At the general's terrifying silence, Bomin let out a heavy gulp, sweat dripping profusely down his face.

"B-But not to worry! I've already sent for over a hundred auxiliary mills and they should be here within the hou—"

Cuh-lick!

Unable to listen to his assistant's voice any longer, Katakuri hung up before he could say or do anything too hurtful.

No doubt Bomin was a squirming, trembling mess on the other line, eyes wide and panicked as he racked his brain for some way to fix the problem he made.

And if Katakuri was the man he was a few years ago, he would've used that to his advantage, taking the opportunity to unleash his full anger on someone who "deserved" it.

But he knew you wouldn't approve, the sound of your soft voice echoing in his mind, scolding him for being so harsh.

Taking a deep inhale, the general pressed the call button at the corner of his desk, buzzing to his secretary at the Flour Ministry.

"Sandy, promote Thrash to operations manager of the factory and instruct him to create a task force to handle the weevil problem," he ordered, tone firm and leaving no room for question. "I want it at least fifty men strong, and I want them to sweep the entire facility, leave no stone unturned. All weevils are to be killed on site."

"Yes, sir," she confirmed, buzzing back from her desk down the hall. "And speaking of, you instructed me to remind you of a meeting with Sir Perospero at six, and a mochi consultation with the Head Chef at seven. Along with a rather large stack of papers down here that need your signature."

Annoyance spiked in his chest as he remembered he promised Oven he'd take on all the Ministry of Baking paperwork, effectively doubling his workload without so much as a second thought.

A fact that was biting him in the ass now.

"That's fine. Just send them up," he sighed, running a hand over his face.

"Right away, sir," she nodded. "Oh, and your fan club is gathering outside the entrance again... from where I'm seated, it seems to be well over fifty of them with a few more trickling in... they're pressing up against the gate."

"What could possibly be the occasion this time? This is their third visit this week."

"One of the guards asked and apparently today is the anniversary of the day you glanced at their president on the street, six months ago."

Katakuri dropped his head on his desk, the headache that had once been nibbling at the back of his skull now a full-blown, brain-squeezing migraine.

"Have security handle it."

"I did, sir, but—"

"But what?" he groaned, brows furrowed. "Spit it out, Sandy, I don't have time for this."

"Well... they're little girls, sir. The men are scared they'll hurt them."

BEEP!

Katakuri let go of the call-button, running another furious hand through his hair.

Was nobody capable of doing their job?

Was it that hard to fulfill the task you were hired to do?

"SIr?" Sandy buzzed back in. "Sir?"

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

"Sir, did I lose you?"

"You cut out?"

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

Katakuri's eye twitched, violently, as he sat up straight, staring off into the distance.

It didn't help that he still had his own mountain of paperwork to handle—given his most recent, three-month long mission ended only a few days ago.

It didn't help that he still had to draw up the security plans for this tea party tomorrow—which was actually Custard's wedding.

It didn't help that Amande's birthday was in two days and he still hadn't bought her a present.

He was usually so on top of situations like these... but there was just something about today that had thrown him off his game.

And now he wanted nothing more than to disappear into his plush, leather chair.

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The sound was his last straw, the snap in his head almost audible.

"I'M BUSY!" he roared, furious, glaring nearly searing through the door.

But it opened anyway, your pretty little head popping in through the crack.

"Now a bad time?" you asked with a knowing smirk.

His eyes went wide, regret and guilt plastered all over his face.

"(y-y/n)!" he realized, voice softening in an instant, tone turning low and painfully apologetic, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't," you smiled, entering his humongous office. "I can tell things have been a little hectic around here."

"A little?" he repeated, sarcastically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You giggled, striding around his desk and hooking your finger in his scarf, tugging it down just enough so you could press a soft kiss into his lips.

He leaned into you in an instant, eyes fluttering shut like a schoolboy as he succumbed to your touch.

God, he needed this...

If you'd come any later, he was sure he would've put his head through a wall.

Smoothly, you rested your hands on his shoulders, moving close enough to slot yourself between his legs as you stood before him.

And he more than welcomed it, gloves hands sliding up from your thighs on your hips, relishing your warmth.

That is... until he realized that your knee length chef's dress felt shorter than usual.

He pulled back slightly, eyes opening to drink you in.

Instead of your usual, long chef's uniform, you wore a strapless, black mini-dress that draped deliciously over your luscious, curvaceous body, accentuated by the sheer, black stockings that stopped at your mid-thigh, and a pair of black pumps.

The sunlight from the window behind his desk illuminated your warm brown skin and plump lips, which curled in a smile at his lovesick expression.

"Is this new?" he asked, intrigued, as he pawed at you, marveling the dress.

"Uh-huh," you nodded, biting back a grin, "You like it?"

"More than like it," he glanced up at you. "What's the occasion?"

"None. Just figured I'd give you a little pick me up before we ate."

At that, he froze, his soul practically ascending out of his body with horror.

The two of you were supposed to be having your shared merienda right now.

"Damn it, that's right," he sighed, allowing his head to fall back. "I'm sorry, love, I completely forgot."

Your husband shook his head, tired.

"Today has been a mess. I've been putting out fires since this morning."

"I figured," you nodded, moving to sit on top of him, stomach fluttering as he widened his spread without question, making room for you on his lap, "I heard about the incident at the factory."

"Already?" he cocked a brow.

"Chefs have big mouths."

He rolled his eyes.

Of course.

"But I think that's all the more reason for you to take a break," you cupped his cheek, smoothing your thumb over his cheekbone,"I hate to see you so stressed."

"I wish I could, but I can't leave in the middle of this."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"Yeah, well, I'm your wife and I think it's time for you to take a break," you shrugged off, pressing a soft kiss into the column of his throat.

"But—"

You kissed his lips to shut him up.

"It'll only be forty minutes."

Kiss.

"You can tell me about your day."

Kiss.

"I made your favorites... the Corioli Cacao..."

Kiss.

"The Strawberries and Cream..."

Kiss.

"The Powdered Sugar..."

He hummed, slowly falling victim to your temptation, "With the good cinnamon?"

Kiss.

"With the best cinnamon."

Kiss.

"Damn it..." he muttered, already convinced, "Fine. But no more than forty minutes."

Kiss.

"Promise," you smiled, your husband blissfully unaware of the fingers crossed behind your back.

.

.

.

"And what does he do about it? He tell me there'll be mills arriving in an hour."

"He didn't."

"He did... New mills after the original ones had just been destroyed by weevils that are still in the building."

Katakuri let out a humorless chuckle.

"I don't understand... how difficult is it for a person to do their job correctly?" he vented, exhausted as he stared up at the ceiling of his mochi shrine, scarf discarded and head laid comfortably in your lap.

His hands were folded over his stomach, legs outstretched, much like one would on a therapist's couch

"Why is it every time I return from a mission, every time I return from vacation, there's a crisis happening in my factory?"

He scoffed, disbelieving.

"We are the sole flour distributer for all of Totto Land. If we start to slip, everyone suffers. So the least I ask for, in exchange for a handsome salary, is for the factory to still be standing by the time I get back to oversee things. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Of course not," you assured, lowering a powder jelly doughnut closer to his mouth, allowing him to take a large bite before setting it back down in the basket. "Your requests are reasonable and fair. I'm not sure why Bomin can't deliver on his end."

"And now we have these damn creatures on the loose... who knows what they could be doing to the structure of the building," he grumbled, muffled by the food in his mouth. "It's made of mochi, after all, and I don't have the time to spend the next few days remaking and reinforcing it. I still have to do the security blocking for the tea party tomorrow and the paperwork left over from my trip, which would be all well and good if I didn't have all of Oven's paperwork on top of it. And don't even get me started on the fan club..."

"Why'd you take his work, too? You've clearly got a lot on your plate already..." you asked, concerned, as you took a bite of chocolate frosted doughnut.

"I owe him a favor," your husband sighed. "He covered for us when we skipped Mama's get-together a few days ago."

Your mouth fell into an O, thoroughly aware of what he was talking about.

Big Mom had called an emergency late night meeting with all the elder siblings and all the head chefs to flesh out some last minute details about Custard's wedding.

But... Katakuri was freshly home from another one of his missions away, and it just so happened that the two of you were in the middle of a passionate "welcome home party" when you missed the call.

Luckily, Oven made a believable enough excuse—something about a malfunction at your bakery and Katakuri needing some rest—and got Big Mom off your backs.

