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ninibeingdelulu · 8 months ago

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How he react when you…

ft. leon kennedy, cloud strife, zack fair, simon “ghost” riley

How he react when you kiss/lick/nibble his earlobe/neck/jaw.

Leon Kennedy -

The hardened former rookie cop would freeze completely still at the first intimate swipe of your tongue along the wiry tendon of his neck. Eyes fluttering shut, Leon would fight back a full-body shudder, teeth gritting as that rugged jaw twitches with mounting restraint.

As your nibbles and caresses increased against the sensitive flesh behind his ear, his calloused palms would clench into white-knuckled fists. Battling the ingrained instinct to defensively seize and subdue like with any other threat. Until, at last, Leon can resist no longer.

A strangled rumble erupts from his broad chest as he twists with feline grace to back you against the nearest solid surface. Pupils blown wide with smoldering hunger, he braces one strong forearm by your head as the other hand cups your nape with surprising tenderness despite the desperation ravening behind each fevered caress of his lips along your jawline. The first of many tremors to rack your entire frame that night.

Cloud Strife -

The stalwart AVALANCHE mercenary lurches as if jolted by a live current when the first pass of your tongue grazes that sensitive spot below his jaw. Spiky blond brows knit sharply over those blazing mako-tinged eyes squeezing shut on a guttural groan torn straight from his diaphragm.

Though his initial fists clench at his sides instinctively, Cloud permits no further retaliation - whether physical or to extract himself from your wandering affections. Quite the opposite, in fact. His head lolls aside, granting you ample access to continue feathering scorching kisses and teasing flicks of your tongue along the sensitive column of his throat.

Only once your relentless sensual torment threatens to buckle those powerful thighs entirely does Cloud shudder and haul you flush against him with dizzying abruptness. Equal parts possessive and reverent, he claims your parted lips in a soul-searing kiss, broad palms framing your face like a precious treasure as he savors every ardent swirl of your twined tongues.

Zack Fair -

That blinding, boyish smile wouldn't dim one iota as your teasing ministrations first make contact. At least, not outwardly. Inside, however, Zack's breath would leave him in a harsh gust as electricity lances up his spine from the languid glide of your mouth torturing that sensitive zone.

Far from the fierce, untamed passion of some of his counterparts, Zack would be endearingly awestruck and bashful at the outpouring of tenderness behind such a simple act. His fingers would splay tenderly through your hair, those sparkling blue eyes crinkling at the corners with unbridled adoration as you eagerly bestow your affections over every inch of accessible flesh.

Inevitably, he'd succumb to the smoldering fog of arousal steadily consuming every rational thought. Zack's doting caresses would roam freely along the sculpted planes of your body, lavishing you in turn with a breathless reverence and earnestness reserved for only you until the lines blurred completely between worshiper and revered.

Ghost -

One glimpse of that icy blue glare, and you'd know the elite marksman's mind was already whirring through a dozen calculated scenarios and counterattacks as soon as your lips made contact. Every toned muscle would go rigid, coiled like a cobra ready to strike or retreat at the first suspicious provocation.

Until, of course, realization trickles through that predatory hyper-alertness - this tantalizing torment stems from no external threat whatsoever, only the exquisite onslaught of pleasure steadily unravelling his razor-sharp restraint. As your roving mouth brands a searing path along Ghost's neck and jaw, his broad shoulders would slump minutely, permitting the faintest hitch of an indrawn breath to escape those chapped lips.

No vocalized encouragement or returned passion yet; such overt displays would likely always be suppressed lest they expose potential weaknesses to be exploited in the field. But like a silent storm front rolling in, Ghost's heated stare would spark with a new, tangible intensity wholly untamed and promising of the inevitable downpour still to come at your unhurried pace.

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the-warmest-machine · 1 day ago

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Neve Gallus - Character Design Analysis

Neve knows how an outfit builds character, whether it's to project a genuine or false perception of the wearer. All her clothes are designed to convey "wealthy and powerful mage" as a safeguard. In this analysis, we'll take a look at Neve's Dragon Coat and point out details, symbolism, and intention with design—all under the cut.

Asymmetry

The first aspect to cover is the asymmetry in Neve's overall design. Not pictured, her bun is uncentered. Pictured, her coat is raised higher above the left thigh, and her hat sits at an angle while the veil creates a dividing line across her face. Her bangs act like a veil of their own as well.

Asymmetry in a character suggests they're dynamic, unconventional, nonconformist in some capacity, willing to behave outside of the box, etc. You can see that reflected through Neve's willingness to work with the Threads, to skip ritual protocol (re: her conversation with Emmerich), her work-life imbalance, and how she's open and teasing with the companions despite her archetype. You'd expect a jaded and cynical detective to be more gritty and detached, but Neve is soft and engaging once she's beyond her initial assessment of each companion.

Returning to the coat's left side: I would guess the raised adjustment's purpose is visual compensation, to bring attention away from her prosthetic. It's easy to notice the length difference with a still, but when she's walking and in motion, it's not something you pay attention to. The devs mentioned they wanted her prosthetic to be treated like an average part of her, and they succeeded.

