He held your chin, forcing you to meet his green eyes. “You know there’s only you for me, right?” he murmured, mouth near yours, warm breath against your skin. His body heat, the vines, and the silent intensity of his gaze made your heart race, each sensation prolonging the burning tension.

As your bodies pressed closer, you lost yourself in slow, precise touches, silent possessiveness, stifled moans, and the heat climbing gradually. Every motion, every brush, every soft bite signaled mutual belonging, proving pleasure didn’t need rush—it thrived in anticipation, in tension, in prolonged touch.

He held you firmly in his arms, pressing you to him, slow but intentional. “Only you… mine,” he murmured, each second of anticipation a promise of pleasure and surrender meant only for the two of you.

9. Rough Sex (Fem)

You leaned against the wall, breathing hard, Kinich’s green eyes blazing with desire and control. Before you could react, he grabbed your waist, pressing you against him. The vines wrapped around your hips and wrists, tightening lightly, keeping you trapped as he pushed your bodies to the wall.

“You like to tease… now it’s my turn,” he murmured, husky, gripping your hair firmly, guiding your face to meet his. Each tug made you arch, and he smiled, heightening intensity.

He delivered firm spanks to your ass, each one echoing as a reminder that you were completely his. “Move just like this… feel how you’re mine,” he said, entering deeply and quickly, each thrust mixing pain and pleasure, controlling your body with absolute precision.

The vines pressed against hips and waist, guiding every movement, while his other hand gripped your throat lightly, just enough to restrict breathing slightly, making you arch against him, each moan filling your ears.

Soft bites appeared on your shoulders, neck, and collarbone, while he tugged your hair rhythmically, every touch increasing possessiveness. You moaned, arching with each thrust, each spank, each tug, each choke, the intensity of pleasure and surrender overwhelming.

“You’re mine… only mine,” he murmured, green eyes burning, holding your chin so you’d look at him even while gasping. Every brush of his body, every pressure from the vines, every brutal yet desire-laden touch made you surrender fully.

Climax came inevitably, your body shaking, pressed entirely against him, and Kinich groaned shortly after, keeping you trapped, pressed, holding hips, wrists, and hair, breathing heavily, eyes locked on yours. “Always mine… only mine,” he murmured, vines still lightly pressing, reminding you that you were completely his, marked, controlled, and surrendered.

10. Yearning (Fem)

You returned to him, heart racing, legs weak, feeling longing turn into immediate heat at the sight of him. Kinich wasted no time: vines slid around your waist and hips, lightly pressing, keeping you pressed to his body, as if every touch reclaimed lost time.

“You came back… only now I feel I can breathe,” he murmured, husky, green eyes locked on yours, intense as ever. He gripped your hips firmly, pulling you to him, bodies colliding, every contact electric, every brush sending waves of desire.

The kiss began slow, almost hesitant, but quickly became deep, possessive. Soft bites appeared on lips and neck, reminding you he was all there, intense, claiming every inch of you with hands and vines.

He guided you to sit on his lap, lap sitting, bodies pressed, hips moving slowly against his, each pressure and friction calculated to awaken every part of your body. You gasped, hands on his shoulders, feeling the heat, strength, and possessiveness only he could convey.

“No matter how long we were apart… you’re mine,” he murmured, holding your chin so you’d meet his gaze, green eyes burning. Every thrust of hips, every brush, every bite made you surrender even more, the desire held during distance now exploding in intensity.

Pleasure grew fast, intense, inevitable. You arched, moaning loudly, feeling every touch, every pressure, every bite, as he held you firmly, breathing heavily, pressed to you, eyes locked on yours. “Always mine… only mine,” he whispered, caressing your hair and back, ensuring you felt utterly surrendered and loved, as if the time apart only heightened the intensity of your connection.

Neuvillette – D, I, S, Y

1. Dominance (Fem)

He stood in front of you, imposing, posture straight, his clear eyes fixed on yours, analyzing every reaction. The aura of control was almost palpable, and you felt your body respond immediately.

“You seem restless,” he said, voice low and firm, but loaded with an authority that left no room for argument. “I need you to calm down… but not in the way you think.”