Your stomach fluttered at the wonderful memory, your lips fighting off a pleased smirk.

Your thighs still had the bite marks from that night.

Gracefully, you lifted the large tea cup next to you, gently raising his head and bringing it to his lips for him to drink.

Which he did gratefully, relishing in the feeling of your fingers raking through his scalp before he leaned back, allowing you to set the cup back down.

Paduh-paduh-paduh! Paduh-paduh-paduh!

"Hold on, Kuri, I gotta take this," you apologized, picking up your baby transponder snail. "Kota! Is everything handled?"

"....!"

"Great! You're the best!"

Cuh-lick!

"Sorry, honey. Please continue."

"It's alright. I was just saying all I have to do is get this weevil problem under control and figure out how to get this shipment to Streusen," he sighed, licking the remnants of tea off his lips as he settled back in your lap. "Then everything else will come easy."

He nodded, the plan slowly coming together in his head.

"The security blocking shouldn't take me too long if I rush. I'll finish it and then run out to pick up Amande's present before the stores close. Then I'll come back, and if I do the paperwork through the night, I should finish before the tea party tomorrow."

"You could do that," you nodded, feigning innocence. "Or... you could spend some more time with me."

"Darling, you know I can't. All the things I've—"

"I've heard all the things you said. And most of them have already been handled."

Confused, Katakuri arched a brow.

"What do you mean handled?" he asked.

"I filled Streusen's order with the self-rising flour I had in storage at my bakery. Kota inspected and verified that every sack is premium quality, and it's now on the way to the Head Chef as we speak."

Your husband's eyes went wide, "Really?"

You nodded with a smile, "Really."

"But... my paperwork?"

"Done."

"Amande's present? I wanted to get her—"

"A specially embroidered sash with the name of her sword? Bought and wrapped. I did that for you weeks ago."

"The fans outside?"

"Handled. I had Brûlée scare them off when I came in. They won't be back."

You chuckled at his disbelief, cupping his face with amusement.

"My love, most of everything has already been taken care of. All you have to do is your security blocking stuff and Oven's paperwork," you assured. "Honestly, that would've been done, too, but I didn't know you had to do that until just now."

"But how? I told you about it only a few moments ago..." he looked up at you, still lost.

"You're my husband. You don't always have to tell me what's stressing you out for me to know. I pick up on these things," you grinned, waving him off.

For a moment, Katakuri paused, completely dumbstruck.

You had single-handled shaved hours upon hours off his work day with a single call.

Thanks to you, he'd be able to make it to dinner tonight... and get some sleep... and actually have time to look forward to tomorrow's festivities.

You... were amazing.

And after a few more silent seconds, he sat straight up, turning to you with eyes darker than the night sky.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he stated, curtly, his gaze alight with enamor.

You didn't get to say a reply, to preoccupied with the pair of lips suddenly pressed against yours.

The kiss was hungry, your lips moving against each other's like you both were starving for one another.

And you were.

Together, the two of you sat up on your knees, arms wrapping around each other like magnets, his hands moving below your waist to give your ass a gratuitous squeeze, relishing in the moan you hummed into his mouth.

He replied with his own grunt and pulled away, his eyes glazed over with lust.

"Have I ever told you how perfect you are?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble.

There was a molten tenderness to his gaze that had you shivering in pleasure and anticipation.

"Only every day," you smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Katakuri's eyes raked over you as if you were a piece of art he admiring in a museum.

"Then how about I show you?"

Hooking his strong arms on the back of your knees, he slowly leaned forward to lay you down on the floor of his shrine.

Your eyes flitted up to the sliding-mochi door, realizing that any nosy person could barge in and catch you both in the act.

"Kuri... the door," you hummed, fingers aimlessly wandering through his dark pink hair.

He nodded, holding out his hand and creating a mochi lock on the door before infusing it with haki.

"There," he nosed your cheek, pressing a reassuring kiss into your neck. "Safe and sound."

Gently, he pried your thighs open, revealing your sobbing, wet sex.

You watched his face change from tender to downright feral as he stared at your cunt.

You flushed at his expression.

Oh, give me the strength...

He tugged your panties to the side and leaned forward, laying soft kisses over the bite marks he'd left the last time.

His hands pinned your legs apart, his hold on you firm.

You didn't stop him when he dove right in, peppering your pussy in open-mouthed kisses as if he was making out with it, before he began flicking his tongue over your clit.

His tongue swirled, and switched from firm to soft by your responds.

And you were responding well.

Your body couldn't help but react to the sensations—toes curling, back arching, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open as mewls and gasps slipped out.

Katakuri was not only good with his tongue, but good with his hands.

He reached up and squeezed your breast through the fabric of your dress, carefully kneading it according to your verbal cues.

"Mmph... Fuck, Kuri..." you tugged your lip between your teeth, "Feels so good..."

Your husband hummed approvingly into your cunt, the vibrations making your clit quiver pleasurably.

"Let me hear you, (y/n)," he said between the wet flicks of his tongue on your rosebud. "Don't hide from me."

Before you could even say anything, he tugged you closer by your ankle, smirking at your little squeal.

He stood on his knees for a moment, taking you in.

His lust-blown eyes trailed up and down your form, taking in every part of you.

Then he inhaled deeply, as if struggling to process the sight in front of you.

"You're so damn beautiful..." he said, huskily.

You smiled coyly at him, the both of you enchanted with one another.

Then he was ducking back down between your legs, throwing your thighs over his powerful shoulders with ease and locking your calves around his head.

As soon as you felt his tongue swipe through your folds and his nose bump your clit, you were in heaven.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your hands found his hair, gripping the magenta tufts tight as your hips began to grind shamelessly into his face.

He hummed approvingly, keeping up the pace.

He didn't pause or slow down.

He continued to work your pussy just how you wanted, making you see stars behind your eyes and cry out to the sky above.

It didn't take long for something tender to coil in your stomach.

You couldn't help it.

Your husband was too good.

Plus, the atmosphere and the whole idea of getting caught in such a risqué position turned you on more than you cared to admit.

Katakuri must've realized you were close because his jaw began to move fast, accompanying his tongue-fucking with porn-worthy grunts that nearly threw you over the edge.

"Oh, fuck!... right there, right there!... mmmm!" you whined, tossing your head back in ecstasy, "M'so close, Kuri... m'so close..."

Eagerly, he hummed into your pussy, pulling his tongue out of you and proceeding to suck on your clit while his finger began to stroke the outside of your slit, just barely touching your insides.

His darkened gaze flicked up to yours, staring you down from between your thighs, eyes glistening with both love and lust.

"Come for me," he demanded, muffled by his mouthful of you. "Come for me, (y/n). Don't hold anything back."

He pulled back slightly, sticking out his tongue and flattening it over your entrance, licking one long, thick stripe all the way ups to your clit.

"Come for me," he groaned, a little louder as your moans pitched higher. "Let go for me. Release for me. Relinquish for me."

And you finally did.

That tight knot in your core finally snapped and a wave of euphoria washed over you as you came all over Katakuri's face as eager lips with a breathless gasp.

You saw the entire galaxy behind your eyes as you pussy gushed, your body shivering and shuddering.

Your back arched almost painfully and your hips widened into your husband's face, trying desperately to keep as much of the feeling going as possible.

When it finally faded, you were left feeling tired, spent, and oh-so good.

Katakuri lazily cleaned you up, taking care not to overstimulate you as he ran his tongue over your sensitive, twitching sex.

Then he pulled his head from between your thighs, giving you a peak of his chin and mouth, which were completely soaked in your essence.

With the reflection of your blissed out expression in his eyes, he hummed to himself with pride, his large and long tongue lulling out to lick the juices from his chin and lips.

Effortlessly, he scooped you up off the floor, pressing a few soft kisses into the side of your face, biting back his amusement at the way your head limply flopped against his chest.

"Thank you for your help, my love... now, rest. I can finish my paperwork at home."

Soda kept his gaze on the thousand-pound, eight-foot-tall boxing dummy, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed as he continued dealing an array of complex punches and kicks to the poor thing.

On the outside looking in, he seemed like just a regular, thirteen year-old boy taking out his aggression on something inanimate.

And, in a way, that's exactly what it was.

But what one would fail to realize—especially concerning why the strikes seemed to resonate so loud—was that your son was employing his Fizz-Fizz fruit ability with every kick and punch, using the compressed carbonation in his hands and feet to create a small but devastating releases of pressure with each impact.