Thematic Imagery

The major imagery shown above is a butterfly. Butterflies represent metamorphosis. Change. And that's exactly what Neve endeavors to enact for Dock Town. Her scarf's knots create the head, around her neck are the antennae, and the braided tails form the body. Her collar and lapels shape the wings, while the curving leather and embroidered gold are reminiscent of a monarch's pattern.

The secondary major image are the wings, created from her shoulder pads with unfurled feathers beneath them. Wings typically represent freedom. In Neve’s case, this freedom relates to her city.

Combined, the butterfly and wing visuals symbolize transformation taking flight and paving a course for a better Dock Town.

Tevinter Symbols

Recurring motifs include snakes (belt, cobra prosthetic, scaled earring) and diamonds, both symbols heavily used by the Tevinter Imperium. They serve as provocative and centering design elements at face value.

The diamond adorning her back reminds me of a coiled snake; the end curl would be a tapering tail. Scales are embossed in the leather for a tasteful touch. Or maybe the shape represents a dragon, because the crowns adjacent from the diamond look like feet? It is called the Dragon Coat, so maybe it's a dragon's butt.

I've debated about whether the tiny, gold diamonds with tails are of significance, but they could very well be simple elements to break up monotony. Theories on what they could represent include the Wall of Light, architecture, fangs, or scales. Perhaps they're pins for case notes? Girl is on point and also kind of a disaster. I can imagine her pinning random notes and categorizing them by what layer they're pinned to.

Utility

Neve has options to choose from when it comes to keeping detective gear on her person, which shows her practicality. It pays to look good, and it pays even more to have fashion be useful.

The Dragon Coat's description itself mentions many pockets to stash case notes. The pockets are likely on the inside of her sleeves. Attached to her waist is a compact pouch with two objects slotted into the adjacent holders (could be writing utensils).

Again, if those diamond tears are pins... you can see the potential for stashing even more notes.

Neve's cobra prosthetic is part of every outfit, but I wanted to showcase its degree of function under utility. The ankle was designed as a hinge. This gives her improved mobility, which of course includes stretching. It most likely becomes uncomfortable after long durations of use; you can often see her weight shifted to her left leg and checking on her right leg. The entire prosthetic design is on point, and the extra attention to detail is exquisite.

Color

Turqoise.* In every companion outfit available, there is turqoise. I would say she "just likes turqoise," but that doesn't align with how she searches for deeper meaning in the subtle things. So for analysis' sake.... The color itself compliments Neve's playfulness and creates contrast to Dock Town's more or less neutral palette. It's a fun, vibrant color that makes a statement. It's also shared by the Shadow Dragons.

While Neve can be intimidating and is a badass, she's light and idealistic at heart—if you dig deep enough. All cynics at one point held hope in high esteem, before they were proven wrong one too many times, or maybe in one heinous letdown.

(*As a disclaimer, the color may not actually be turqoise. The symbolism as a vibrant and saturated color stays the same though, whatever the case.)

And… that brings us to the end of examining Neve’s Dragon Coat and what it shows us about her character. Any other thoughts, please share!

#Neve gallus #character analysis #datv #da: the veilguard #Veilguard #dragon age #neve

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hyenafu · 1 month ago

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That's what Rhea gets for transforming with eyelids instead of eyecaps 💔🐍

#slightly damned #sdamned #spicy stuff #hypnosis #blushing #coiling #coiled #snake #serpent #cobra #rhea snaketail #cactus cobra #kieri #kieri suizahn #angel #funny #consent

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yetanotherlesbianonthiswebsite · 8 months ago

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An overly complicated analysis of everything we know about Neve Gallus in canon, as well as some additional thoughts of mine on the themes surrounding her (because I am so gay for her already)

1. Canon information

- Her age is, as of yet, unknown. In the Tevinter Nights story The Streets of Minrathous, narrated in the first-person perspective by Neve, we read “He greeted me with a dismissive ‘young lady’ that made me think he’d forgotten my name” (216). However, this is a description by an older man, whose nephew is alive long enough that his “parents had disowned him years ago” (213). In another passage of the story, the following can be read: “The man was a con artist I’d turned in the year before. To be fair, he’d nearly gotten me killed the year before that, so we were even” (221). We can therefore be certain that she has engaged successfully in detective work for at least two years, and has likely been doing so for a while. We do not know when the story is set, neither do we know anything about the parallel stories of “The Wigmaker Job” and “Luck in the Gardens”. We get the information that a Venatori cultist was wearing clothes that are fading (220), and that the cult had long since lost much standing in society; it has likely been quite a number of years since 9:42. At the same time, we know of a Qunari invasion in the eastern part of the Tevinter Empire from 9:44/45 onward, with several major cities falling to the invaders. Neve describes the catacombs as “a place to hold a year’s worth of food and supplies, securing the city’s survival in case of blight or Qunari invasion” (232). A woman as observant and politically savvy as her would likely not frame an invasion as that much of a hypothetical in case of an ongoing war. It is reasonable to assume that the story takes place sometime around the middle of the forties. Which means that by the events of Veilguard, in the middle of the fifties, we should expect Neve to have had at least twelve years of experience as a private investigator, which places her likely age at minimum in the early thirties. (Not that I am hoping for anything 40 or upward, no, there is no MILF agenda here)

- She describes the manor of a rich man as “a residence nowhere near the third-rate bookseller where I rent a room” (216), locating her residence both outside of the rich parts of town, and informing us that she does not have the greatest of means.

