The fire crackled, casting a red and orange glaze over Alis's face. Her eyes, usually bright and dancing with amusement, were wide and strangely blank—focused entirely on him, yet somehow looking right through him. She wasn't just taking off her blouse; there was a distant, almost mesmerizing quality to the movement, like a puppet whose strings were being pulled by a very strange horny god.
Ken's jaw went slack. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he muttered, his voice barely a breath. This was the moment where he decided if he was going to be the action hero or the punchline. Given the last 24 hours, the money was on punchline.
He looked down at the smug pink text still hovering in his vision.
[Final Advisory: Initiating nurturing protocol.]
[Quest Updated: Attempt to survive maternal affection.]
"Survive maternal affection. That's a new low, even for me," Ken groaned, running a hand through his flour-dusted hair.
Alis took another slow step forward. The remaining buttons of her blouse gave way, and the rough cotton parted, revealing the pale curve of her skin in the firelight. Her chest was small, high, and entirely normal, which somehow made the "Breasts may be deployed" warning even more terrifying.
"Alis, hey, slow down," Ken said, holding up his hands. "Before you deploy anything, let's talk about this 'maternal instinct' thing. Are you sure you're not just, you know, horny?"
Her eyes didn't track his movement. She just kept that eerily tender, focused gaze locked on him. Her hand drifted to her waist, and Ken braced himself, thinking she was going to rip off the rest of her clothes. Instead, she reached into a hidden pocket in her apron and pulled out—a half-eaten loaf of bread.
Ken blinked. "The bread?"
Alis stepped closer, her expression the perfect blend of a mother giving medicine to a fussy child and a predator cornering dinner. She held the loaf out, tearing a generous chunk off with her teeth, chewing once with an intensely serious expression.
Then, she lunged.
"Wait! Not the bread!" Ken yelled, scrambling back on his hands and knees.
She pinned him instantly, sitting heavily on his thighs. The exposed curve of her chest was now inches from his face. Before he could react, she clamped her hand behind his head and shoved the half-chewed, saliva-soaked piece of dough straight toward his mouth.
"Eat. You're starving," she murmured, the words flat and urgent, her voice sounding thick and drugged.
Ken choked, sputtering flour and curses. "Mmf— I don't want your second-hand sourdough!" He wrestled against her surprising strength, trying to twist his head away. She was entirely focused on her goal—which was apparently force-feeding him a communion of spit and yeast.
The System chimed excitedly.
[Status Effect: Force-Fed Bread. (-5 Dignity).]
[New Condition: Choking.]
Ken managed to spit the dough onto the grass. He was panting, absolutely scandalized. "What the hell, Alis! That's disgusting! I'm not a baby bird!"
She looked genuinely distressed by his rejection. Her eyes welled up slightly, pulling Ken into a brief, blinding flash of guilt. But before he could apologize, her maternal programming took a sharp, alarming left turn.
"Then you need something else," she stated, her voice was slightly trembling.
She quickly discarded the bread, and her hands, slick with saliva, shot down and grabbed the front of his tunic. With a single, savage pull, the cheap fabric ripped straight down the middle.
"Hey! I just stole that!" Ken protested, flailing. He tried to sit up, but she was immovable.
Before he could get a proper grip, Alis had completely shucked her own blouse and apron. She was still wearing a thin chemise, but her chest was now entirely exposed to the cool night air. Her eyes were still locked on his, filled with that terrifying, possessive tenderness.
"Don't worry, darling," she whispered, her voice dropping to a hypnotic coo. "Mama will keep you warm."
Then, with an aggressive shove, she mashed her entire chest against his bare torso, a full-body, smothering, maternal hug of doom. Ken let out a muffled oof as the air rushed out of his lungs.
The System, meanwhile, was having a field day.
[Trait Activation: Full Deployment.]
[Warning: Subject is attempting to provide comfort and sustenance via total surface area.]
[Side Effect: Suffocation Risk (Low). Arousal Risk (High).]
Ken was completely trapped—sandwiched between Alis and the cold ground. He could feel every curve of her body pressing into him, her skin radiating heat, her breathing was deep and rhythmic. He tried to push her off, but she held him with unnerving power, burying his face in her fragrant hair.
"Let go, Alis! I'm not cold! I'm boiling! I just need five seconds of personal space!" he wheezed, utterly defeated.
She only squeezed harder, humming a strange, tuneless lullaby into his ear.
Ken closed his eyes, accepting his fate as a captive in the world's weirdest, most aggressive cuddle.
"I miss Mara," he muttered into the silence. "At least she was honest about wanting to drain me."
The fire crackled, the river flowed, and Ken, the resilient fool who survived a streaking incident and a pseudo-succubus, was now facing his greatest challenge: the overwhelming, smothering affection of a baker's daughter.