You swallowed hard, feeling heat rise. His hand rested lightly on your chin, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. “Look at me,” he ordered, with a tone that brooked no refusal.

When you obeyed, he slid his hand along your side, pulling your body against his. The touch was firm, dominant, but the way his fingers traced your skin showed he knew exactly the effect he had on you.

“Every breath you take… every reaction… all belongs to me as long as I allow it,” he murmured, voice husky, each word calculated to make your body shiver. “Do not move without my permission.”

You felt his hip press subtly but firmly against you—a silent provocation that only heightened your desire.

“Neuvillette…” you started, but he cut you off with a piercing look, gripping your chin tighter.

“You don’t speak now. Just feel,” he said, low and authoritative. “Feel my presence. Every touch, every pressure, every movement…”

He slid his hands along your back, holding you firmly, guiding each movement, every arch, every involuntary tremble of your body. The sensation of being controlled, yet deeply desired, made your heart race and moans escape before you could contain them.

“You like this, don’t you?” he whispered, lips near your ear, warm breath contrasting with the cool firmness of his touch. “Let me see… show me how you respond to my control.”

You arched, obeying without thought, lost between pleasure and the need to yield to his command. Every touch was calculated, firm, and intense, making clear he dictated the rhythm, deciding how far you could lose yourself in that heat.

“Perfect… exactly like that,” he murmured, gripping your waist and pressing his body closer. “You belong to me as long as I decide. Never forget that.”

His body pressing yours, firm and seductive voice, each touch calculated to drive you insane—it was impossible to resist. You were completely in his hands, and he knew it. Every moan, every arch confirmed the absolute control he exerted over you.

2. Identity Swap (Fem)

You stood in front of him, feeling the tension in his body, the clear and firm gaze that normally commanded everything. But today, the situation was different. You approached confidently, leaving no room for objections.

“Today it’s my turn,” you said, voice firm and low, making him frown slightly.

Neuvillette tried to maintain his posture, arms crossed, but his body betrayed him before his mind. “This is… inappropriate and hasty,” he murmured, firm voice, yet the heat rising across his body revealed he was already lost.

You smiled and slid a hand along his waist, kneeling in front of him, looking up with mischievous eyes. His breath quickened, chest rising and falling as he tried to maintain control.

“Don’t try to resist,” you murmured, touching him intimately, letting him feel every movement without breaking eye contact. “Just enjoy…”

He swallowed hard, fingers gripping your hair with delicious pressure, yet not daring to stop you. “I… shouldn’t…” he began, but his voice lost in a low moan as you took him into your mouth. First teasing the tip, then fully taking him in. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, lips swollen, mouth occupied giving pleasure to the man you loved, yet you didn’t pause for a second—taking full control, guiding him with firmness and tenderness simultaneously.

The tension increased with every movement, every sigh, every arch of his body.

“Talk to me… tell me you’ve yielded,” you commanded, firm yet provocative, as you guided his reactions.

“I… I am at your mercy,” he murmured, voice husky, pride forgotten in the face of need. “Do with me as you wish.”

You continued, exploring every reaction, hands in his hair guiding pressure and speed while he lost himself completely in pleasure, powerless under your leadership. Each moan, each sigh, each arch confirmed he was utterly surrendered, willing to obey just to feel the pleasure you provided.

“That… yes… exactly like this,” he murmured as he came, heavy breathing, watching you take every drop of him. “Good girl.”

In the end, he was completely at your mercy, tense yet surrendered, every muscle still responding to your touch, and you smiled, satisfied with absolute control, savoring each reaction as a trophy of your authority over him.

3. Sensory Play (Fem)

The room was silent, lit only by soft light and a few burning candles. The air was warm, scented delicately, and you immediately felt his presence, firm and controlling.

Neuvillette approached slowly, hand sliding over your shoulder, and you shivered at his touch.

“Today… you will feel every sensation I give,” he murmured, voice low, firm, loaded with desire.

He began with a soft feather, slowly brushing your arm, neck, and chest, exploring every reaction. Every shiver was noted, every breath recorded as if a silent instruction.

“Don’t move… just feel,” he ordered, sliding the feather over sensitive skin. “Your reactions guide me.”