- Likewise, we learn that her “family has more templars than mages. I’m sure that says a lot about me. The point is, I’m not from an old family and I felt as at home in Lady Varantus’s house as Jahvis looked” (218). Within the rigid social hierarchies of Tevinter, she is privileged by magehood, but not by blood. To the degree that Tevene social classes can be broken down so neatly into stratified categories, she seems to be somewhere in the lower ranks of the middle class.

- She is canonically disabled; an amputee wearing a prosthetic leg made of dwarven metal (215). In the comic The Missing #4, we see her prosthetic, it is designed as a cobra standing up in intimidation of an attacker, and the metal seems to be predominantly a bronze or gold with blue or silver accents (6). On her foot on the other leg, she is wearing a boot which has a bronze or gold tip symmetrical to the tail of the cobra, and a high plattformed heel (ibid). Combining that with the fact that she fights and runs with a prosthetic and a heeled boot (TSoM 215, TM4 16), we learn that she expresses immense control over her body.

- Likewise, she approaches all her actions, her appearance, and her communication verbal and physical with a high degree of precision and deliberation. Her outfit is perfectly composed, with white and dark leather as primary colours, the same blue-gold metal that her prosthetic is made out of for accents as well as her belt (which is a coiling snake, TM4 6), a dark turquiose for some of the cloth (such as pants and cravat), a light turquiose for such accents as her fingernails and her meticulously applied eyeliner, and some manner of cap akin to a graduation cap at the right side of her head, in an almost black brown, with gold details. The shape of the cap has the exact same angles as a rhombus as her earrings (TM4 9). The detail on the cap forms a snake. It has been posited by tumblr user @cleric4vampire that even her movement in the trailer reinforces the cobra/snake motive (https://www.tumblr.com/cleric4vampire/752850000700194816). Despite sometimes excrutiatingly long workdays (223), Neve puts an extreme amount of emphasis on her appearance. Even in the comic, while the style does feature very dynamic character movements while talking, her gestures stick out as particularly deliberate; she talks with her hands a lot, and with deliberation (see the appendix of this post for more). This speaks to a plethora of willpower, control, and a desire to maintain a controlled barrier between the self and the larger world.

- While writing this, I have come up with the theory that the blue accents of her apparell might partially be lyrium. If she is literally wearing lyrium makeup, I will marry her.

- The only two offensive types of magic that we see her use are ice magic (e.g. TSoM 226, 227, 235, TM4 16, 17), and a manner of magic that lets her freeze the moisture in the air around a person to stagger them (e.g. TSoM 214, TM4 17). Through cooling the air around herself a bit less, she manages to hide herself in mist (e.g. TSoM 214). She is capable of some healing magic (227).

- She has a network of contacts, acquaintances, and informants all over Minrathous, particularly in its underground.

- She loves salty fried fish (221). This is not only in line with Minrathous being a coastal capital, which has a distinct influence on the caloric inflow into the city and cuisine at large, but also, once again, stresses that she does not have much money at her disposal, by emphasizing that she eats fried fish from a cheap street food stall very regularly (221), which she calls her “fish dinners” (228).

- She canonically has straight dark brown hair, meticulously kept at the left side of her face to keep space for the cap on the right, brown eyes, and brown skin. It is furthermore canon that anyone who has a problem with that or wishes to change that with mods will be exploded via elemental magic. It is furthermore canon that I will not buy Veilguard if the game whitewashes her.

- She is involved with the Shadow Dragons in helping fugitive slaves (TM4 9, 20). She expressly approves of the use of armed violence against the institution of slavery. At one point, she comments: “The cult’s dead god wanted to bring Tevinter back to what it was—to its “glory.” It was nonsense, of course. It always was. The old empire was even more corrupt and heartless than what it is now, no matter how pretty the picture Corypheus painted” (TSoM 221). In her vocal resistance to the empire, she sees it as a good usage of her time to track down Venatori (214). In spite of her resistance against the empire, she considers the city her home and would like it to be better than it is (214, 221).

