God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 847

Chapter 847: My Beautiful Little Boy!

[Note: Good news! I’ve finished writing the ending and after editing it all, I’ll be mass releasing the rest of the chapters in one go in a couple of days…Look forward to it!]

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Kafka finally slumped down on the sofa in the secondary living room, looking utterly defeated. He leaned back with a long, tired sigh, rubbing his temples as if he had just finished running a marathon only to trip right before the finish line.

The kind of loss that wasn’t physically exhausting, but emotionally draining.

Today simply wasn’t his day. His luck, it seemed, had taken a vacation.

He tilted his head back against the cushion, staring up at the ceiling, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then, despite his weariness—a small, lopsided smile formed on his lips.

Because even if his luck had betrayed him today, life certainly hadn’t.

He thought about his family, the strange, mismatched, beautiful mess of it all.

A collection of people from every possible walk of life: an assassin with a maid’s heart, a refined businesswoman, a mother who loved to go on rants about plants, an honest-to-God deity who’d chosen to stay among mortals, and so many others.

They shouldn’t have fit together.

By all logic, they shouldn’t have worked as a family.

And yet…somehow, they did.

They laughed, they fought, they teased and cried and broke bread together like they’d known one another for lifetimes.

And Kafka, once a lonely orphan from a cruel, cold world, sat in the center of it all.

So what if he didn’t get what he wanted today?

So what if luck wasn’t on his side this morning? He had something better than luck. He had them.

He exhaled, the small smile lingering. “Yeah.” He murmured to himself. “I’m a lucky bastard.”

Still, a certain kind of tension remained, one that refused to go away. And with no one willing to help him relieve it, he realized he’d have to take care of it himself. The old-fashioned way.

“Back to basics, huh?” He muttered, preparing to stand.

But before he could get up, something soft and warm slipped over his eyes.

Two gentle hands, smooth, featherlight, covered his vision from behind, and a voice followed, muffled and teasing, as though its owner was deliberately disguising it.

“Guess who, Kafka?…Who do you think it is?”

He didn’t even need to think. A faint, knowing grin spread across his face as he leaned back slightly.

“Oh, come on.” He said lazily. “That’s useless, you know. It’s way too obvious who you are.”

The hands tensed slightly on his face.

“Is that so? And how exactly did you figure that out, clever boy?”

Kafka’s grin widened.

“Simple. First, the shadow you cast in front of me gave you away. There’s only one woman in this entire house tall enough to block that much light.”

He reached up slowly, tracing his fingers along the hands that still covered his eyes.

“And second, these hands…” His voice dropped lower, almost fond. “They’re far too soft. Not the kind of softness you get from pampering or luxury, but something…inhumanely soft.”

“Like the finest silk, or the most delicate cotton. Fragile, and yet there’s strength underneath. Hands that could cradle or crush if they wanted to.”

He chuckled.

“There’s only one woman here who fits that description.”

There was a pause, then the disguised voice hummed thoughtfully.

“Hmm…but actually.” She said, still trying to mask her tone. “There are two women in this house like that, aren’t there? Evangeline is tall too, and she’s also a deity—her hands are soft, strong, graceful. So why couldn’t it be her?”

Kafka laughed quietly.

“Because…” He said easily. “…there’s no universe where Evangeline would play peek-a-boo with me.”

The hands froze, as he kept going, voice warm now.

“And even if you try to hide it, that voice of yours…it can’t lie to me. No matter how you muffle it, there’s always that tenderness in it. That affection. The same one you’ve always had when you talk to me. The kind that only a mother could have for her son.”

He turned his head slightly toward where he guessed her face was.

“So yeah. I know it’s you, Mom.”

The hands hesitated for a heartbeat, then slowly slipped away from his eyes.

And when he looked up, there she was.

Vanitas, smiling down at him with that soft, maternal warmth that seemed to fill the entire room.

Her expression was serene, yet her eyes sparkled mischievously.

“You really can’t be fooled, can you?” She said gently, brushing a strand of his hair away from his forehead.

“Not when it comes to you.” Kafka leaned back against the sofa again, smiling faintly.

“My clever boy.” She chuckled quietly, the sound low and affectionate.

But the moment those words left her lips—it was as if she couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Kafkaaa!” She squealed suddenly, her entire composure shattering into pure joy.

In an instant, she darted around the sofa and practically leapt onto him, landing on his lap before he could react. He blinked, startled, as she wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face against his chest.

“Mom—!”

Before he could finish, she was already smothering him in a storm of kisses, his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose, every inch of his face within reach.

“Mmm!♡~ Mmm!♡~ Kiss!♡~ Mmm!♡~ Slurp!♡~”

“My Kafka, my dear Kafka, my baby boy!” She gushed between kisses, her words tumbling over each other in breathless affection. “How can you be so handsome? So perfect? My beautiful, sweet, clever son, oh, look at you! You’re too precious for this world!”