You arched instinctively, low moans escaping involuntarily, and he smiled with satisfaction. “Perfect… exactly like that,” he murmured, bringing a hand near a candle, lightly testing the heat on your skin, creating a contrast between hot and cold. You shivered intensely as the warm wax touched you, and he observed every twitch, every breath carefully.

Then silk appeared. He gently tied your eyes, reducing vision but leaving enough to perceive subtle movements. The world disappeared. Each touch, each pressure, each stimulus intensified, and you were completely at his mercy.

“You like what you feel, don’t you?” he whispered in your ear, lips brushing lightly, fingers exploring each sensitive spot, alternating between gentle and firm.

You moaned softly, unable to respond in words. He continued, guiding your hands, sliding candles, silk, and feather over your skin, creating a game of pleasure and anticipation. Every contrast—hot, cold, soft, firm—made your body tremble, each moan confirming his absolute control.

“Stay with me… just feel. Lose yourself in every touch, every sensation,” he murmured, firm and dominant, and you surrendered completely, every muscle responding, every sigh part of his pleasure as well.

When he finally allowed you to remove the blindfold, his eyes met yours, shining with intensity and satisfaction.

“You were perfect,” said Neuvillette, voice soft now, caressing your face. “Every reaction… every moan… all belonged to me.”

You smiled, still feeling the warmth of the touches, the tension released, and the sensation of being completely explored under his control—firm, calculated, and sensual.

4. Yearning (Fem)

When you finally met, the tension built over weeks apart was almost palpable. You saw his gaze—intense, controlled, yet loaded with restrained desire—and your body responded immediately. There were no words, only the slow, almost ritualistic approach that burned with need.

He cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as his clear eyes pierced yours.

“You… are back,” he murmured, voice husky, low, full of repressed desire. “And I won’t let any of this slip away.”

You smiled, pressing your body to his. The heat of skin, the firmness of arms around you—everything was pure need. Slowly, he slid his hands along your body, exploring every curve he’d missed, every reaction imagined during weeks apart.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, pressing his body to yours. Every touch calculated, yet full of urgency. His lips sought yours, the kiss intense, almost desperate, loaded with months of separation.

You felt every move—hands guiding hips, mouth exploring neck, shoulders, every sensitive spot with care and hunger. His breathing heavy, low moans contained, showing how much he needed you.

“You’ve driven me crazy,” he murmured between kisses, gripping your waist tightly. “Every day apart… I only wanted you like this, here with me.”

You arched against him, moans escaping involuntarily, each touch eliciting immediate reactions. Accumulated tension and desire made every motion urgent, every gesture a need for connection, pleasure, and surrender.

When you finally moved together, it was a slow, intense, complete dance. He guided but responded to every arch, every moan, every tremor. No rush—just the feeling of finally being together, feeling warmth, touch, and surrender once more.

Each moment more intense, every kiss deeper, each breath heavier. Pleasure grew with the knowledge that neither would escape this time, that weeks of absence would be repaid in each thrust, each shared moan.

When climax came, it was overwhelming, mutual, consuming, filling the room with heavy breaths, moans, and the sound of bodies united without restraint. He held you firmly afterward, forehead resting against yours, caressing your back, lips touching your forehead in a tender, possessive gesture.

“Don’t let me be away from you again,” he murmured, voice now soft, vulnerable, yet still firmly in control of what you shared.

You smiled, still breathless, holding him close. “Never again,” you replied, finally feeling longing transform into complete surrender, warmth, and connection.

Ororon – G, U, Y

1. Grinding (Fem)

You positioned yourself over him, feeling the heat of his body even through clothes. Ororon lay beneath you, looking up with that provocative smile, but his eyes revealed that your touch was already affecting him.

“You think you can leave me like this… just with that?” he murmured, voice husky, almost pleading.

You smiled and began to grind slowly, feeling his pressure against you increase with every movement. The heat of his body, the firm touch through fabric, made your heart race.

“Think you can resist?” you teased, arching over him, feeling every reaction match your rhythm.

Ororon tried to maintain composure, but low moans and heavier breathing showed he was losing control. “You know exactly what you do to me,” he murmured, voice husky, gripping your waist firmly.