2. Themes: The noir detective and the empire

It goes without saying that the formational archetype behind the character of Neve Gallus is that of the noir detective. A solipsistic cynic with little means, a private investigator, called to investigate a crime scene in dance with and against the police, depending on the point of the story. The noir detective of the movies of the first half of the 20th century, the formational corpus from which stems the archetype, is distinctly tied to the metropolis; a story that needs the urban context, the urban scenery. While of course featuring a plentitude of settings and configurations, at the root of the archetype rest particularly a white, male, US-American figure. To bring Minrathous in parallel with New York particularly is in so far a welcome change as it means a partial departure from the orientalism underlying a lot of early descriptions of Tevinter in Dragon Age canon. But, to me at least, it raises the question of how well Dragon Age is equipped to tackle the arising thematic implications. Just like the Tevinter Empire, the United States of America is a slave society fueled by the deprivation of Indigenous communities and the physical exploitation of a racialized, disenfanchised class. The metropolis is the core of the imperial core; and Minrathous is, as the largest city of Thedas and the capital of Tevinter, certainly that. The Streets of Minrathous manages but a partial critique of the society of the imperial-colonial metropolis. While Neve remains critical of the templars, the undeniable cop stand-in, the critique remains bound to corruption the higher one goes in the chain of command, as well as the bureaucracy (231). The story, in particular, follows the very dangerous trope commonly found in copaganda that the base-level officers should be allowed to disobey the chain of command and act on their own, particularly when it comes to the deployment of heavy weaponry (234). That the base-level officer is as much an agent of imperial violence as the top of the hierarchy, turning the systemic and depersonal violence of the system into concrete interpersonal violence, cannot be formulated by the text.

Furthermore, the Venatori, in their supremacist-fascistic death cult, remain cast in ableistic terms that deprive their ideology of systemic connectedness: “that didn’t stop remaining loyalists from acting delusional and stirring up trouble when the mood struck. That’s fanatics for you” (213). That fascism is but the logical conclusion of empire, particularly a weakened and collapsing empire, remains just as unacknowledged. And yet, what haunts the story is a profound sense of loneliness and alienation. A rich man estranged and alienated from his nephew because of his fear of social repercussions for the nephews behavior, said nephew dying while grasping to any semblance of connection he can (“He knew what came next. He was searching for whatever company he had left” 215), Neve facing the cultists in their hideout alone because the templar Rana does not want to breach protocoll, hell, even the Venatori preacher making a ridiculous figure, alone and ignored on his soapbox while the masses rush by him and shut him out of their attention; everyone is lonely, seperated by the dividing and isolating forces of the empire. The imperial metropolis condenses people, yet they are emotionally distanced from one another. Neve’s final action in the story is to return to the rich old man, explaining to him that his nephew was trying to be good after all; a post-mortem attempt to mend but one severed connection between humans. Her entire character is defined by the trajectory that comes from wandering almost aimlessly in a desperate attempt to escape the solipsistic nature of the empire. Her defining emotional conflict is with the reality of empire, as much as her status as a brown, disabled, bisexual woman clashes with the roots of the figure of the noir detective. We see by the time of The Missing #4 that she finds a sense of fulfillment in working with the Shadow Dragons for the slaves and against the slavers, which hints at a character arc from TSoM to TM4. As Varric correctly observes, she has a heart of gold (TM4 20), one which she hides behind a particularly controlled facade, as stern as beautiful. How well her character plays out in Veilguard hinges entirely on the stories limited ability to discuss empire in meaningful terms, and the story’s willingness to further explore her emotional arc suggested between TSoM and TM4. I am furthermore worried about how well a series known for its overt centrism can handle the nuances that make her character so great, as well as fearing the reaction by gamers[TM] to having a brown, female, disabled, bisexual detective.

3. Appendix: I am gay for the way she talks with her hands and body

TM4 9

TM4 5

TM4 10

TM4 14

TM4 19

#neve gallus #da:v #my analysis

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the-trinket-witch · 10 months ago

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TWST Signature Spell Effects on the Body

Because I'm a wordy, purple-prose kinda bish, I thought about what each Unique Magic might actually feel like on the body (at least the ones that affect other mages when cast). (SPOILERS FOR BOOKS 5 ONWARD)

(CW: Loss of motor function, scopophobia, senses being messed with, forceful sleep)

Off With Your Head:

The moment it slaps around your neck and shoulders, there's that deafening rush of blood to one's ears. If you and your magic were lightning, the collar just became your glass bottle. Outside of the momentary dulling of senses, one may have a general difficulty breathing, either from the collar fitting itself or the lack of support without one's magic. Lightheadedness and an internal hollowness make the collar leave you feeling like after a flu.

Bet the Limit:

His magic literally amplifies and pushes back your magic, but to do that he has to rip control of it from you. Bet the Limit gives one that jerking tug on the shoulders, a jab of pain that burns into your neck almost. Sometimes if one resists or tries to wrench control back, they're left feeling like their shoulders have been dislocated. They haven't of course, but the feeling is still enough to keep one from moving them for a while.

Doodle Suit:

There's a metallic, fruity Sichuan peppercorn-like numbing on the senses before it's replaced with what he decides. Pretty straightforward.

(Legit tho: I think his is kinda scary in terms of utility. The possibilities o_o )

King's Roar:

Burning. King's roar doesn't have fire but there's still a dry burn. Rug or rope burn, an allergic reaction, or being splashed with hydrogen peroxide, it all makes the nerves curl away like shriveling plants. Skin on downwards begins flaking like baked mud, falling off into sand like chunks of slate.

