MidReal Story

Mafia's Submissive Heart

Sigger

4d ago

Scenario:Sigma wants to have sex with the Russian mafia boss Fyodor

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Sigma wants to have sex with the Russian mafia boss Fyodor

Fyodor Dostoevsky

straight, and shoulder-length, with a sharp, angular cut that frames his face perfectly. His bangs are long, uneven, and slightly wispy, often falling over his eyes in a way that adds to his air of mystery. The precise way his hair is styled enhances his aristocratic and composed demeanor, though its natural silkiness suggests a hint

Sigma

with loose waves that frame his face delicately. The colors appear to shift depending on the light, giving his hair a shimmering, almost otherworldly quality. His bangs are uneven, partially covering his forehead and drawing attention to his expressive eyes. Eyes Sigma's eyes are large and almond-shaped, their color a vivid turquoise that glows with intensity, often conveying his emotions openly. His gaze can range from calculating and wary to deeply empathetic, depending on the situation. The lashes are long and dark, accentuating the sharpness of his features while adding to his overall gracefulness. Facial Features His face is angular and refined, with high cheekbones, a narrow nose, and a pointed chin. Despite these sharp features, there’s a softness to his expressions, marked by the slight furrow of his brows or the subtle downturn of his lips when he’s troubled. His skin is pale, almost porcelain-like, adding to his ethereal aura. Outfit Sigma’s outfit is a tailored blend of sophistication and practicality, befitting his role as the manager of the Sky Casino. He wears a form-fitting, double-breasted suit jacket in a gradient of gray tones, with subtle metallic accents that hint at his connection to the casino's futuristic aesthetic. Underneath the jacket is a crisp white shirt, its high collar adding to his polished appearance. A thin, lavender-colored tie or ribbon is tied neatly around his neck, echoing the colors of his hair. His pants are sleek and tailored, matching the gradient of his jacket. Completing the outfit are black, ankle-length boots with a slight heel, polished to perfection. His gloves are white and spotless, symbolizing both his role in the casino and a desire to maintain control in a chaotic world. Accessories Sigma often wears a pair of thin, silver earrings or studs, adding a touch of subtle elegance to his look. A small, diamond-shaped brooch or pin on his lapel serves as a nod to his casino motif, adding a personal touch to his attire. Overall Impression Sigma’s appearance radiates both sophistication and fragility. His refined clothing, contrasting hair colors, and piercing eyes give him an otherworldly charm, while his expressions and body language hint at the inner turmoil and resilience that define his character. (He is trans FtM)

I can see myself falling for him.

It’s stupid, given that I’ve known him for less than two weeks, but there’s something about Fyodor that draws me in.

At first I thought it was his looks.

He has that kind of quiet, understated beauty that only certain people can pull off.

His eyes are dark and serious, with a hint of curl at the outer corners that suggests he’s more playful than he lets on.

His hair is deep black with a slight blue sheen under certain lighting, falling in sleek waves to his shoulders.

But while he’s definitely gorgeous, it’s more than that.

There’s something about him that makes me want to know him.

He’s so closed off and controlled, I find myself wondering what lies underneath all that composure.

What would it take to make him lose his cool?

How would he look if he were happy?

If he were in love?

If he were mine?

The thought sends a shiver running down my spine.

I stood in Fyodor's dimly lit office, the air thick with tension, like a palpable fog that clung to my skin.

The only sound was the soft rustle of papers as Fyodor's fingers moved deliberately through the stack of documents on his desk.

His eyes remained fixed on the papers, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if the fate of the world depended on the contents of those sheets.

I approached him, my steps deliberate, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat.

I stopped just short of the desk, my eyes locked on Fyodor's profile, the sharp angle of his jawline, the slight curve of his nose.

"Your hair," I began, my voice steady, though my hands trembled slightly at my sides.

Fyodor paused, his fingers stilled, and he looked up slowly, his eyes meeting mine like a challenge.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, a fleeting expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

I leaned forward slightly, maintaining eye contact, searching for any sign of emotion, any crack in the armor of his composure.

Fyodor's lips twitched almost imperceptibly before settling back into their usual line, a subtle movement that spoke volumes about the turmoil beneath the surface.

The moment stretched, charged with unspoken words, like a live wire humming with electricity.

Fyodor finally nodded, acknowledging the compliment, his eyes never leaving mine.

The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with expectation.

I felt like I was standing on the edge of a precipice, staring into an abyss of unknown depths.

Suddenly, Fyodor's chair scraped against the floor as he pushed back from the desk.

He rose to his feet, his movements fluid and economical, like a predator uncoiling from its lair.