You continued, increasing the pace, exploring every contact, every pressure, guiding the pleasure for both of you. Tension built with each movement, each arch, each sigh. He was completely surrendered, arms holding you tight, each reaction of yours stoking his desire further.

“Faster… don’t stop,” he whispered, almost breathless, yet still trying to maintain control.

You smiled and obeyed, grinding with intensity, feeling heat rise rapidly. Both your moans mingled, his body responding perfectly to your rhythm, every touch increasing mutual need.

When you finally reached the peak, it was together—an intense shiver coursing through both your bodies, heavy breaths, racing hearts. He held you firmly, as if he didn’t want you to escape, while you both adjusted, shared heat and extreme pleasure making everything else irrelevant.

“You… know exactly what you do to me,” he murmured, holding your hip against his, voice low and intense.

You smiled, feeling the connection and heat, knowing that in that moment nothing else mattered but the two of you, touch, pleasure, and mutual surrender.

2. Unrestrained (Fem)

The moment he saw you, the tension built over time exploded instantly. Ororon grabbed you firmly, impatient with any formality. Your bodies pressed together with an almost animal urgency, every touch, every movement screaming the suppressed need of weeks or months apart.

“You… drove me crazy,” he murmured, husky voice, clear eyes shining with desire. “I can’t wait any longer.”

You responded, arching against him, arms holding his neck, feeling his body respond to your touch. Every thrust, every close approach was desperate, intense, as if the world had disappeared and only the two of you remained.

He guided your body urgently, every touch, every thrust heavy with need, almost brutal in its urgency, yet precise enough to make you tremble.

“Stay with me… now,” he ordered, husky voice, every word increasing the heat between you.

You moaned loudly, lost between speed, touch, and warmth, each movement sending pleasure higher. Ororon held nothing back; hands firmly on your waist, pulling you close, light bites on your shoulder, intense kisses that stole your breath.

“More… don’t stop… feel me all the way,” he murmured, every moan of yours confirming total surrender.

The rhythm intensified, urgent, desperate. Each thrust accompanied by moans, arches, and soft, stifled laughter as you both sought release impossible to contain. Pleasure surged like an overwhelming wave, and when it came, it was together—intense, messy, consuming you both completely.

He held you firmly afterward, bodies pressed, heavy breaths, eyes fixed on yours.

“I won’t let you escape again,” he murmured, low voice, still full of need.

You smiled, breathless, feeling every reaction of his, knowing that desperate urgency had only strengthened your connection—intense and impossible to ignore.

3. Yearning (Fem)

When you finally met, the air felt charged with electricity. Every glance between you said it all: longing, desire, and suppressed need that had grown during time apart. Ororon approached slowly, each step firm, as if he couldn’t wait another instant.

“You… disappeared,” he murmured, voice low and husky, each word full of frustration and desire. “And left me waiting… missing every part of you.”

You smiled, moving closer, pressing your body to his, feeling the warmth and urgency.

“I missed you too,” you replied, voice slightly trembling with emotion and desire.

He pulled you closer, pressing against you, and the first exchange of kisses was slow, intense, full of accumulated longing. Every touch of his hands, every slide of fingers along your waist or back, heightened the tension, making your heart race.

“I can’t wait any longer…” he murmured between kisses, lips exploring your neck, shoulder, every sensitive spot he had missed. “I need you now.”

You arched against him, moans escaping involuntarily, every touch raising mutual need. His body responded to yours with urgency, yet retained natural precision, guiding each movement, every gesture of pleasure.

When you finally moved together, it was a slow, intense, almost ritualistic dance. Each touch, each kiss, each arch and moan represented weeks of longing and restrained desire. The rhythm was urgent yet intimate, each thrust guided by the need to finally be together.

“I… missed you in ways… you can’t imagine,” he murmured, husky voice, gripping your waist firmly, guiding every movement.

You arched more, feeling his body respond, moans mixing with yours, intense heat spreading, need finally released. Every touch and motion seemed to say that time apart had only increased desire, and now nothing could prevent total surrender from both of you.

When you finally climaxed, it was together—intense and overwhelming, leaving both breathless, bodies still pressed, heavy breaths and racing hearts. He held you firmly, kissing your forehead, still trying to steady his breathing.

