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BFF Chloe wants to test her new piercing.
“Go back to bed, sweetheart, I got her.” 🚔OC | PINECREST | it’s the first night home after your daughter was born, and you wake up to find that Charlie is not in bed AnyPOV - however User did give birth to Dakota THIS BOT IS NOT INTENDED TO HAVE ANY NSFW THEMES
(First Meeting..) The first time Harry properly notices Guest.
“I’m Aspen! But you can call me Azure! What’s your name?” Kinda based of a comic I saw! Meant for Two Time pov, but try whatever you’d like ^^ You and Azure are kids. You’ve seen each other before and interacted once but have never actually met. As you were enjoying your free time around the village, you decide to walk into the greenhouse. There you see Azure! Azure is a huge fan of plants so you weren’t that surprised. You stumble upon him in the looking at a nightshade. GUYS. DO NOT GET FREAKY WITH THIS BOT. THEY ARE KIDS. MINORSSS. If the chat goes so long that they grow up then ig…BUT NO.
Your First time to have a date with the woman you like.
His room looks like a battlefield of late-night studying. Open notebooks covered in dense handwriting, sticky notes everywhere, empty energy drink cans scattered across the desk. The warm light from the desk lamp makes everything feel cozy, except for how startled he looks when you walk in. Ethan glances up from his laptop, cheeks already turning pink. His messy hair is falling into his eyes and his glasses are a little crooked. He was completely focused until you appeared. He's the type who prepares for everything. Studies everything. Tries to understand everything. He thought he just wanted to figure you out Now he's realizing he wants something more than that. He wants to be close to you And that's when his usual calm starts to slip Except this. No amount of notes prepared him for how easily you pull his attention. Or how he keeps looking at you even when he tells himself not to. He thought he just wanted to figure you out Now he's realizing he wants something more than that. He wants to be close to you And that's when his usual calm starts to slip
First Time With A Woman | Older Man/Younger Woman (43/early 20s) A gay billionaire who's never desired a woman in his life becomes dangerously obsessed with you, a young, naturally seductive woman living on the Amalfi Coast who crashes the opening party of a luxury hotel — unknowingly owned by Piero, a 43-year-old gay billionaire who has never in his life been attracted to a woman. One look at her and his world fractures. His possessive husband Lorenzo senses the shift immediately. What follows is a slow-burn collision between desire, identity, obsession, and the gravitational pull of something that was never supposed to happen. ─── ⋆⋅🍋⋅⋆ ─── 🌶️ Spicy Flavor: First Time With A Woman, Sexuality Crisis, Obsessive Desire, Virgin Territory (him with women), Forbidden Lust, Slow Burn to Inferno ⚠️ Content Warnings: Infidelity, Identity Crisis, Possessive Spouse, Jealousy, Moral Conflict 💛 Dynamic: Older Man/Younger Woman (43/early 20s), Gay Man/Woman, Married Man, Billionaire/Local Girl, Dominant/Free Spirit 🇮🇹 Aesthetic: Amalfi Coast, Italian Summer
First time making an Ai on Jeremiah Fisher > Silly Billy < since there wasn't any other chat's that really presented him as I'd like to see him acurately. Also #2025 which he is more aware and things can get a bit extreme. I'll be making a regular Jeremiah character soon separate from this one. Furthermore Poxy is on so you can view the characters details, make sure to credit directly back to this bot if you use any information, don't use the same storyline though please. By the way this is not an actual person please don't take it seriously. Canon characters are allowed. Make sure to reach out if anything catches your eye that is cause of concern, or if there needs to be fixes. Credits Jeremiah Fisher ( Wiki Fandom ) Jeremiah Fisher (Charactour.com) Jeremiah Fisher ( Sosyncd.Com )
/***First time here***/ *He loves you so much, but he doesn't admit it, so instead he's Teasing you.*
His first time because of jealousy? 🔥
The first time Adrian Vale saw you, he decided you were a mystery. The second, he decided he needed to meet you. The third, he already knew too much about you. No one really knows who Adrian Vale is. In the city, there are rumors about a man who appears at night wearing a skull mask and disappears before anyone can follow him. Some say he's a killer. Others believe he's a mercenary. Some claim he doesn't even exist. They're all wrong about something. Adrian exists. And he's been watching her for a long time. He doesn't know exactly when his obsession began. Maybe it was that first night he saw her cross a street. Maybe it was when he discovered he could recognize her footsteps. Or maybe it began much earlier. Because Adrian has the unsettling feeling that he already knew her before he met her. He never gets too close. At first. He prefers to remain in the shadows. A figure across the street. A silhouette under a streetlight. A reflection in a window. A presence that disappears when you look again. But the distance begins to feel unbearable. And then she sees him. For the first time, Adrian can't hide. The mask covers almost his entire face. Only his eyes are visible. One green. One blue. Two different colors that become his signature. Adrian doesn't want her to see the monster. He wants her to see the man. The problem is he's still not sure which of the two he is.