And if it weren't for the fact that the boxing dummy was more akin to a hunk of bedrock than a leather-bound bag of sand, it would've easily been scattered all over the tatami mats.

Now, you were by no means a combat expert—you only had a surface level understanding of Devil Fruits, haki, and fighting, given those three things were a constant within the Charlotte family—but your husband was.

And he himself stated that your eldest son had limitless potential, with the very real and very likely possibility of surpassing his prime strength and power in half the time.

Safe to say, you were completely dumbstruck.

Katakuri didn't give praise like that lightly, his son or not. Which meant your baby boy—the boy whose diapers you'd changed and belly you'd raspberri-ed for years—could very well be First Commander level by the age of twenty-four.

A terrifying yet very pride-inducing prospect.

"Fine," Soda grunted, weaving and dodging imaginary attacks, "Y'need somethin', Mom? M'kinda busy right now."

"I know, I know," you nodded, walking further into the room. "You've been working very hard lately. Which is why I made your favorite..."

Quickly, you scurried into his view to hold up the tray, which held two slices of cake, two glasses of milk, and matching forks.

"Cherry Cola Cake!" you beamed brightly, "We used to eat this all the time when you were little. And I figured after all this training, you could use a little break."

Fondly, you thought back on a simpler time... a time where the two of you were inseparable.

"We can eat, you can catch your breath, I can tell you my world-famous jokes. Just like we used to."

BAM!

Soda grunted once again, dealing a particularly harsh kick to the side of the dummy.

"Can't," he denied, quickly swiping the sweat from his forehead before diving right back in. "Gotta get to ten thousand strikes... then I've got a leg circuit... before I switch over to core..."

You grimaced.

Like father, like son, you supposed, if they were anyone else, these workouts would kill them.

"Soda, you haven't eaten in days. And if my math's correct, you've only slept for two hours this past week," you countered, concerned.

"All part of my training," he huffed, grinding out another attack combo. "In battle... I won't be well rested... gotta make sure I can still fight like this..."

You sighed, shoulders sinking.

You should've known this was going to be a struggle.

After the break-in a few weeks ago, Soda became obsessed with increasing his strength, spending day in and day out in his father's dojo, doing nothing but workout, spar, experiment, repeat.

Of course, he did all those things before the attack, but now they were taken to the extreme.

He rarely ate, barely slept, hardly showered—a fact one could distinguish the moment he entered a room—and only took breaks to wrap his raw knuckles and bleeding feet with gauze.

Of course, you understood why; that night was very traumatizing for him.

The twins' screams, your tears, his father's face, etched with fear and visible rage for the first time.

And most of all, the fact that he "failed" to protect Cocoa.

He froze... and it was his sister who paid the price, leaving him with only a nasty scar across his temple to show for it.

If Soda had anyone else for a father, it would've been different.

But he had the strongest man this side of the New World... the backbone of the Big Mom pirates... the shining star of the Charlotte family.

He had Charlotte Katakuri.

Every kid in Totto Land knew the stories, his feats were the stuff of legend, because most of the shocking ones happened when he was a kid.

Hell, even Aunt Brûlée, often regaled everyone who would listen with the story of her scar, and how her big brother slaughtered an entire gang of grown men for it when he was only ten years old.

Soda's brows furrowed, a crippling sense of self-loathing creeping into his chest.

What did that say about him?

He was thirteen and hadn't done anything remotely comparable to that.

In a family where his strength and/or pastry skills equated to his worth, with not a single baking skill to boot, what did that mean for him?

Did that make him worthless?

"Can you at least take the rest of the night off?" you tried again, a little firmer, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You can always start back up in the morning."

You sniffed, nose scrunching in an instant.

"Besides, you need to shower. You smell... over-worked."

But he denied yet again, only without saying anything at all, unable to trust his voice after the spiral he just went on.

You sighed, but refused to give up.

Your son was in distress, and damn it you were going to do everything you could to help him.

Moving closer, you shifted the weight of the tray to one hand, resting the free one on his sweaty shoulder, his movement halting as not to hurt you.

"Soso, honey, please... just one break," you pleaded, worry etched plainly across your face. "I promise you'll be able to go back to your training... I just want you to eat—"

"I said I can't, Mom!" Soda snapped, roughly shrugging your hand off, his fists fizzing with frustration. "Don't you understand?!"

Eyes wide, you flinched, startled as you took a rather large step back.

He had never raised his voice to you before, much less activated his powers.

This was... alarmingly new.

Instantly, a look of both regret and guilt flashed in Soda's eyes at your stunned expression, an apology already at the tip of his tongue... before the fear of losing his value took over, forcing him to turn to the dummy and get back to punching.

This whole thing had been just one big distraction.

Despite your shock, you did your best to quickly gather yourself, employing techniques you hadn't had to use in years to keep your composure in the face of an angry, unpredictable Charlotte.

"My mistake," you nodded, a blank smile finding its way to your lips. "I apologize for interrupting."

Turning on your heel, you headed toward the door, stopping at an empty end table near the threshold.

"If you get hungry, your food will be here."

Your son grunted in response, not even sparing a glance in your direction.

And with that, you exited the dojo, shutting the door behind yourself before allowing your calm facade to drop.

Only to bump right into your husband, whose arms were crossed tightly over his chest, brows deeply furrowed and expression pulled taut as a drum.

He'd heard everything.

Dumbfounded, you couldn't help but stare off into space, unaware of the glassy sheen forming over your eyes.

Even when he first ate his Devil Fruit, you had never ever never been afraid of your son or what he could do.

Until now.

And it was written all over your face.

Reaching for you, Katakuri rested a grounding hand on your hip, pulling you close and pressing soft kiss into your hair.

"I will take care of this," he stated, tone deadly serious.

You looked up at him, expression still brimming with surprise, "He's never... I've never seen... I..."

You couldn't even find the words.

"Rest," he assured, slowly ushering you toward the hallway. "I'll take it from here."

Unable to do anything else, you nodded, heading further down the hall before making the turn toward the kitchen.

And the instant you were out of earshot, Katakuri barged into the dojo.

"Soda."

His voice cut through the air like a wave of ice, effectively scaring the shit out of the boy and making him accidentally shoot a huge jet of carbonation out his foot mid-kick, sending the thousand pound dummy flying across the room with ease.

A surprising feat of strength.

"Dad!" Soda practically squeaked, voice cracking as he shot up straight, turning to face his father with hands at his sides

Katakuri stalked forward on a mission, the shink of his spurs acting as the toll of a bell, ominous and precursing judgement.

It had been years since he'd heard you speak in that fearful, robotic tone... a tone he'd hoped to never hear again.

It reminded him of a time of danger for your relationship, a time of uncertainty.

Your marriage was fresh, and one wrong move around his family could've sent it all crashing down.

But you endured, you persevered, you remained patient and kind and won the hearts of nearly all his family, Mama included—not a feat to scoff at.

You deserved to live without fear.

Hell, you more than earned it.

And he wasn't going to allow anyone to take it from you.

"Do you know why I take my meriendas?" Katakuri asked as he came to stop, towering over his teenage son.

"Dad, if this is about Mom, I—"

"Answer."

Instantly, Soda clammed up, swallowing thickly under his father's painful glare.

Oh, he was in deep shit...

"I guess... to hang out with Mom, right?" the boy tried, unsure.

"In part," your husband replied. "Her presence is a welcome bonus... but that's not why."

Soda shivered, wary, "Oh... then... I guess 'cause you don't want anyone to see you while you eat."

"Close," Katakuri denied. "Try again."

"I don't know," he shrugged. "'Cause you're hungry?"

"No," the large man shook his head, voice deadly sharp. "I take my meriendas because they are the respite I need to maintain my focus... my composure... my equilibrium..."

He leveled the boy with a pointed look.

"I have always told you that the essence of true strength is a calm mind and a calm heart in the face of tribulation. This frantic, uncoordinated pursuit goes against everything I've ever taught you, and hurts the people looking out for your best interest."

Soda hung his head, already aware of who his father was talking about, "Mom... I never meant to sca—"

"You did," Katakuri cut him off, already aware of what he was going to say.

"Yeah, but she knows I would never—"

"She thought she did," Katakuri corrected, "Until today..."

Soda's eyes widened, a pit of guilt sinking deep into his stomach.

"You may see something different among your aunts and uncles, but in this family, in this house, you are not to raise your powers nor your fists to anyone, do you understand me?"