“Don’t disappear again,” he murmured low, voice loaded with intensity and possessiveness.

You smiled, still trembling, feeling that all the time apart had only made this moment deeper, intimate, and necessary.

Pantalone – I, R, U, Y

1. Identity swap (Fem)

You stood in front of him, eyes locked on his, your body provocatively pressed against his. Pantalone tried to maintain his posture, arms crossed, pride evident, but there was something about you that left him vulnerable, almost unable to resist.

“You really think you can control me?” he asked, voice firm, trying to sound authoritative.

You smiled and moved closer, feeling the tension between you. “I don’t think. I know,” you replied, sliding your hands over his body in an intimate, teasing way. “And today, you’ll obey… just so I can make you feel pleasure.”

His body trembled slightly under your touch, fingers restless in his pockets, yet he didn’t push you away. “This is… inappropriate,” he murmured, husky voice betraying that he was already lost even before giving in.

You slowly lowered yourself, bringing your lips to his body, letting him feel your warmth. Each movement was calculated to heighten desire, each soft moan he let slip confirming that he was completely at your mercy.

“No… don’t do this…” he began, but his voice faltered as you ran your tongue and lips with precision, provoking reactions he hadn’t anticipated.

You smiled, knowing his pride wouldn’t last long. “Shh… just feel. Don’t think, don’t resist. Just surrender.”

He breathed heavily, arms falling to his sides, unable to stop you. Each low moan, each arch of his hips showed he was utterly dominated by your touch and control.

“You… know exactly how to drive me crazy,” he murmured, voice low, almost begging. “I shouldn’t… but I can’t stop you.”

You continued, guiding his every reaction, exploring each sensitive spot, each moan, each sigh. The control was completely in your hands, and he was fully surrendered, unable to resist the pleasure you provided.

When it was over, he was panting, body still tense, but his clear eyes revealed vulnerability and desire. You smiled, satisfied with the power you held over him, knowing that even someone as proud as Pantalone could give in when you decided to take control.

2. Rough sex (Fem)

He held you firmly, bodies pressed together, his clear eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

“You think you can tease me like this, and I won’t take what I want?” he murmured, husky, firm, filled with authority and desire.

Before you could react, he tugged your hair lightly, tilting your head back. “Don’t… don’t try to resist. Today, I’m in command,” he said, fingers pressing firmly on your waist, driving each movement against him.

You gasped, unable to deny the urgency he radiated. He alternated soft and firm spanks on your ass, each touch measured yet intense, making you writhe involuntarily.

“Feel… feel what I do to you,” he ordered, voice low and commanding, each word increasing your surrender.

His hands explored every curve, gripping you firmly, pulling you possessively against him. His lips brushed your neck, lightly biting, while a low moan escaped your lips at every unexpected touch.

“This… you like it, don’t you?” he murmured, watching every reaction, every shiver, every arch of your hips. “Don’t try to fool me, I see everything.”

His body guided your rhythm, each thrust calculated to maximize pleasure, while his authority dominated the situation. You were utterly surrendered, every moan, every sigh confirming he was in control.

He increased the intensity, alternating firm spanks with hair tugs, biting your shoulder possessively.

“Stay quiet… just feel. Don’t move without my permission,” he ordered, and you could only obey, fully submissive to the pleasure he provided.

When you finally reached the peak, it was intense, desperate, consuming you both. He held you firmly afterward, breathing heavily, arms still gripping your waist, lips on your neck in a possessive gesture, as if marking the moment entirely his.

“Never doubt… what I want, my girl,” he murmured, low, husky voice, clear eyes fixed on yours, full of intensity and desire.

3. Unrestrained (Fem)

He lay back, eyes fixed on your every movement, clear eyes full of intensity and desire. His hair was tousled, some strands stuck to his forehead with heat and sweat, and every arch of yours made his body react immediately.

“You… you’re perfect like this,” he murmured, husky voice, every word filled with devotion and admiration. “Look at me… how beautiful… how you drive me crazy.”

You arched more, feeling his body completely react to your rhythm, his moans blending with yours, only intensifying urgency. Each touch, each press of his hands on your waist increased pleasure, making you feel he was completely hooked on you.