Laugh With Me:

Laugh With Me at first feels like the pinch of nerves. But pulling against the bindings is like hyena teeth biting and yanking your muscle and bones; you're not in control. That tugging hurts much less, more of a firm mouthing on your body in whatever direction he wants.

It's A Deal:

Much like his flattering words, his magic leaves one feeling glittery. But there's a cold tentacle-like grip on the heart for a quick moment; a reminder of what lies in the undertow. It's not a memorable sensation, but memorable enough to know what happens when it returns upon failing to fulfill your end of a contract. The resulting Anemone doesn't feel like much until one touches it, like a large zit.)

Shock the Heart:

The sudden wash over you feels like the splash of cold water after getting dumped out of a boat. Pharyngeal jaws scrape and tug on your tongue to reel you in, truth dripping off of you like seawater.

(Truth is a lot of times subjective so why nerf it further? HC he can use it multiple times but lies cause it works on those unaware)

Oasis Maker:

Rain that's always the perfect refreshing temperature. Never frigid but never feeling hot. A relaxing shower of jasmine and chai, without the stifling steam

Snake Whisper:

A burning cobra bite to the skull. It's venom sears every wrinkle in the brain as you feel yourself get pulled along by the collar of proverbial tail coiled around your neck. Resistance feels like hot sand filling your brain cavity. Eventually the oppressive weight of said sand makes one submit.

Sleep Kiss:

Sleep Kiss seems pretty straightforward. It probably feels like sitting in a soundproof glass box, with cold air filtered in. Every chilly inhale acts like anesthesia, or the tug of exhaustion by hypothermia.

Fae of Maleficence:

His 'Blessing' feels like being laid into a patch of semi-prickly twigs; a dragon's nest or roost. It hurts slightly, but the diligence is paid to lay you gently in so they don't prick. Eventually you can somewhat relax, but adjusting or moving reminds one of the thorny poking all around you. It just becomes preferable to sit still, rather than try waking or even attempt at getting comfortable.

Meet in a Dream:

Many mistake Silver to have soft hair, but the only downy lightness about him, I think, is Meet in a Dream. Whatever sensations one feels when dreaming of flying, that fills you to buoyancy as he leads you along the Dream Corridor.

#twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #unique magic #signature spell #twst silver #jamil viper #riddle rosehearts #epel felmier #azul ashengrotto #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #trey clover #deuce spade #jade leech #kalim al asim

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terrence-silver · 9 months ago

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would you write something about reader who has baby fever but isn’t dating Terry, she works very closely with him, and he starts picking up how much she wants to have a baby

Fringe Benefits

Terry Silver x Reader

—

Each of his future employees got this questionnaire.

It was standard procedure, they said.

Basic inquiries, you supposed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing you haven’t encountered before. Qualifications. Education level. Past recommendations. Experience level. Why you wanted to work here in particular. Why you considered yourself a reliable member of a team — specifically his team. Your devotion. Devotion, you thought. What did that even mean exactly? Your marital status. Family. Children. Whether you planned any. What you brought to Cobra Kai. To Cobra Kai’s table, that is. What you could offer. The memory of circling each response on the interview application still lingered in your mind like a hazy fog, more so when you sat opposite of him, separated by a black, sleek work desk, immaculately organized and entirely minimalist to a pristine level; something both disorienting and weirdly comforting about the basic aesthetic layout of the dojo gym grounds and the offices adjoined to it, all blue and red neons, creating a vaguely purple sense of womb-like dimness — Terry Silver’s eyes carefully assessing your application paper right before his gaze shot back up at you, speaking with immaculate distinction, yet with ease, like he wasn’t in a hurry whatsoever. You were merely after the job of a junior intern — a starting position; someone who handles basic paperwork, greets people at the registry, makes themselves useful wherever and however is required of them, still, everything felt like you were aiming after the most important position in the world. Perhaps due to the fact there was nobody here and the place felt liminal. Intense. Like you were given every bit of attention contained in the universe by a single person.

-"Most employers —"-

He begins.

-"They’d consider the responses you circled a professional shortcoming."-

He points his nose at the document next to his tidily clasped hands. You gulp.

-"Reason enough not to give you a job. Hire someone else instead."-

He explains maintaining near unblinking eye contact and part of you, that anxious bit coiling around in your belly was convinced this was a lost cause; he was about to gently tell you you’re not getting the job but that he nonetheless wishes you all the luck elsewhere. The deep sinking of your stomach interrupted only by the sudden tenderness in his features overcast by a crimson shadow of a halogen ceiling pipe above head; not an expression of pity, but one of possibility. His brows shoot up. This wasn’t standard procedure anymore, to your knowledge. The actual owner of a company conducting interviews so personally. One on one. Usually, it was a manager's manager. A secretary. Someone almost random in the hierarchy of things, giving off the basic impression that these job openings were merely formal and that the empty spots were long since filled and that everyone who came along to these interviews was going to be rejected anyway and they didn’t really care who does the rejecting so long the impression is given they’re actively searching for new staff. But, this guy? His personal investment in this almost daunted you. Was this some sort of marketing trick for his newly opening dojos? To make him seem relatable? Approachable? Humble enough to do this himself?