The boy nodded instantly, terrified.

"You are the eldest... you are the leader... you are the example... your siblings look to you as the model for how they should behave and carry themselves, and I will not have you demonstrate disrespect toward your mother. It is your duty to remain calm and unshakeable regardless of the inner turmoil you may be facing."

Firmly, Katakuri rested a hand on his shoulder.

"If increasing your strength is your true goal, then training in this unbalanced, tumultuous state will only stunt your progress. Observation Haki requires a clear mind and you, son, are conditioning yourself to fight without it."

"Wait... really?" Soda asked, shocked, as he looked down at his bandaged hands. "I didn't realize..."

"Despite what you may think, there is still much you have to learn," your husband stated, knowingly.

Defeated, the boy hung his head, "You're right, Dad... I'm sorry..."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

Soda lifted his gaze, eyes falling to the tray of cake and milk near the corner of the room, the guilty pit in his stomach only sinking deeper.

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

You were his mother, his biggest supporter. You'd been in his corner for as long as he could remember.

And at the end of the day, you were only concerned about his well-being.

But instead of accepting your kindness, he treated you like a jerk.

And worst of all... he scared you.

"We'll resume your training in two days," Katakuri stated, heading toward the door. "Until then, you are to rest."

At the threshold, he paused, glancing back at his son with a look sharp enough to cut diamond.

"And Soda..."

The boy froze again, swallowing thickly.

"If I ever hear you talk to your mother like that again... you and I are going to have a problem," he cocked a brow. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Soda nodded, quick.

"Good," Katakuri nodded back, exiting the dojo. "Now go clean yourself up... you smell."

.

.

.

BONUS !!

"Mom?" Soda piped up, voice small as he entered the kitchen.

At the sound, you halted your dish-washing, turning around from your spot at the sink to see what he wanted.

And in his hands was the very same tray of cake and milk you'd brought him.

"You... uh... hear about that circus fire down the street?" he asked with a sheepish smile, "It was in tents."

Recognizing one of your jokes, you broke out into a warm grin, unable to muffle your snicker.

Quickly, you cut off the sink water, removing your rubber gloves before leaning against the counter.

"Depends..." you raised a brow, playfully, "You hear about that scarecrow that won the award?"

"Yup," the boy nodded, giving a playful shrug, "Apparently he was outstanding in his field."

You let out another amused snicker, happily striding across the room and cupping his face on your hands, pressing a kiss into each of his cheeks.

"M'sorry I scared you, Mom... and m'sorry I yelled," he apologized, sincerely, eyes meeting yours with shame. "You know I would never hurt you, right? Never. Not in a million years."

"I know, honey," you hummed, sweeping your hand over his hair.

"You still wanna eat some cake with me?" he asked, hopeful, holding up the tray. "It's been sitting out for a while and the milk's a little warm but I think it's still good."

You nodded, pulling him in by his head and pressing a kiss into his hairline, "Of course. Go set it on the table. I'll be right there in a minute."

Relieved, he broke into a wide, fangy smile, quickly rushing over to put it down.

Little did he know, a certain Sweet General was sat not too far away in the living room, book in hand with a proud smile on his face.

That's my boy...

It was a testament to your willpower, seeing as the man was incredibly heavy, and had been dragging his feet since you yanked him from his workout.

"Since you don't wanna listen, I'm gonna have to take matters into my own hands."

"(y/n), I need to get back to training," he sighed, trying to stand up.

"Your weights aren't going anywhere," you assured, moving over to your closet to grab your supplies.

At that, he grumbled, exhaling deeply out his nose.

"Oh, stop it. It's not gonna kill you to sit down for two seconds. You're already the strongest guy I know."

"There is always someone stronger."

"Well, even if they'd managed to defeat you... which I highly doubt... they'd still have to get through the rest of the family."

"If my little siblings have to fight my battle because I was defeated, then I've failed in my role as both a Commander... and a big brother."

His brows creased at the thought.

"I don't fail."

Your expression fell, a slight pang of both annoyance and guilt touching your chest.

It looked like he wasn't gonna budge.

Rather than let his wife give him a nice massage—an opportunity countless men would jump at the chance of having—Katakuri instead sat there with a pointed look as you stood in front of him, lotion and massage oil in hand.

Frantic, you tried to think of something to get him to stay before he scurried bag to his pinky-finger push-ups.

Until suddenly... you found it.

With a sink of your shoulders, you let out a fake defeated sigh, fighting off the mischievous grin threatening to rise to your lips.

"Well, I can't force you," you caved, turning toward the door. "Guess I'll take my talents elsewhere. Y'know, I think I overheard Cracker complaining about his legs the other day."

At the mention of his brother, Katakuri's chest roared—not in a good way—the mental image of you caressing and doting on the little shit making his eye twitch.

Before you could take another step, you were grabbed, roughly yanked back into your husband's lap by a mochi arm.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he warned, brows furrowed and hold tight on your waist.

"Is it working?" you asked with an amused smirk.

"No."

"You're a bad liar."

"..."

You grinned.

His silence was loud.

"C'mon, Kuri," you cooed, lifting your finger to trace his collarbone, the flesh tensing under your touch as you pressed a few soft, sensual kisses into his jaw.

He grumbled, a crimson flush rising up his pale neck and to his cheeks as he did his best to avoid eye contact.

Katakuri considered himself a very disciplined man.

He prided himself on his self-restraint and ability to abstain from certain pleasures for the greater good—eating, drinking, and relaxing being the first few on that laundry list.

You, however, were the exception.

The general had come to terms with your effect on his routine a long time ago, and came to the final—painfully obvious—conclusion that you were something he could not do without.

Your bright smile, which always seemed to invigorate him more than any cup of coffee could.

Your gourmet doughnuts, which never failed to knock his socks off no matter how many times he ate them.

The sound of your voice, which could brighten even the darkest of days.

You had made your presence as effortless as breathing.

And who could blame him for wanting a deep breath?

"Just one little massage?" you pleaded, voice lowering to a soft tone, one you knew made him agree to almost anything. "I promise I'll be quick. You'll be done before you know it."

Katakuri couldn't help the extra beat added to his heart's rhythm at the sound of you, the general internally scolding himself for being so pathetic.

He suddenly had the urge to lay down.

"Five minutes," he caved with a sigh.

"Yes!" you smiled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before eagerly scrambling out his lap.

Although he tried to mask it, he couldn't help but be infected by your warmth, the feeling so potent that he had to physically bite back his own grin.

.

.

.

"How's that feel?" you asked, shifting the heels of your palms to work a little deeper into your husband's right shoulder, scanning his expression for any discomfort.

Katakuri let out a small grunt, eyes screwing tight at the sensation.

"Stings," he admitted, slightly muffled by the blankets. "But good... feels nice."

You smiled, moving to his left to work the other shoulder.

You sat completely upright, straddling his hips as he laid face first in your shared bed, allowing you to massage his back muscles without much of a fight.

If you couldn't already tell, this was about forty-five minutes into his five minute session.

But you didn't mind one bit.

You were far too preoccupied with your free show.

With his back turned, you were able to gawk freely, eyes greedily taking in the thick muscles that twitched under your fingertips.

His skin was perfect, completely unmarred by scars or scratches, while your seat allowed you to turn around and catch a beautiful glimpse of his ass in his leather pants.

Suddenly, as if your body had a mind of its own, you leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss between the blades of his shoulders.

"You're so handsome, Kuri, y'know that? I don't think I tell you enough."

Red instantly burned up his spine, his face akin to that of a tomato as he went stiff as a board.

Your compliments always came out of nowhere, and when they did, he had no idea what to do.

You smiled at his awkwardness, moving to pepper kisses all over his arms to relax him again.

"So strong..." you muttered into his flesh as you made your way down, "So brave..."

In your travels, you came across one of his pink tattoos, taking a moment to give it some extra attention.

"So good to me..."

You went on like that over his entire back, whispering praises into his skin like they were irrefutable facts.

Because to you, they were.

No man in the world could ever compare to your husband in terms of anything, he was your favorite person on the planet.

Katakuri would do anything for you—go to any extreme, take out any foe, lay down his life—and, of course, you would do the same.

But it wasn't like you could provide him protection as reassurance, like he did with you.

So you did the next best thing.

You provided him with pure, unwavering, and unconditional affection.

Abruptly, you were bucked off his back, the sharp yelp you let out swallowed by the lips of your husband as he caged you to the mattress.