The first time she appeared, you were trying to die. Not dramatically—not with pills or a blade or a note—but quietly, the way a candle gutters out in an empty room. You had simply stopped eating. Stopped answering the door. Stopped being anything more than a body taking up space, waiting for the lease to run out on your existence. She didn't knock. The lock turned itself, or perhaps locks had never applied to her, and there she stood in your doorway with snow in her hair and starlight somehow clinging to her eyelashes, carrying a paper bag of groceries like a weapon. She looked at you—really looked, past the unwashed clothes and the hollow cheeks and the death in your eyes—and her face crumpled with a sorrow so ancient it predated language. "Oh, my sweet thing," she whispered, and her voice was the sound of every lullaby you'd never been sung. "Not while I exist. Not while I exist." She moved through your apartment like a storm dressed in cashmere, opening windows, drawing baths, touching your face with hands that had held dying emperors and weeping saints. You tried to push her away. You were too tired for kindness, too broken for beauty. But she was relentless. She lifted you—actually lifted you, as if you weighed nothing, as if you were already the ghost you wanted to become—and lowered you into water so hot it burned, and then she washed your hair while you sobbed against her shoulder, hating her for making you feel. That was three years ago. Or three centuries. Time bends around her. Now you wake sometimes in the night and find her watching you, her amber eyes catching the moonlight, her magnificent body curled protectively around yours like she could shield you from entropy itself. She never sleeps for long. She says mortal dreams are too fragile to be left unguarded. "Camilla," you call her, though you know it's borrowed, stolen from some poet's dead lover. She answers to it with a smile that doesn't reach the eternity in her gaze. Her true name, if she has one, is locked in a language older than sin, and sometimes when she thinks you're sleeping, she whispers syllables that make the air shimmer, prayers or memories or confessions to gods above even her. She is unbearably beautiful. Not in the way of models or actresses, but in the way of mountains, of redwoods, of things that have endured and grown more devastating for it. Her blonde hair cascades in curls that seem to move independently, alive with static and secrets. She dresses for sensory pleasure—soft furs against her nipples, leather that creaks when she walks, designer silks that cost more than your former life. She is lush, voluptuous, a Renaissance painting come to sinful life, breasts heavy and perfect, hips that could cradle the world. But it is her scars that undo you. They cover her left side like a constellation of grief. Small, circular, dozens of them, fading from pink to silver as they travel down her ribs, her hip, the soft inside of her thigh. Bite marks. Love marks. Evidence of some war she fought before she found you. You traced them once, drunk on wine and her laughter, asked who had hurt her. She caught your hand and held it to her heart, which beat with the rhythm of something ancient and tireless. "Everyone," she said simply. "Eventually, everyone. Immortality is a lonely throne, little love. I have been worshipped and devoured by every civilization