“Mom, come on…not again…!” Kafka groaned, his face half-hidden by her hair as he tried to gently pry her off.

But Vanitas only tightened her hold, squeezing him even closer until his back sank deep into the sofa cushions.

“Don’t ‘come on’ me!” She said with mock indignation, her lips curling into a pout between her affectionate words. “Do you have any idea how many years I’ve wanted to do this? How many nights I went without being able to hold you like this? To kiss you, to see your face up close?”

She cupped his face in both hands, her thumbs brushing along his cheeks, gaze trembling between joy and heartbreak.

“For so long, I dreamed of this, my baby boy, grown up and safe, right here with me. And now that I finally can, you think I’m going to waste even a second?”

“You really can’t keep doing this every morning, you know.” Kafka sighed, trying half-heartedly to pry her off. “I’m not a baby anymore.”

Vanitas immediately pouted, her lower lip jutting out adorably.

“I can, and I will!” She declared with authority. “Because I earned it, Kafka. I earned every second of this.”

Before Kafka could say another word, Vanitas shushed him with a gentle hum and pressed his head deeper against her chest, cradling him close.

“There, there now.” She murmured softly, her voice a low lullaby, warm enough to melt through bone. “Go to sleep, my darling. Go to sleep on your mother’s chest.”

“Mom…seriously?” Kafka groaned faintly, muffled against her body.

“You must be sleepy after eating all that breakfast.” She cooed, undeterred. “Come now, you can nap right here. My chest is soft, isn’t it? Tender, warm…made just for you.”

She rocked him lightly, her fingers stroking the back of his neck.

“Oh, come on, Mom.” He said, rolling his eyes though she couldn’t see it. “Look outside, it’s literally blazing bright out there! The sun’s halfway up the sky! You can’t expect anyone to sleep like this!”

“Oh, that?” Vanitas smiled down at him, her tone turning playfully mischievous. “I can fix that easily, my love.”

Before Kafka could even react, she snapped her fingers.

In an instant, the entire room dimmed.

The rays of sunlight vanished as though swallowed by shadow, and through the window—the once-blue morning sky was replaced by a deep, velvet night speckled with glittering stars.

Kafka’s eyes flew open in alarm.

“Wait—what the hell?! Stop! Stop doing that!” He pushed himself upright, glaring at the darkened world outside. “You can’t just change the cycle of the sun and moon on your own! You’re going to mess up the planet’s—”

But Vanitas only tilted her head and smiled innocently.

“Nonsense, my dear boy needs his rest.” She said, brushing her fingers over his cheek. “If you can’t sleep in daylight, then I’ll simply take the day away.”

Kafka buried his face in his hands.

“I’ve already had enough sleep.” He groaned. “Please, just bring the sun back before we throw the entire planet off balance. I need the sun right now!”

“You’re no fun.” She pouted softly, before waving her hand.

And immediately, the golden light returned instantly, flooding the room in warm hues.

Kafka let out a long breath of relief, slumping back into her arms.

“You really have to stop doing that.” He said finally, looking up at her with tired exasperation. “You can’t just warp reality every time I’m slightly inconvenienced.”

Vanitas only smiled, her expression that same mixture of pride and affection that made it impossible for him to stay angry.

“Why shouldn’t I?” She said, her tone silky. “If my precious son has even a hint of discomfort—why shouldn’t I change the world to fix it? What else is a mother for, hmm?”

“That’s not how being a mother works.” He groaned again, shaking his head.

“It’s exactly how it works.” She countered sweetly, cupping his face and leaning down until their foreheads touched. “You’re my everything, Kafka. My miracle.”

“If you’re hungry, I’ll feed the heavens themselves to you. If you’re cold, I’ll blanket the stars in my arms. If you’re tired, I’ll hush the world to silence so you can rest.”

“Mom…”

“Shhh.” She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “You’re so handsome when you pout like that. So charming when you argue. You really don’t know how precious you are, do you?”

“My perfect boy, my brilliant light. You’re strong, clever, beautiful—and you came from me. Of course you’d be magnificent.”

“You’re praising yourself now.” Kafka blinked, half-laughing, half-sighing.

“Naturally!” Vanitas beamed proudly. “How else could such perfection exist?”

And then completely unbothered, she tightened her arms around him, pulling him closer until he was once more enveloped in her warmth and began to rock him gently, humming a tune older than the stars, her voice melting through the air like honey.

And seeing her cradle him like that, rocking him with such care as if he couldn’t possibly manage on his own…Kafka simply let out a quiet, reluctant sigh.

He had long since grown used to it.

Ever since Vanitas had returned to his life, every day had been like this, gentle hands, endless affection, and the constant feeling of being treated not as a man…but as her precious little baby instead.