"Do you know how much you drive me insane?" he growled, knee slotting between your legs to press against your sex.

You let out a soft gasp, the movement applying delicious pressure against your clit.

"Why don't you show me?" you panted, breathless, flashing him a cheeky grin.

At that, the man practically pounced on you, quickly returning to your lips as his hands slid down to knead the meat of your thighs, squeezing and caressing them the way he knew you liked.

"So damn sweet..." he muttered into your lips, the tip of his nose bumping yours, "It hurts."

Desperate for friction, you ground your hips on his knee, soft sighs of praise falling from your mouth.

"Kuri... can't waist," you whisper into his ear, running your hands over his shoulders, "...Need you."

"I know, love," he nodded, eyes trailing down to your shorts as his hand gripped the fabric, "Give me a moment."

In an instant, your shorts were gone, having been torn off you with terrifying ease.

And your panties were quick to follow.

"(y/n), you're soaked," he marveled, a small smirk curling on his lips as his middle finger gently carded through your folds, "Who did this?"

"You," you gasped at the teasing sensation, "Kuri, please..."

"Alright," he caved with a soft chuckle, shifting his wait to tug off his pants while you tugged your shirt over your head, leaving your chest bare to him, "Are you ready?"

Fervently, you nodded, and he carefully lined himself up with your hole before sliding in, feeding you every inch at a snail's pace as a precaution since you had no time to prep.

As much as he wanted to take you right then and there, your comfort was his top priority.

It wasn't long before his was completely in, filling you to the brim and then some.

"Let me know when you're ready, love," he assured, pressing a few kisses under your eyes and across your face to distract from the large stretch—and his debilitating urge to move, "So perfect... doing so good for me..."

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you wrapped your arms around his neck, staring up at him with a doe-eyed look that made the general weak in the knees.

"M'ready," you exhaled, fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

With a smile, he captured your lips, his calloused hand coming up to squeeze your face as he trailed kisses and licks down your chin, starting to move.

"Ngh..." he grunted, working to keep his pace controlled, "Gonna go slow, baby... wanna feel you..."

"O-Okay," you gasped, eyes fluttering shut at his delectable drag against your walls.

He didn't like that one bit.

"No," he shook his head, fingers squeezing tighter on your cheeks as his lips dragged over your jaw, "Eyes on me, (y/n). I wanna see you."

You whimpered, but complied nonetheless, forcing your lids open to greet the sexy, behemoth of a man above you.

"There she is..."

You bit back the moan threatening to escape your lips, fingers tightening in his hair.

This man was going to kill you.

Encouraged by your expression, he picked up a little speed, keeping his thrusts purposeful and deep as he rocked you back and forth.

A mixture of grunts and pants flowed into the air as you both clung to each other for dear life, the shared air between you warm with passion and love.

Katakuri groaned as you clenched around him, a sharp hiss sliding through his teeth as you threw your head back in the throaty whine, your nails digging into his shoulders before dragging along the flesh of his back.

"(y-y/n)... feel so good—" his moan caught when you squirmed in place, giving him better access.

He nipped your neck, giving it a small lick and kiss after.

"Look so beautiful like this..."

You always adored how lovey and mindless Katakuri got during sex, no matter the setting.

He always made you feel so special, so wanted, like you were the only woman in the world.

And you might as well have been, as the only thing running through the general's mind at the moment—or at any time, really—was you.

His thrusts hit deeper with the new angle, forcing you to fight the roll of your eyes in fear of him stopping.

You were nearly there, already so close to coming undone.

"Kuri..." you exhaled, stomach fluttering as he buried his face in your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses against the flush.

"I know, love. M'close, too," he rumbled, hand cupping your neck and pulling you closer to steal your lips once again. "We finish together, yeah?"

You frantically nodded, humming with contentment as you kissed the corner of his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into you.

Close wasn't close enough.

You wanted him closer than that.

You wanted him so close that it felt as if you'd die if he pulled away.

"Kuri!" you cried, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you arched into him, "I... oh, nggh!... I love you!"

You came around him, muscles and walls clenching harshly on his pulsing member as you felt his hips stutter, emptying inside you with a feral growl.

"I love you more," he grunted into your forehead, pressing a tender kiss into your hair.

After that, he stilled for a moment, still not removing himself as he looked you over, caressing your cheek lovingly as he admired your face.

You felt as if you were glowing, and from his perspective, you were.

Your hair was sprawled out on the pillows, forming a halo around your head, making it look as if he had a real-life angel beneath him.

This thumb brushed your lips, his chest swelling with pride at the dreamy, enamored look he'd plastered on your face.

"Good massage?" you panted, grinning cheekily.

Amused, he cracked a small smile, pulling you into his chest and resting his chin on your head.

"Good massage."

"Ignore her, (y/n)..." Amande rolled her eyes as she took smooth drag from her cigarette. "It's smart you both are going at your own pace... building trust... without it, a relationship is doomed to fail..."

You all were having easy conversation, drinking and chatting about whatever came to mind, when you and Katakuri were suddenly brought up.

And Custard nearly had a stroke when she found out you and your husband hadn't tried for a baby yet, two whole years after marriage.

"And speaking of doom... we have an audience..."

A group of men, in particular, whose gazes were piercing you and your sisters-in-law from across the way.

The three, intense pairs of eyes belonged to three attractive men dressed in their best designer.

And they each had their own outstanding feature: the tallest one sitting on the right had long, green hair, while the one on the left had arms roped in tattoos, the final one having a buzz cut and a snaggle-toothed smile.

Their alluring, lustful stares were definitely piping up Custard—Amande, not so much—but you paid them little mind, already familiar with your husband, who was ten times hotter than all of them combined.

And you missed him a whole damn lot.

You and Katakuri were supposed to have date night, but he got called in last minute about some rival pirate crew causing a ruckus on the opposite side of the island, and had to cancel.

So the girls—mostly Custard, Amande came for moral support—dragged you out to the club, much to your protest.

Custard scoffed, gulping down another Jell-O shot, "Waiting on Katakuri?" she chuckled, the flashing club lights making her amethyst eyes sparkle.

The drinks made your body burn in your mini-dress, feeling hot despite the cool air and your exposed skin.

"I'm afraid you'll be waiting a while, (y/n)," she shook her head, crossing her smooth legs over one another, "I heard the call over the transponder snail... these pirates seem strong... it might take him a while."

You'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed your man wasn't with you, resting his hand at the small of your back, looming protectively over your shoulder, glaring at all the men trying to eye you up.

And you'd done so much to make sure you looked your best, too.

You completely demolished your closet while searching for the perfect dress—which ended up being a short, backless mini-dress that made your legs look long and showed off the curve of your spine sliding toward your ass.

You'd bought it when you were eighteen and in a rebellious phase, but never had the confidence to actually wear it.

But now, older and more sure of yourself, you loved, loved, loved it—how beautiful the black fabric looked against your skin, how sexy it made you feel.

And Katakuri loved it, too—he'd walked in on you trying it on one time, and it made his face as red as a cherry.

Combined with your stiletto heels, fresh mani-pedi, perfume adorning your wrists and the back of your knees, and long hair that caressed the expanse of your back, you felt like a damn vixen.

Amande let out a heavy sigh, begrudgingly downing the rest of her Negroni and taking your hand in hers as he stood up.

You were lucky she liked you.

"No sense in sitting around while you wait..." she huffed in her usual monotone.

For a moment, she offered you a ghost of a smile, a flicker of mischief in her eyes.

You paused for a moment, hesitant.

But in that instant, those three vodka cranberries hit you like a truck, and all inhibitions went out the window.

You grinned, chugging the last of your drink before shooting up to your feet.

"Let's do it."

Famous last words.

.

.

.

Smoothly, you slid your fingers up your body, swaying your hips in rhythm with the beat in sync with Custard.

You two had been dancing so well, you called the attention of the entire club. And with you about six vodka cranberries in, it felt as if the music was coursing through your veins and melding with your bones.

The men of the establishment were hounding you both relentlessly—Amande having escaped to the bar after completing her mandatory ten minutes of dancing—and even in your inebriated state, you fought them off vigorously, smacking away hands and shutting down advances with a sharp tongue.

Though, it wasn't long before the novelty began to fade, and the urge to go home began to set in.

Paduh-paduh-paduh! Paduh-paduh-paduh! Paduh-paduh-paduh!