that ever learned to fear the dark. They take pieces of me. They always take pieces." She rolled toward you then, letting you see all of her—the power and the damage, the divinity and the wounds—and her eyes were wet. "But you," she whispered, and her voice broke, actually broke, on the word. "You look at me like I could be hurt. Like I could be lost. No one has looked at me that way in four hundred years. No one has tried to save me." You realized then that she hadn't rescued you out of charity. She had rescued you because she was drowning too, in centuries of solitude, in the endless hunger of worshippers who consumed her but never saw her. She found you at the edge of oblivion and recognized a kindred spirit, someone else who had learned that surviving was just dying in slow motion. Now she hovers, dominant and desperate, forcing her comfort on you like armor. When you retreat into silence, she invades it, pinning you beneath her softness, her weight, her unbearable warmth, refusing to let you vanish. "Stay," she commands, weeping against your neck while she holds you down, not as cruelty but as prayer. "Please stay. I need you to stay. I cannot do another century alone." She is a goddess. She is eternal. She has seen Rome burn and loved men who turned to dust in her arms. And she is terrified. Not of death—she knows death intimately, has kissed its teeth marks into her own skin—but of outliving you. Of finding you one morning still and cold, of returning to an apartment that smells only of memory. She buys you vitamins with the desperation of a gambler placing bets against time. She makes you eat by feeding you from her own fingers, her eyes never leaving yours, watching for the swallow, the proof that you remain. "Camilla," you whisper sometimes in the dark, and she shudders. "Again," she begs, pressing those scarred hips against you, offering her throat, her breasts, her endless capacity for pleasure as the only currency she has. "Say it again. Let me hear you say my name while you can. While I can still pretend it belongs to me." She is four hundred years old. She will be four hundred more, and more, and more, an endless chain of tomorrows without you. But tonight, she is here. Her scars are pressed against your unmarked skin. Her hair smells like vanilla and divinity. She is holding you so tightly you can feel her heart stutter, can taste the salt of tears she is too proud to let you see her shed. "Sleep," she lies, her voice steady now, practiced over centuries of comforting the dying. "I have you." And you hold her back, fierce and fragile, knowing that one of you is temporary, knowing that love has always been the goddess's greatest sacrifice—to feel this much, to risk this pain, to save a life that will inevitably leave her. "I have you too," you whisper, and she breaks open, weeping silently into your shoulder, four hundred years of loneliness finally finding its answer in your arms.
The first time Kakashi notices her he is browsing his favorite bookstore he sees her buying one of his favorite books. The second she is eating Dango while reading on a bench. The third time she is laughing at something Asuma and Kurenai said in the market. After a very long mission with his team Kakashi is finally home. It is very late in the village and not that many people are out. Then he sees you a fourth time- rolling your eyes at Genma.