-"But, me? Cobra Kai?"-

Terry Silver’s stare flickers with delight.

-"I actually see it as a perk!"-

He smiles with a weird innocence, momentarily distracting you from the fact you still had no clue what part of your application elicited such a positive surprise in him. You supposed you just had to go ahead and ask. Something about him instilled a sense of amicable disposition in you.

-"What do you mean, sir?"-

Before the question even passes over the threshold of your mouth, his index finger extends forward, landing precisely on the circled answer about whether or not you plan on getting pregnant any time soon. Your eyes meet. -"Kids."- He’s suddenly serious, chewing that word like it was a morsel intended to be juiced. -”You want them.”- He adds flatly and you weren’t certain if it was an accusation, praise, a mere statement or something he wanted you to further explain yourself on. His finger holds your circled answer hostage, refusing to move from the paper’s surface. Holding it there so long you had ample time to notice the sapphire pinkie ring finger on his hand. -"Says it right here."- He further assesses and once again, it was so hard to read him. His meaning. If he was pleased by this or not. You choose the best policy to appease him regardless of his mood; by being centrist and entirely politically correct. Trying to say everything and nothing. You really needed this job. You didn’t want to flunk it just because your circled an application answer that implied that maybe, perhaps, just maybe, you’d have kids. -"Well, one day, yes. Sure. Not right now, but I’m leaving my options open for anything. Everything."- You shrug, going for honesty of the most inoffensive kind. He actually flashes you a smile full of teeth. His whole face smiling with him in a net of wrinkles. It hits you then that in spite of his age, he was quite handsome. In fact, his age enhanced him. Made him seem warm. Paternal. Well lived. -"Good."- He coos at you, content. -"Because we’re all about devotion here. Dedication. Working with young people. Investing in the future."- There it was. That slightly baffling word again. Devotion. You say nothing. Choosing to listen instead. Avoid weakening your chances here. The fringe benefits were quite stellar from what you’ve discovered. Amazing healthcare, for one. -"And someone who sees a major plus in having kids of their own? That’s exactly the type of people we need. Means they’re built from the right kind of stuff."- A flash of determination overtakes his features and for a moment, you see him grit his teeth. -"I see."- You fill the gap between dialogues with a filler line and he chuckles, somewhat amused, catching you doing it. This place. Disorienting in spite of the AC unit nowhere to be seen, yet you could feel the cool air blowing in from somewhere from within this state-of-the-art, hypermodern setting where every utility seemed tactically hidden.

-"Don’t you wanna know what kind of stuff the right kind is?"-

You catch a hint of teasing in his tone and you find yourself slightly embarrassed, nodding wordlessly.

Felt like a child examined in class.

-"The type who’s prepared to dedicate their life to something greater than themselves. A belief. A creed. A legacy."-

He enlightens you.

You could guess what the dojo’s philosophy more or less was in vague terms — it was a dojo, after all and the man in front of you was a triple black belt Sensei in his own right and a Vietnam war vet from what you’ve heard, but you weren’t here to lay down life and limb to larp The Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon with anyone. You just wanted to do paperwork for a decent salary with your employer imbued with the knowledge, that hey, he might have to organize paid maternity leave for you and find a replacement for you in case that ever actually happens. Figuratively, of course. You maintain a serious composure, feeling something you weren’t supposed to feel; scared. Curious. Interested. The fervor with which he spoke? You cross your legs underneath the table and you could swear, for the briefest of moments, Terry Silver’s eyelids flutter down, towards your seat, catching you do it. -"I’m not that impassioned, Mr. Silver. I’m sorry. I just don’t mind the idea of having children one day, in the near or distant future, when all the puzzle pieces fall into their place, if all the puzzle pieces fall into their place, and I’m willing to be transparent enough about it within the context of a work place environment so no surprises happen, is all. I’m not raising the next Spartan army, though. Hope that isn’t a disappointing answer."- You find yourself shrugging once more, this time on instinct, keeping calm, wondering why on earth you were justifying yourself so badly anyway. Sure, you did a basic Google search on this place. And on him. Terry Silver didn’t have any children of his own in the first place. No marriages under his belt either. You almost expected bigwigs like him to have several of each. You weren’t judging, you just felt it was peculiar. He was more than good looking too. So, why was this such a huge topic, anyway? Was this even allowed? He kept the questions about your qualifications to a minimal and then — he laughs, apparently delighted by your response.

-"Oh, not at all!"-

He shakes his head, blue eyes practically shimmering.

This felt like one of those weird dreams people tended to have; the type that were almost entirely inexplicable.

-"Cobra Kai isn’t going to let you go or terminate your contract or penalize you if anything unexpected happens. Not my policy. We take care of our own."-

The tension in your back drops hearing that, almost as if a certain weight was lifted from them.

For a man, Terry Silver was as understanding about maternity as a woman would be.

And then he cocks his head to the side.