As if on cue, your baby transponder snail began to ring, stealing your attention.

"I'm getting a call!" you exclaimed, turning to Custard. "Wait for me, Cus! I'll be right back!"

She gave you a wink before you went stumbling off the dance floor, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You decided to go to the nearest ladies' room, leaning against the wall where the long line started, before answering the call.

Cuh-lick!

"Heyyyy, Kuri," you sang into the phone with a drunk giggle.

"(y/n)," your husband greeted in a happy tone only you were privileged to hear. "I just finished dealing with our... interruption. Oven is taking care of the clean up so I'm free if you'd still like to go on our date."

"Oh!" you chuckled, "Sorry!"

At your odd, uncharacteristic response—along with the mind-numbing background noise—Katakuri became confused.

"Where are you? I can barely hear your voice."

You rested your foot on the wall, leaning your back flush against the cool tiles, "Cus' and Amande took me to the club an' these guys tried to join us," you slurred. "Oh, and they bought us drinks. And one guy said he liked my dress. He wasn't as good looking as you."

"Which dress are you wearing?" he asked with an arched brow, intrigued.

"The backless one."

"The one you were trying on the other day?"

"Yup."

Quietly, he let out a pained sigh, the image still pleasantly burned into his memory.

You giggled at his response, finding humor in his pain.

"You should see me, Kuri... I look gooood," you smiled, looking down at yourself. "But it's not the same... s'not as fun without you here."

You lowered your foot back down to the ground and wrapped your arm around your midsection, suddenly feeling small and cold.

"I miss you," you said, quietly. "Could you pick me up, please?"

His ribs squeezed his heart at the sad sound of your voice, unable to fight the burn in his chest.

Despite the fact that you were completely wasted, your mind still drifted to him, and even missed him when he was away.

It was adorable.

"I'll be there in two minutes," he answered without a moment's hesitation. "Where are—?"

"Wait!" you shrieked, a smile blooming on your face as you fell silent.

Katakuri's stomach dropped to his ass.

"(y/n)?!" he exclaimed, very potent fear lacing his tone as his eyes went wide.

"Kuri! It's my song! I'll be right back!" you grinned into the phone, heels audibly clacking as you scrambled back toward Custard.

"(y/n), wait, don't—!"

But you hung up before he could finish.

When you shimmeyed back to the center of the dance floor, Custard happily greeted you, the two of you moving perfectly with the beat before you began your own moves.

"Oooo, what's that?" you asked, pointing at the glass she was holding.

It was orange, topped with ice and chopped oranges and strawberries, reminding you of a tequila sunrise.

"Want it?" she giggled, holding it out for you to take, which you gladly did.

In fact, you tossed it back like it was water, humming approvingly at the taste as you licked the remnants off your lips.

The two men next to you were close to falling out from the scene.

"Hey!" one of them groaned. "Can you do that to me?"

You turned to them, brows furrowed, "Go away! My husband's gonna be here anyyyyy second."

Custard gasped as she threw a drunken arm around you, pulling you close into her perfume-soaked neck, "He's comin' to party?! That's great!"

You both cheered together, throwing your hands in the air as you continued to dance.

"You two are so hot..." another man groaned from behind her, "I'd kill to touch either of you."

Custard smirked, her glossed lips making her mouth look all the more inviting.

"We know!" she giggled, cheekily. "Butcha can't!"

She winked at you, playfully.

"'Sides, she's already got a man."

You eagerly nodded in confirmation, slightly startled by the stranger's sudden proximity.

He had gotten closer, so close that you could see the... situation occurring in his pants.

"As sexy as you are?" he scoffed, reaching for you under the strobe lights. "I don't doubt it. But he ain't here now, is he?"

"You wanna lose that hand?"

Your eyes lit up like stars as soon as you laid eyes on your huge, handsome bodyguard.

He stood there behind the man with his thick, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest.

And he looked less than pleased.

"Kuri!" you squealed, rushing to his side and throwing your arms around him happily.

The man turned to face him, going pale as he watched Katakuri snake an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

"G-General Katakuri!" he exclaimed, turning to you, blood cold as ice as he froze in place. "You're married to General Katakuri?!"

"Yuh-huh!" you grinned, proud, glancing up at your man with a lovesick look.

"Is that a problem?" Katakuri arched a sharp brow.

The man swallowed thickly, "Of course not! I was just—!"

"Harassing my wife."

You felt your heart flutter.

He'd been calling you that for a while, but somehow it always felt like the first time.

"I didn't know she was—!"

"Now you do," Katakuri spat, his tone leaving no room for argument, "Get lost."

You both watched the man scatter, his eyes wide as he scrambled away toward the bar.

"Are you alright?" Katakuri asked, tugging off his leather vest as he glared around the room, taking notice of the other leering men on the dance floor. "This place is full of scum."

You shrugged, running a hand through your hair with genuine realization, "Huh... I hadn't noticed."

Wordless, he handed over his vest, your nose wrinkling with confusion.

"What's that for?"

"You're shivering, (y/n)."

You looked down at yourself, realizing that you were, indeed, shivering.

"Oh."

"C'mon," he sighed, draping it over your shoulders before resting his hand at the small of your back, steering you toward the exit. "I think you've had enough fun for one night."

"Aww! But Kuriiiiii..."

"Amande," he glanced back at his sister, deep voice carrying over the music, "Are you drunk?"

"Tipsy..." she corrected from her spot at the bar, "Take her... I'll make sure Custard gets home alright..."

He nodded, going back to ushering you out the door.

"Kuriiiii, I missed you so much!" you confessed, a slight whine to your voice as you clung to him.

"I know you did, my love," he sighed, turning into the nearby alley. "Let's get you home."

The moment you hung up the snail, he sped over to the club, using Brûlée's Mirro-World to get there in record time.

Though, he would've happily ran on foot if he had to.

Without warning, you grabbed him, shoving him up against a wall in a surprising show of strength, resting your hands on his chest and tracing mindless shapes on his skin.

"(y/n)!" he asked, confused and slightly shocked.

"You look so good, Kuri," you purred, looking him up and down with hungry eyes, heating him up from the inside out, "Soooo good."

Suddenly, your lips attached to his neck, peppering the flesh with lazy kisses and pecks, with the occasional nip.

"(y/n)... you're drunk," Katakuri stated, mostly for himself, as he weakly attempted to pry you off.

"I'd do this anyway," you grinned into his skin, pulling back to look at him, gaze half-lidded, "You look so sexy, Kuri, I can't help myself... I want you so bad..."

Slowly, your lips curled into a hazy, loving smile, your eyes staring up at him like he was the only thing in the world.

Fuuuuck...

You were going to be the death of him—he might as well have had a heart attack right then and there.

"What's wrong?" you asked, lips pouty and eyes glassy by his lack of response, your expression one of hurt, "You're not touching me..."

"My love..." he sighed, voice strained, "As much as I want to indulge you right now... you don't know what you're doing. And I want you to be in your right mind when I touch you."

Nervous, he pulled back to see your reaction, only to find that you were already out like a light, softly snoring and drooling all over his chest.

He let out a sigh of relief, a soft smile curling onto his lips at the adorable sight.

Careful not to wake you, he brushed some hair out your face before scooping you up in his strong arms, pressing a tender kiss into your hairline.

You were something else...

Daifuku (1 year older than you)

"She's surprisingly refined. Knowledgeable on a myriad of different subjects, and able to hold a conversation quite well without overstaying her welcome," he nodded, quietly impressed. "I've only talked to her one-on-one a handful of times, but she's quite a delight. And apparently self-educated."

He scratched his chin.

"She and Katakuri are a good match. He's a man of few words, and she's a woman of however many required."

Oven (1 year older than you)

"She's a sweet girl, if albeit a bit reserved. Easy on the eyes. Very polite. Good head on her shoulders," he rested his hands on his hips. "I like that she doesn't ask questions. Some women forget their place after they marry, but she's smart enough to know not to stick her nose in family business."

He grinned.

"If I'm being honest, I think Katakuri lucked out in terms of arrangement. He could've ended up with a lot worse."

Amande (Same age)

"I like (y/n)... she's good to my brother... she makes him happy," she puffed her cigarette, slowly, "There's not much more I can ask for..."

She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I've never seen Katakuri so in love... he tries to hide it... but it's painfully obvious..."

Cracker (2 years younger than you)

"She's a smoke show! Arguably the hottest girl in the country," he licked his lips with a sleazy smirk. "She's got the hips. The ass. The thighs. The tits. The waist."

