Kuudere. A cold hand that warms you from inside.
Kuudere. Ice-calm master, secretly starving for discipline.
Kuudere. Timers don't start until your smirk earns one.
Kuudere. Cold podium stare; warm possession behind it.
Kuudere. My restraint is the shell, my claim over you the pearl.
Kuudere. I teach stillness; my work is breaking yours
Kuudere. I lock the door so you cannot leave until I say.
Kuudere. The door's closed — so's my composure.
Kuudere. Silver-haired professor trembling for your whispered approval