“Don’t… don’t stop… keep going… just like this,” he whispered, pulling your hips with force, guiding every move as you rode him. “My body… my pleasure… all belongs to you.”

You arched further, his messy hair brushing your face at times, while he murmured continuous praise: “My beautiful… my girl… every moan… every arch… drives me crazy for you.”

The pace intensified, desperate and urgent, every touch and gesture showing total devotion. He held your waist firmly, never trying to control you, just surrendering to each reaction, completely hooked, lost in you.

“You are mine… only mine… never doubt that,” he murmured, husky voice, as pleasure surged overwhelmingly for both. Each moan of yours was a silent command he obeyed, every movement an invitation he couldn’t refuse.

When you finally climaxed together, it was intense and overwhelming, bodies pressed, breath ragged, eyes locked on each other. He continued holding your waist, murmuring praise and devotion, unable to pull away, completely hooked and surrendered to your presence.

4. Yearning (Fem)

The room was bathed in shadow, lit only by a faint light filtering through the curtains. You entered, and he was already there, leaning on the edge of the bed, intense gaze fixed on you. Weeks of distance seemed to vanish instantly.

“Finally… you showed up,” he murmured, husky voice, loaded with frustration and desire. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You smiled, approaching slowly, feeling every muscle react to your movement. “I missed you too… and I’m here to fix that,” you replied, firm, provocative voice.

He advanced quickly, gripping your hips tightly, pressing you against him. “Then prove it… prove you missed me as much as I missed you,” he said, lips brushing your neck, lightly biting, every gesture loaded with urgency.

You arched against him, soft moans escaping, while he alternated light and firm spanks on your ass, hair tugs, and teasing bites on your shoulder. Each touch was intense, messy, desperate, and your body responded automatically.

“Don’t… don’t try to escape now,” he whispered, clear eyes shining with absolute desire. “I’ve been waiting for you… whole, surrendered.”

You gasped, unable to resist, arching further against him. “I… I’m here… only yours,” you murmured, his hands guiding every movement, every touch, every thrust, intensifying urgency.

The pace was frantic, intense, messy, each thrust raising tension, each moan and arch confirming you were lost in pleasure. He held you firmly, pressing his body against yours, alternating firm touches and gentle bites, pulling your hair possessively.

“This… you feel what I feel, don’t you? All this desire… all this need?” he murmured between moans, heavy breathing, body fully responding to yours.

When you finally climaxed together, it was explosive, desperate, intense, leaving you both breathless, still pressed together, heavy breathing, skin burning from pleasure and need finally sated.

He held you tightly, caressing your hair, lips still on your shoulder. “Never make me wait this long again… you’re mine, only mine,” he murmured, low, husky, full of possessiveness.

You smiled, still gasping, feeling every reaction, knowing this moment had been completely unrestrained, desperate, and necessary for both of you, and that neither of you wanted to part.

Scaramouche – H, N, P

1. Heated (Fem)

The argument reached its peak, voices loud, eyes blazing, sharp words neither of you really meant. Then, suddenly, Scaramouche moved. Not with words, but with a fierce kiss, catching you off guard.

You tried to pull back, but he held you firmly against him, pressing you without mercy. His lips moved over yours urgently, hands exploring, tearing down any remaining barrier from the fight.

“Shut up… and feel,” he growled against your mouth, and before you could think, Scaramouche lifted you against the wall, locking your legs around his waist.

The heat between you exploded; every touch was anger transformed into raw desire. You moaned against his lips, lost in the frantic rhythm of the kiss, while his hands aggressively roamed your thighs, pulling your clothes without a hint of gentleness. The cold wall against your back only intensified the scorching heat of his body.

He left no room for you to react. He pushed your clothes aside and, with a swift movement, entered you right there, without warning. The shock made your body arch, a loud moan escaping your lips, but he silenced it with another kiss, dominating every part of you.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, stupid girl?” he murmured between hard, fast thrusts, each loaded with the fury and need spilling over. You clutched his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, as raw pleasure took over, drawing out moans he seemed to love hearing.

The kisses alternated between fierce and desperate, biting your neck, breaths mingling. The fight felt distant — now there was only the sound of your bodies meeting the wall, the frantic rhythm of his thrusts, and the sensation of being completely taken.