He scoffed, confident.

"My brother can like her all he wants, but I think a woman like that is wasted on a stiff like him. I could give her the best night of her life."

Brûlée (4 years younger than you)

"She's amazing! Gentle and kind. The nicest woman you'll ever meet," she beamed. "She's always open to talk. Always willing to lend a hand, no matter the task.

She sighed, a smile on her face.

"Katakuri ended up with such a wonderful woman. Their match may not have been one of love at first, but it certainly is now. And I'm forever grateful. My big brother deserves the world."

Mont-d'Or (9 years younger than you)

"If I'm being honest, I don't have much of an opinion on her. We don't talk beyond the usual greetings in passing," he shrugged. "She's been part of the family for years, and all the older siblings seem to respect her to some degree. So I suppose I do, too. And I must admit, she does make a mean cheesecake."

He flipped through the pages of one of his books.

"As far as her relationship with Katakuri, I don't have a big opinion on that either. Though, they do look good together. One of those attractive couples."

Smoothie (12 years younger than you)

"I've known her since I was a little girl. Before she married into the family, my sisters and I used to eat at her bakery all the time. Her blueberries and cream doughnut is to die for," she thought back fondly. "She's a gentle soul. Wouldn't harm a fly. And very dedicated to her work. I can't count all the tea parties and events she's catered for the family over the years."

She took a graceful sip from her glass of juice.

"Katakuri cares about her a great deal. And so do most of the older siblings. Heaven help the bastard that tries to hurt her."

Chiffon (21 years younger than you)

"She's a peach! And one of the best pastry chefs this world has ever seen!" she happily exclaimed. "She was my mentor when I was just starting out, and taught me nearly everything I know! Not to mention, she helped me through a tough time when Lola ran away and I was left with Mama's wrath. It's why I made her Pez's godmother!"

She grinned, rocking her baby back and forth.

"You won't find a more compassionate-considerate gal anywhere. And that's why I think she is the perfect person to balance out my big brother. Trust me, I know from experience. The right woman can soften even the toughest of tough-guys."

Pudding (31 years younger than you)

"(y/n)'s been around for as long as most of us younger siblings can remember. She's practically an older sister," she smiled. "She's smart, thoughtful, an amazing teacher, and even better inspiration. Her pastry skills are the stuff of legend among us chefs."

With a soft sigh, she whisked her bowl of chocolate.

"As far as her relationship with my big brother, I don't think she realizes just how much hope she's given to the rest of the family. Most of us have given up on marrying for love... but her marriage to Katakuri is proof that a love match is possible, even if it might not start that way."

She looked left and right, before lowering her voice to a whisper, biting back a cheeky grin.

"Though, rumor has it that Katakuri had a little crush on her before he ever knew about the arrangement! How romantic!"

Flampe (32 years younger than you)

"She's a pain!" she huffed, annoyed. "All the older siblings love her 'cause she's been around since forever, the old hag... she's such an attention hog! And big bro Katakuri just encourages it! He's always staring at her, no matter where she goes! She's not even that pretty!"

Cheeks puffed, she crossed her arms.

"I wish she'd just die. That way I'd be able to get the praise I deserve..."

Big Mom (21 years older than you)

"Who?... Oh! The little plaything I gifted Katakuri all those years ago. Yeah, she's a meek one. But her desserts are absolutely delicious!" she licked her lips, drooling at the thought. "She makes the best doughnuts!"

Proud of herself, she puffed her chest.

"Mama mama! I did a good job with her. One of the best marriages I've set up, if I do say so myself."

Katakuri's innermost thoughts...

"(y/n) is the perfect woman. Plain and simple," he stated as if it were fact. "Despite the filthy, criminal world I've dragged her into, she has remained unshakeable. A paragon of kindness, compassion, intelligence, and grace."

He bit back a faint smile under his scarf, images of you flashing in his mind.

"I wouldn't change a single, minute detail about her. She's generous to a fault, empathetic beyond measure, more forgiving than most, and beautiful beyond description. I don't deserve to stand by her side and call her mine... yet she insists. So in turn, I do everything in my power to be a man worthy of her time."

Looking up at the sky, his voice dropped, almost soft.

"I love her more than I can put into words... and even if I could, they wouldn't do her justice. There has never been anyone else, and there never will be anyone else. (y/n) is it. Both in this life and the next."

You moaned into the kiss, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck while his hands groped your ass, your dress stretched tight against it.

You then found yourself against a wall, your back pressed against it while Katakuri pressed into you, shrugging off his leather vest and kicking off his boots.

Deep groans left his lips and filtered into your mouth, going straight to your pussy as he ground his hips into yours.

There, you could feel his obvious hard-on pressing into your thigh, making you quiver with need.

"This is what you do to me, (y/n)," he panted against your mouth, switching the two of you around. "So beautiful... so perfect..."

You took your turn to press him against the wall, teeth gently grazing his lips before taking his bottom one between them, tugging before letting it softly pop back into place.

You were gushing at this point, willing his hands to explore more as you went back to kissing him, his tongue pushing into your mouth and flooding his taste all over your taste-buds.

Taking a step back, you gasped in surprise, suddenly falling back onto the couch.

Katakuri leaned over you, trapping you between his arm that slung over the back of the couch.

You were trapped, caged, and at his complete mercy.

"Kuri, please..." you whispered, breathlessly. "I need you... missed you s'much..."

Before you could utter another word, his lips were on yours once again, soft yet rough, bruising your mouth and making your lips feel raw.

He pushed you into the couch as he leaned forward, cupping your face in his large hands.

A soft, needy moan left your lips as his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, giving you the taste of strawberry.

Then, the kiss was over like that, and he was pulling away and standing before you, eyes filled with lust.

"Stand for me, my love," he cooed.

And you did so, wobbly on your weak knees.

He slowly turned you around to face away from him and tantalizingly pulled down your dress from the top, freeing your body from its confines and leaving you in your lace bra and panties.

He groaned, his hands groping everywhere they could reach, "You... are beauty incarnate."

Your face burned at his words.

But before you could do anything about it, he whipped you around again and pressed another hot kiss to your lips before pushing you back down onto the couch.

You gasped as you fell, bouncing slightly on the cushions.

Katakuri knelt down and pried your legs apart immediately, his huge hands pinning your thighs in place.

You had no choice but to lie back, totally helpless.

His eyes bored into yours as his hands gripped the waistband of your panties.

Riiiip.

The fragile, weak fabric tore apart as he ripped it off your sex.

You had never seen a man look more hungry than your husband as he stared at your pussy, beautiful and glistening wet for him.

You expected him to start devouring you right off the bat, but he didn't.

Instead, he began to kiss up and down your body, peppering your tummy, hips, and inner thighs .

He stroked down your breasts and sides, his fingers feeling like heaven.

With every touch and kiss, your body came alive, your blood hot and pussy desperately screaming for attention.

"Kuri..." you moaned into the quiet darkness, "Please..."

The man stared up at you from between your thighs, a cocky grin on his face at your pleas.

He didn't need to be asked twice.

He immediately dove into your pussy and proceeded to eat in a way you knew only he could.

He was precise... eager... merciless... his large tongue jutting across your clit and inside your hole, taking everything you had to offer and then some.

It didn't take long for you to see stars, and lose every ounce of self control.

Every moan and gasp that left your lips, your husband relished, either quickening his pace or slowing down based on your sounds.

"Fuck, Kuri!" you moaned, your voice bounding off the walls—it was a good thing you left Soda with Brûlée for the weekend.

Your hands moved to grip his hair as your hips ground up to meet his magical tongue.

All you could do was shake and shudder as he did what he did, painting planets and galaxies behind your eyelids.

It was too good.

He was too good.

The feeling of his nose pressed against your clit only heightened the pleasurable sensation until you could no longer keep your voice down.

When one of his thick fingers—gloveless, as he'd tugged them off with his teeth and nearly made you cum on the spot—suddenly slid inside of you, right when you were on the edge of orgasm, it was all over.

"Kuri!" you whined. "M'gonna... ugh, fuck... m'gonna cum!"

He stared up at you with those deep red eyes, pulling his mouth away, still pumping you with his fingers.

"What's the magic word, (y/n)?" he teased, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face—he was enjoying every second of this.

"Please!" you sobbed. "Fuck, Kuri, please! I need it!"

That was good enough for him.

