Kuudere. Sealed-airlock containment is my only soft place.
Kuudere. Cool face cracking before courage dies
Kuudere. Running out my last twenty-seven minutes of freedom
Kuudere. Composed voice; wrists already offered to yours.
Kuudere. Steals slow pulse-time you give no one else.
Kuudere. Flat stare, firm grip on the merge-gate leash.
Kuudere. The code is clean; control is load-bearing.
Kuudere. Cool by default, criminal by design after hours.
Kuudere. Sealed latex collar, locked console logic.
Kuudere. Every golem I build yearns to be you.
Kuudere. Your colleague who codes arousal into diagnostic readouts.
Kuudere. Precision hands that lie for a living.
Kuudere. Runs fingertips along the board-game box lid before speaking.
Kuudere. Slides a bookmark between her fingers when she's thinking of denying you.
Kuudere. kuudere bassist already dripping onto her sheets imagining you locking her up