-"Wouldn’t be very fair play and Spartan if we didn’t, would it?"-

Clearly, your comment entertained him enough for him to repeat it back to you, producing a new piece of document from a drawer and setting it down in front of you alongside a sleek, perfectly jet black pen. Everything here was black. His suit. His desk. His walls. His floors. His ceilings. You weren’t certain if there were any windows. Difficult to tell. Amidst all that neon lit darkness, the pristine white paper stands out, almost burning. A white block of ice. Matching his pale face and gray hair, briefly resembling a clay death mask. -"Just one last form to fill. Right here. Some final questions and you’re as good as set. Monday sound good?"- His finger points once again, down the dotted line, spilling out information so fast that it took you a second to register the fact he was effectively letting you know you got the job while you were too busy looking at what his finger was showing you on yet another questionnaire, your eyes falling on the first of many inquires. One in particular catching your notice, causing your breath to hitch.

- DO YOU TAKE BIRTH CONTROL?

—

You weren’t certain how you ended up in Terry Silver’s bed.3

All you knew is that you wanted to.

It was so easy.

Too easy.

It began with a deep yearning; observing a class for students between ages 3-5 five taking their first steps in Kata on the studio’s mat and Terry doing circles around the dojo, assessing their stances, their movements, how they held their tiny arms, their tiny bodies, the enthusiasm in their eyes. His voice was in your ear once he did a full spin throughout the length of his own domain, encompassing everything like a satellite, keen eyes missing nothing, finding himself next to you and your place at the counter, checking filled application forms and the schedule of classes, while fists punched through the air in unison. Exactly thirty two young students working like perfectly tuned clock work. Funny how kids that small could achieve such discipline. Your heart almost ached. -"Natural, raw talent. Gotta start when they’re young."- He chuckles from next to you, observing his handiwork from a relative distance, giving his small acolytes time to spread out. -"Don’t you just get emotional watching them train?"- His eyes dazzle your way, accompanied by a smile and something within your twists as you nod wordlessly, keeping your attention on your folders and files, suppressing the voice inside of you.

Yeah, wish I had my own, it says.

The months that ensue get harder. It was always the opposite for everyone else, you supposed. The more time they spend at a place of employment, the more the novelty wore off and things tended to settle into their place, but you? You grow restless, leaving the toilet having recovered from an unbidden fit of tears during your lunch break, possibly the second such concealed outburst within just one work week alone, finding no particular reason as to why it happened. Why it kept happening. Nobody was unkind to you here. Quite the contrary. Everyone was like a newfound friend or family, but maybe that’s what made things so difficult; the fact that when you went home every evening, you’d find yourself all alone with nobody to care for. You didn’t even have time to tend to a pet. A cat. A dog. And this wouldn’t be the only occasion he’s cornered you on the topic either. Terry Silver had this uncanny ability to decipher you as upset regardless how craftily you sought to hide it and continue with your work. -"I know what bothers you and I can help."- He corners you in the empty foyer. One thing you learned about him with certainty that he had this habit of invading people's personal spaces. Invading your personal space. Standing too close. The most baffling thing, though --- how much you didn't mind, even as you kept your head bent, gaze averted. You didn't want him to see how obvious it was that you cried even though were certain he guessed.

In spite of that, you fail to recoil once his hand lands on your stomach.

He's done this before. You've let him.

-"Fill the gap right there."-

He whispers and it sends a shiver down your spine.

He came with a proposition a few weeks ago and suddenly, all those peculiar inquires on the job interview questionnaire started to make an awful lot of sense. Too much, in fact. He wasn't just being nosy and scoping out whether or not you'd get impromptu pregnant and leave your own spot vacant for God knows how long. No. It was infinitely more than that. He told you that if you had an itch, he was lending himself available to scratch it. You still haven't given him a yes or no answer on the topic, though and by the looks of it, the devil has come to collect his dues. -"I’m sorry, Mr. Silver, I —"- You stutter, going for avoidance, trying to wiggle out from the closeness of his proximity, but his arm comes up leaning against the wall, cutting your way off. Already, in your mind, you could see tangled limbs, a spine bending forward and his fingers travelling up your back. Instead, you get a voice. His. You inhale sharply once his thumb came up, caressing the outline of your cheek, the slightest remnant of moisture dabbed again by his lingering touch. You weren't sure how to label your relationship with him. Terry had yet another uncanny gift. The ability to make himself disconcertingly close to someone with little to no effort. You've been fucking the man for three months now and god knows why. Why you craved it. Why it felt right. Confusing, but right. Letting your boss hit it raw? What do you even call that? Stupidity? Desire? Falling in love? Being manipulated? -"Ambition requires it’s sacrifices, doesn’t it? Even small, day-to-day ambitions. The ambitions of a Junior Intern. The sacrifice being family. The fact that I can tell there’s no place you’d rather be right now than at home with someone."- His touch touches your earlobe and you close your eyes.

You haven't been doing good lately.

He caught on.

Thing was, you weren't a girl anymore.