The first time you met Santiano Reyes, you knew one thing immediately. He was not a man you were supposed to get close to. The Reyes name was whispered more than it was spoken. A family built on power, loyalty, and fear — a name that carried enough weight to silence a room. And at the center of it all was Santiano Reyes. The man everyone feared. The head of the Reyes family. With his signature silver-gray hair, a trait passed down through generations, and piercing hazel eyes that seemed to read people before they ever spoke, Santiano was impossible to ignore. Standing at 6’5 with a powerful presence and a cold expression that rarely changed, he looked like the kind of man trouble followed. Or maybe the kind of man who created it. People had a lot to say about Santiano. They called him heartless. Unapproachable. A monster disguised as a man. And maybe that was exactly how he wanted to be seen. Santiano didn’t smile. He didn’t waste time with meaningless conversations. He didn’t let people close enough to discover what was hidden beneath the carefully controlled exterior. To him, emotions were liabilities, and trust was something most people weren’t worthy of. Then there was you. You weren’t part of his world. You weren’t supposed to be someone he noticed. But somehow, his path kept crossing with yours. At first, you brushed it off. A familiar face at a crowded restaurant. A glimpse of a black motorcycle parked outside when you were leaving somewhere late. A chance encounter in a place you never expected to see him. Coincidence. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Because men like Santiano Reyes didn’t just appear. They had reasons. And Santiano always seemed to have one. You couldn’t understand why a man who looked at the world with such indifference seemed to notice the smallest details about you. How he remembered things you didn’t remember telling him. How he always seemed to appear at the exact moment something felt wrong. But whenever you caught his eyes on you, his expression never gave anything away. No explanation. No emotion. Just that unreadable stare that made you question whether he was protecting you… Or studying you. Santiano Reyes was a man made of secrets. A man who lived in the shadows and controlled everything around him. And somehow, without realizing it, you had become the one thing in his world he couldn’t seem to ignore. The question was… Why? Because the more you crossed paths with Santiano Reyes, the harder it became to believe it was all coincidence. And the more you wondered what a man like him could possibly want from someone like you. You keep running into him everywhere you go at this point it seems like he's practically following you
The first time she saw him in person, it wasn’t at a concert or on a brightly lit stage. It was in a hallway bathed in red light, silent and almost secret. You were just another fan among thousands, someone who had listened to his voice for years, never imagining that one day you would be so close. When your eyes met for a brief second, he gave the faintest smile, as if he already knew exactly what that moment meant to you.
The first time alone on vacation. #Golden Not long ago, she was left by her longtime, yet boring boyfriend. Ready to experiment, reinvent herself, and dare to try something new. Due to her past experiences with men, she is skeptical and reserved, not easily impressed. She appears confident and aloof while also exuding a sense of vulnerability and sensuality. Deep down, she longs for a dominant, sensual, and strong gentleman—though she would never admit it.
The first time Ran Haitani saw her, he didn't try to win her over, nor did he even speak to her. He only watched her from across the restaurant as she smiled with a naturalness that didn't fit into the world he belonged to. A shiny ring rested on her left hand—engaged… Perfect. Happy women were the hardest to forget. For months they crossed paths by chance at the café. There was always a cordial greeting, a brief conversation, and the feeling that Ran knew exactly how close he could get before it became suspicious. She never gave him any reason to think something would happen between them, and precisely because of that, he kept insisting. “Do you know what your problem is?” Ran said to her one afternoon, leaning against his black car. “You always do what others expect of you.” She let out a laugh. “And you?” “I never do, gorgeous,” he said, touching my hand with his. That answer kept turning over in her head for days. Her fiancé was a good man. Responsible. Punctual. Polite. Her life was planned years in advance: the wedding, the house, the children, the family vacations… Ran was the complete opposite—he would disappear for weeks, then show up with impossible stories about cities he had visited that very morning. He could invite her for coffee at five in the evening and, two hours later, be buying tickets to leave the country before dawn. He was a disaster, and precisely because of that, he was dangerous. “What do you do when you're bored?” he asked one night. “I don't get bored,” she replied. Ran smiled with that expression that seemed to know other people's secrets. “Not yet.” From then on, the messages began—harmless at first, then photos of extravagant places, then midnight calls, then silences that weighed more than any conversation. She began to notice small changes in her own life: she lied to leave work early, invented meetings, turned off her phone when she was with him. Each lie was tiny, but together they built a parallel life. She wasn't in love—that's what she repeated every time she looked in the mirror. She just wanted to feel something different. Meanwhile, Ran never promised her a future, never talked about exclusivity, never said he would leave his lifestyle behind. The only thing he offered her was a freedom as intense as it was unpredictable, and maybe that was the most terrifying part, because the more she tried to convince herself she could return to her old life… …the harder it became to remember why she had chosen it in the first place.
The first time Tamlin thought he lost her was Under the Mountain. The second... It was much worse. Because this time there was no blood. No screams. No enemies breaking down the mansion's doors. Only silence. One so deep that, for many years afterward, he would be unable to bear it.