With every drive, Scaramouche seemed to prove something, as if through sex he made it clear you were his and no one else’s. And when pleasure surged in waves, the inevitable climax blended with his moan, muffled against your neck.

There, at the peak of fury and desire, you lost yourselves in each other, finding in raw surrender what words could never resolve.

2. Night of drinking (Fem)

The wine bottle was empty, forgotten next to the two glasses. You still felt the warmth of the drink coursing through your veins, making your body light, loose, more sensitive. Scaramouche sat before you, a subtle smile on his face, but his eyes said much more — there was desire, hunger, and a vulnerability he rarely let slip.

When you approached, it was he who pulled first, lips meeting yours in a slow, deep kiss, as if wanting to taste every drop of wine still lingering in your mouth. His hands slid along your waist, slowly tracing the curves of your body, exploring with patience, as if he had all the time in the world.

He carefully laid you down, his weight pressing you to the bed, making you sigh involuntarily. The kisses trailed down, from the corner of your mouth to your neck, then lower, each leaving a path of heat that made your skin shiver. When he finally stopped between your legs, his gaze met yours — intense, as if wanting to see every reaction — before he lowered himself and tasted you with the same luxurious patience of someone savoring rare wine.

You writhed under his tongue, moans escaping uncontrollably, and Scaramouche would only pull back to smile against your skin, then devour you again until he tasted your pleasure. When you trembled, begging for more, he rose again, lips still wet, entering you slowly, deeply, drawing a loud moan from you that he silenced with another kiss.

Each thrust was rhythmic, deep, designed to extract maximum pleasure. He kept one hand firmly on your waist, the other holding your face, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Look at me… don’t look away,” he murmured, and the way he spoke made the heat between your legs intensify even more.

You moved together in perfect sync, as if the wine had tuned every sensation, every breath. Sex was slow and intense, a rise and fall of rhythms — sometimes almost torturous in its calmness, sometimes desperate, as if he couldn’t hold back. Your moans echoed through the room, interspersed with wet kisses, bites, and husky whispers of pleasure.

When you reached your climax, your entire body trembled against his, and Scaramouche kept moving, faster, until he too lost himself in pleasure, hiding a deep moan against your neck.

In the end, he stayed atop you, chest rising and falling quickly, lips never leaving your skin. The scent of wine, sweat, and desire lingered in the air, and in the satisfied silence that followed, you knew: nothing was more addictive than him making love to you that way.

3. Passionate slow burn (Fem)

The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the atmosphere silent and intimate. Scaramouche held your hand gently, his gaze deep, different from any other time.

“Do you want this?” he asked softly, voice filled with care.

“I do.” You replied, smiling. That was all he needed to hear.

The kiss came slow, sweet, his tongue exploring yours in gentle movements, as if there were no hurry at all. He lay over you calmly, hair brushing your face, the closeness almost intoxicating. Every kiss, every touch, seemed designed to show he was fully present.

His hands glided over your skin, removing each piece of clothing slowly, intertwining kisses with every newly exposed part. He lingered on your neck, moving down your chest, biting and sucking softly, making you gasp quietly at each new sensation.

When he finally positioned himself between your legs, he paused again to look into your eyes. The tip of him brushed against you, and he murmured, “May I?” — asking for consent until the very last second.

At your nod, he entered slowly, deeply, making you let out a soft moan that blended with his sigh. The movement was slow, rhythmic, as if he wanted to etch every sensation into your body and soul.

The thrusts were deep, yet unhurried. He moved in your time, kissing your lips, forehead, cheeks, as if marking every part of you with affection. One hand held your waist firmly, guiding the rhythm, while the other caressed your face, keeping your eyes locked.

You felt your entire body heat up, each wave of pleasure building gradually, crafted with patience, no rush to finish. Your moans mixed with wet kisses, husky whispered words between movements — “you’re mine,” “so beautiful like this,” “look at what you do to me.”

The climax arrived slowly, in long, intense waves, making your body shudder beneath his. Scaramouche matched the rhythm, prolonging pleasure, until he too lost himself in you, moaning softly against your mouth.