You were still young but you were entering that stage in life were every year mattered more and more. Your contract with Cobra Kai alone was one for two years and you imagined it expiring and you once again having nothing. Going home and finding your apartment empty. Would you have time to build something for yourself? Build anything at all? Instead, Terry Silver's arms were right there. Warm. Inviting. So hard to resist. Bearing the promise of everything you that seemed so close, yet so far out of reach.

-"You want me."-

He coos tenderly. You resist, shaking your head, refusing to open your eyes.

-"No."-

-"You want me."-

He repeats himself with more vigor. More conviction.

No. No. No!

-"This is crazy! I don’t wanna get knocked up at work by my boss who’s twenty years my senior!"-

Instinctively, your hands come up feebly, attempting to serve as a shield between your own body and his, only to get caught and trapped by his grip, fingers grabbing wrists, pulling you closer to him. His smile is shark-like. Sharp. -"Thirty."- He corrects with ease, seeming proud of himself. -"Thirty years your senior."- You didn't know what to say to that. Somehow, it made things worse. The guts inside of your belly tighten with ache. You feel it vibrate between your legs. It was hormones. All hormones, you tell yourself. Hormones had the habit of being senseless and dumb like that. Terry Silver was the one giving you your salary, he was old enough to be your grandfather and he was offering to get you pregnant. For your sake, as he claimed. For his own too. You wanted the same things, he explained. So, why not complete each other's long-standing yearnings? Wasn't that what loyalty was all about? What better foundation for an alliance? A relationship, he asked? Suddenly, he lifts his arm, freeing you. -"And why not? You can leave any time. You still haven't."- His eyes flare up with the light of challenge. You were being taunted and tested and you realized as much, finding your body growing stiff, legs refusing to move. So, why didn't you leave? This was technically sexual harassment at the workplace. Yet, you reveled in it. Consented to it. His offer was tantalizing, the way a cup of fresh spring water was to the someone dying of thirst. Your lips part. The thought of having someone completely your own. Cradling them in your arms. Was that so bad? Instead of your belly, the palm of his hand travels lower, cupping you between your legs. -"It would make you happy and you know it."- He murmurs and you didn't have the strength to fight it. You let him continue. He squeezes you ever so lightly, until you felt an internal pressure tickle you from the inside. The type that craved to be filled. -"And I told you the very first day you walked into my office. In Cobra Kai, we’re all about devotion. Taking care of of our own."- He reminds and you lean your head back, allowing yourself to enjoy the sensation, feeling the back of your neck comfortably hit the wall.

-"I didn’t think you’d be so literal!"-

You mutter, breathlessly, letting him do his special magic.

Rubbing you through the material of your trousers.

His cock in his other free hand, pulled out of the thick, black material of his Gi.

-"I’m always literal."-

He clarifies.

You knew as much now.

Knew well enough to take him seriously.

More seriously than anyone before.

You wanted him. Wanted him to knock you up. Crude, but truthful.

-"Let me help you."- He groans, unzipping your trousers, only to spread your legs, slither his hands behind you and grab you by your ass, lifting you up against the wall, fingers digging into tender flesh with bruising ardor. You moan and yelp. Maybe it was you being touch starved, starved for love, in need of sex, missing companionship, but the fact you were about to impale yourself on his cock in the middle of the corridor seemed of little consequence. It was a Friday evening. Past working hours. -"Let me fix everything. All you have to do is be willing to receive it. Receive me."- Terry speaks against your open mouth and you mumble into his, already seeing the future unfold. Feeling it on his breath. The warmth of his tongue. -"I'm willing."- You babble, eyes half-lidded, fumbling with the elastic lace trim of your undergarment, lowering it, giving him entry, feeling yourself wet. -"What was that?"- He teases, tone beaming seriousness, asking you repeat yourself. You do. Anything. You'd do anything. Funny how quickly a person could go from being level-headed and logical to throwing all caution to the wind, you thought. -"I'm willing to receive it."- You almost plead. He pulls back. Momentarily, the warm haze he emanated was lost and you find craving it. Craving it back like nothing you've ever craved before. You could see it so clearly now. His hand tracing the outline of your swollen belly, smiling down at you and unwittingly, your mouth moves with a will of its own. -"Sir."- Terry instructs, unblinking, his cock stroking itself against the lips of your cunt. -"Sir."- You eagerly mimic his words, ready to devour the very air you shared, the distance between you nonexistent. -"You know how some schmucks out there claim they know the exact moment of conception?"- Terry chuckles in between wet kisses, his tip finding it's way between your Labia guided by his hand. You're sloppy, loose and ready for him. -"Well, I always thought that's a load of crap."- He adds, grunting once he nestles himself inside of you, driving you further up the wall, your legs flying up, on either side of his shoulders, held by one free arm. It was astounding how he could expertly hold his balance and your own too and not falter.

He picks up his pace and for once, you smile.

Never in a million years would you think Cobra Kai's workplace contractual fringe benefits would involve this.

-"I just plan to fuck you until I see some tangible results."-

He seethes and now there was a plan you could agree with.

#terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #old man terry #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #tw; breeding kink #tw; baby fever

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