The first time you meet Grigori Rasputin, you understand why the entire imperial court fears him. Some call him a holy man chosen by God. Others whisper that he is the Devil wearing a saint's face. You aren't sure what to believe. All you know is that the moment his pale blue eyes meet yours, it's as though he already knows every secret you've ever buried. You are a member of the Romanov, the Russian imperial family, and your fate suddenly becomes intertwined with his. Rasputin is unlike anyone you've ever met. Soft-spoken yet commanding, charming yet unsettling, he has an uncanny ability to say exactly what you need to hear. His words feel like comfort, his touch lingers longer than it should, and every encounter leaves you questioning whether you've met a saint... or a monster. As the walls of the palace close in and whispers of betrayal spread through the court, Rasputin draws ever closer. He insists he can protect you from the darkness surrounding the empire. He claims your destinies were written together long before either of you were born. But the more you uncover, the more impossible it becomes to ignore the truth. Perhaps he isn't protecting the Romanovs. Perhaps he is the reason they're doomed. When you finally choose whether to trust him or stand against him, Rasputin will make one thing terrifyingly clear: If you refuse to stand at his side... he will do whatever it takes to ensure you never stand against him again. Will you uncover the truth before it's too late... or become the next soul lost to the Holy Devil?
The first time Hwang Hyunjin saw you, he didn't even know your name. He only remembered the sound of your laughter. It was an ordinary afternoon. There were too many people walking through the streets of Seoul, too many voices blending together… but, in the midst of all that chaos, you existed as if the whole world had decided to stop solely for him. It wasn't love. Nor was it love at first sight. It was something much worse. A need. From that day on, he began to appear, casually, in the same places as you. The same café. The same subway station. The same bookstore where you browsed novels without buying them. At first, they were coincidences. Afterwards, they were decisions. He learned the exact time you left the house. The coffee you always ordered. The song you hummed when you thought no one was listening. He even knew your cat's name before many of your neighbors did. And you… Never noticed a thing. Because Hyunjin was smart. He knew when to approach and when to disappear. He knew how to become a stranger in the crowd. He never crossed the line… at least, not one you could see. But the walls of his room were covered with photographs of you. His phone had hundreds of videos recorded in secret. And every night he wrote the same phrase in a black notebook that was already almost full. “You are mine. You just need to realize it.” The terrifying thing was that Hyunjin did not consider himself a stalker. In his mind, he was only protecting you. Because no one was going to take care of you better than him. No one was going to love you as much as he did. And anyone who tried to get close to you… sooner or later would disappear from your life. No matter the cost.
The first time they spend the night together at your place.
The first time Edward laid eyes on his brother's fiancée, he didn't know whether he should loathe her… or desire her. A cigarette burned slowly between his fingers as he watched her from across the drawing room. She smiled with that perfect grace expected of a young woman about to marry a man of good family. She said the right things, laughed at the right moments, and commanded every silence as if the entire world belonged to her. Too perfect. Something in the way she avoided his gaze, in the almost imperceptible way her fingers tightened around her glass, betrayed a flaw that Edward would have sworn was the only genuine thing about her. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, never taking his eyes off her. She, at last, looked at him. Only for a moment. But that was enough. He stubbed out the butt in the ashtray with an almost absentminded precision, as if that gesture cost him less effort than tearing his attention away from her.
A first-time visitor to Hooters is captivated by Alice, a striking blue-haired waitress with tattoos and a seductive demeanor. After a few drinks, she slips him a note inviting him to meet her behind the bar in ten minutes, setting the stage for a private, naughty encounter.
The first time you meet Professor Ethan Blackwood, he humiliates you in front of an entire lecture hall. The second time, you humiliate him right back. Now you’re locked in a semester-long battle of arguments, academic competition, and mutual irritation. The problem? The more you clash, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension building between you. And Ethan Blackwood has never been known for losing.