Seven Mothers: All Seven Of My Mothers Are Heavenly Goddesses?!

"Well, of course, I look better now...You know why, don't you?" A grin formed at my lips as I seized the opportunity to tease her. 

She raised an eyebrow, already sensing trouble, but said nothing, waiting for my punchline.

"It's because I finally got some breathing room without a helicopter mom hovering around, bothering me wherever I go." I said smugly, moving back slightly to dodge the inevitable retaliation.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and in one swift motion, her fingers latched onto my cheeks, tugging them mercilessly. 

"Oh, is that so, Mr. Handsome?" She growled, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. "So, you're saying that I'm the reason for limiting your looks?"

"Ow! Ow! Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" I yelped, trying to pry her hands away.

"You've got some nerve teasing me after I just complimented you, Luca! Who do you think kept you alive all these years, huh? Who?" She didn't let up, her playful fury in full swing.

"Alright, alright, I take it back!" I said, my voice muffled by her firm grip on my cheeks. "You're the best mom in the world! There's no one like you!"

Satisfied, she released me with a triumphant huff. 

"That's more like it!" She said, crossing her arms. Her glare softened slightly, though a mischievous glint lingered in her eyes. "Maybe I should start hovering again...Clearly, you need someone to keep you in check."

"No need for that, Mom. I'm doing just fine on my own." I rubbed my sore cheeks, giving her a half-smile. 

"Uh-huh." She said, her tone dripping with scepticism, though that playful smirk curled at the edge of her lips. It was her classic 'I'll let you think you've won' look, the same one she'd been giving me since I was ten.

But before she could launch into another round of motherly domination, I swooped down, grabbed her bags, and straightened up with a quick nod toward the hallway as I said,

"Come on, Mom. You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold...Just looking at you makes me feel cold."

She trailed behind me, her steps unusually light and her grin widening, as if she were savouring some secret joy. 

"You know..." she slowly worded, her voice coated in mischief. "What if I don't change, and I do catch a cold? What are you going to do about that, huh?"

I froze mid-step and turned, blinking at her like she had just sprouted a second head. 

"Why would you even do something that dumb, Mom? Aren't you the one who always said I'd turn into a human icicle if I didn't warm up after getting drenched?...You used to practically wrestle me into a hot bath every time I came home when I only had a few raindrops on me!"

Her grin stretched wider, eyes sparkling as she leaned in in a teasing manner.

"Well, if I get sick, it just means my darling son will have to take care of me. We'd get to spend more time together, as you'd have no choice but to help me take my pills and feed me my food while I comfortably rested on the bed...Wouldn't that be sweet? You, nursing your poor, helpless mother back to health?"

I snorted and looked at her with the most unimpressed look I could muster when I heard her absurd reasoning and coldly said,

"Yeah, right, as if I'll take care of you, Mom. I'll just ship you straight to the hospital and pay someone else to do so...There's no way I'm letting you spread your cold germs around here, so either stay healthy or stay out."

Her eyes flew open in mock horror, her hand dramatically clutching her chest like I'd just stabbed her as she said in an exaggerated manner,

"You heartless little gremlin! How did I raise such a cruel child?"

Then came the pout. Oh, the pout, the one that could rival a toddler who'd just been denied candy. 

Her lower lip quivered just enough to be over the top, and she scrunched her brows into the most tragic expression imaginable. If she were trying out for an award-winning soap opera, she'd nail it.

"Seriously, Mom? For someone who lectures me on acting my age, you sure regress fast." 

I shook my head, a laugh bubbling up despite what I thought.

"Hmph! Mothers are allowed to be dramatic. It's part of the job description." She stuck her nose in the air with exaggerated dignity.

"Right...And here I thought their job was to be the adult in this relationship." I rolled my eyes, adjusting the bags, and then continued saying as I guided her to her room, "Come on, drama queen. Let's get you dry before you end up in the hospital for real."

She huffed, but she still followed me into the guest bedroom, her usual spark in her eyes. But as we stepped inside, her gaze dropped to her bags, and she let out a dramatic groan. 

"Great." She muttered, pulling the drenched bags onto the bed. "I managed to keep myself dry, but these poor things didn't stand a chance."

She yanked open one of the bags, rummaging through the soggy mess inside. One by one, she pulled out her soaked clothes, each one clinging to her hands like a wet rag. 

Holding up a dripping blouse, she turned to me with an exasperated look and asked as if it were my fault that they got wet, 

"And what am I supposed to do now, genius?"

I smirked, the mischievous side of me itching for a chance to tease her. 

"Well, good news...The house temperature's set pretty high since it's freezing outside. So if you've got no dry clothes, you could always just walk around in your birthday suit...Totally practical solution, if you ask me—"

I barely got the words out before a wet top came flying through the air, smacking me square in the face with a cold, soggy splat. The damp fabric clung to my skin, and I could swear it still carried her familiar scent.

Pulling it off, I looked up to find her with her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed like a hawk. 

"Oh, you think you're so funny, don't you?" She scolded, her voice dripping with mock indignation. "I ask for help, and my son decides to humiliate me instead!"

"Hey, I'm just offering creative solutions!" I grinned, trying and failing to suppress a chuckle. 

"I swear...Sometimes I wonder if I raised a demon whose whole purpose is to clown on me or a proper son." She snorted, her glare softening into something between annoyance and amusement as this usual teasing that went on was just our usual banter, which she enjoyed so much.

She then let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head as if I were the greatest disappointment in the world, and said, "Honestly, if I walked around naked, my breasts would be flopping all over the place with how unnecessarily big they are." She looked down at her breasts that were so plump that they looked like they had their own gravitational field. "They might even tear off if I dared to walk down a staircase without a bra on."

The words left her mouth with the same casual ease she used to comment on the weather, completely unfazed by the fact that she was talking to her son...To her, I was still the same little boy she used to bathe, not someone she needed to censor herself around.

Meanwhile, I was fighting for my life...My brain short-circuited, and my thoughts spiralled in ways I really wished they wouldn't. 

The mental image struck me like a thunderclap—her erotic curves, her flawless skin, the way she might—Nope! Nope! Shut it down!...Abort mission before she catches me blushing at what she just said.

'Focus, Luca.' I told myself. 'You are a respectable son...You are a respectable son.' I repeated it in my head as I clenched my jaw and forced a neutral expression, trying not to let the heat crawl up my neck.

But my eyes betrayed me for just a second, flicking toward her soft breasts that I used to use as pillows when I was a child because of how soft they were, whose curves were not perfectly outlined with how her clothes were sticking to her skin and her red bra beneath.

My mother was already moving on, oblivious, adjusting her damp hair with a nonchalant shrug. 

Meanwhile, I let out a shaky breath, silently vowing never to suggest a 'creative solution' again, even though I knew I was most definitely going to do so, as teasing my mother and seeing her adorable reactions was something I simply couldn't resist...