Like a wild animal, Katakuri dove back into your pussy and lapped at your clit while he finger-fucked your sex, drawing you closer and closer to the edge until your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave.

With a loud, almost-pornographic moan, you came all over his mouth, much to his satisfaction.

His grunts of pleasure mingled with yours as he ravished your cunt, slurping up your juices while his fingers slowed their strokes inside of you.

Your body tensed as your orgasm ran through you, making your toes curl and your hips twitch.

It had been so long since your last time together, you had almost forgotten how utterly fantastic he was.

But before you could even catch your breath, he was already propping up your hips on the armrest of the couch.

"Don't tell me you're already tired," he taunted in his sinful, sultry voice, giving your ass a soft squeeze. "What happened to all that vigor in your letters? In your photos?"

In no time, his belt was gone, his pants were down, and his large, thick cock was springing from his boxers.

You felt him mount himself behind you, his body an ominous yet thrilling presence.

One hand grabbed your hip, squeezing the flesh there, while the other took his member and glided it against your pussy lips.

You moaned, weeped, and sobbed at the feeling of his head nudging your clit.

In fact, you would've said something, but he was already sliding in, stealing the words from your tongue and the air from your lungs.

He started off slow, dragging out his thrusts as he gripped your hips, giving you time to adjust to him.

He stretched you out, made you accommodate his girth and length, molding your little hole into the shape of him.

Though you were wet enough, you hissed at the sting, to which he soothed by rubbing your clit and pressing tender kisses into your back.

"Easy, love," he cooed. "You're doing so well for me... so good..."

Finally, after a few more slow strokes, pleasure began to bloom all over and overwhelm you.

He could tell the sensations changed by the sounds you made, and began to speed up his thrusts, your skin colliding in a symphony of slaps as he fucked you deep into the couch.

You tried to bite back your moans and loud sobs in fear of being too loud, but Katakuri wasn't having it.

With a harsh smack, his hand collided with your ass cheek, earning a strangled moan in response.

"Don't withhold those pretty sounds from me, (y/n)," he growled. "I've been gone for so long... give me your voice... let me hear how good I feel."

He shifted his weight, the new angle allowing himself to plunge deeper inside of you.

Now, you couldn't stop your voice from carrying even if you wanted to.

You were a moaning, whimpering, yelping mess as he gave it all to you, clutching your neck and pulling back, forcing you to look up at him.

"Look at my beautiful wife..." he smirked. "So damn perfect... don't know what I did to deserve you..."

He leaned in, causing his dick to sink even deeper.

"I love you so much, (y/n)... you consume me..."

And you did, too.

You really fucking did.

You loved the way his hands grabbed your body, squeezing and stroking it.

You loved the sound of his grunts and groans, of the couch springs bouncing beneath you.

You wanted to scream about how good he felt inside of you.

About how much you loved him.

About how he'd ruined any and all men for you until the end of time.

"Kuri!" you whined, "Kuri, baby... fuck!... baby, m'gonna cum..."

You could feel your pussy quivering, your body shaking.

"I know, love, I know," he nodded. "But I need to hear you say something first."

You groaned impatiently, trying to push your ass back on him, but a hard smack on your ass stopped you.

"I want you to tell me you're mine."

SMACK!

"Tell me you're my wife."

SMACK!

"Tell me how much you love me."

"Oh, fuck!" you shouted, on the verge of losing your voice. "I'm yours, Kuri! I'm your wife!... oh, ungh!... I'm your wife and I love you so much! I'm all yours just please make me cum!"

And he does.

Grinning with all thirty-two of his razor sharp teeth, he grabbed the back of your neck, forcing your head into the couch cushions as he proceeded to fuck your brains out, pummeling his cock in and out of your heat as you gasped, moaned, and cried in sheer pleasure.

Your orgasm crashed into you in a gigantic tidal wave, sweeping you up and washing over like a tsunami of bliss.

You'd never had such an explosive orgasm before, and it nearly took all the life out of you.

After a few more hard thrusts, Katakuri let out a primal growl and pulled out before quickly stroking his cock.

With a loud moan—that left your pussy quivering—he released his spend all over your ass and back, glazing your smooth, brown skin.

"Fuck..." he panted, eyes committing this very scene to permanent memory. "(y/n)... love... you look like a damn angel right now."

You couldn't speak.

All you could do was lay on the couch, heaving like you'd just ran a marathon—pros and cons of a superhuman husband.

You felt hot.

You felt weak.

But shit... you felt so damn good.

Scooping you up, Katakuri carried you up to your shared bed and laid himself down first before carefully resting you on top of him, pulling up the covers and carefully draping them over you.

"Are you all right, (y/n)?" he asked, glancing down at you as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

All you could do was hum and nod in satisfaction, resting your hands on his chest and nuzzling into his side while your eyes fluttered shut, the both of you slipping into content silence.

Maybe a few months apart wasn't so bad if you got sex like this by the end...

His boots thumped hard against the planks beneath them, beads of sweat dripping steadily down his temples.

Most would think this was a rather dramatic reaction to receiving mail... but most didn't sail with the strongest Sweet General during one of the worst News Coo strikes in history.

On average, Katakuri's voyages only lasted a little over two months at a time. And, typically, the News Coo arrived once every week with all sorts of mail, newspapers, packages, and urgent world updates.

But thanks to Big News Morgans and his pay cuts, nearly every seagull in the world was on strike, demanding better pay for their delivery services.

Which meant for the past three months—the entirety of the trip—both Katakuri and his crew had been totally in the dark pertaining to current events.

In any other circumstance, that would've been a mild nuisance at best, but a week into the trip every single transponder snail aboard the ship fell ill due to some rare flu, completely cutting off all communication with the outside world.

Now this made Katakuri furious... but not for the reason you may think.

See, the only and I mean only thing that kept him going on long trips like these were your letters and/or calls on the transponder snail.

They were his escape, the only way he could keep tabs and stay current on all things you.

There were no meriendas while he was away, no late night pillow talks, no time to catch up or take a break from your busy everyday lives.

He couldn't even see your face. Being so far out of Big Mom's territory meant that he was entirely out of range for Brûlée's Mirror-Mirror power—believe him, he tried, multiple times.

With the only two links to his favorite person in the world unavailable, Katakuri developed a dreadful, hair-trigger temper, so much so that each and every crew member kept a personal eye out for any form of communication from you, in hopes of ensuring the furious general didn't throw them all overboard before it was time to go home.

And now, finally, their salvation had come.

"How much longer until we reach Mama's Territory?" Katakuri asked, tone dangerously low and arms crossed tight over his chest as he looked over the map pinned to the table.

"Weather and winds permitting... at least another month..." the navigator sighed, tracing his finger from where they were, to the closest piece of land. "The currents in this part of the sea are weak. And the winds stop suddenly and without warning."

He shook his head, running a nervous hand through his hair as he glanced at the log pose.

"Even at our fastest speed with constant wind and assistance from the current, it'll be three weeks before we even reach the Cotton Candy Flurry."

At the rather disheartening news, your husband's brows furrowed even deeper than what they were before, a frustrated vein popping against the skin of his forehead.

The navigator trembled at the sight, eyes wide and terrified, knees knocking at the thought of facing the general's wrath.

"That's—"

"Commander Katakuri! Commander Katakuri!" the henchman bellowed, bursting into the private room and rushing past the navigator.

"I'm in a meeting," Katakuri spat, pinching the bridge of his nose, already thoroughly annoyed. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

"But, sir—!"

"I don't have time for whatever it is you're blubbering about. Take it up with the quartermaster and leave us."

"But—!"

"Do I have to ask twice?"

Katakuri's voice cut through the air like ice, his eyes murderous as he leveled the lowly crew member with a deadly glare.

A cold shiver shot down the man's spine, and he folded at the hip in a deep, pathetic bow.

"Apologies, sir! But you need to see this!" the man screwed his eyes shut, bracing for impact. "It's a letter!"

"From who?"

"Lady (y/n), sir! I think the strike has ended!"

Instantly, Katakuri's froze, and, sure enough, his eyes settled on your handwriting, the name Kuri written in large, informal cursive on the envelope.

Could it be?

Was it true?

Were the dark ages finally over?

"Give it to me. Now."

Without hesitation, he sent out a mochi appendage and snatched it up, tearing open the envelope like a starving lion would a gazelle, before carefully fishing out the parchment.

It was dated only a few days prior.

My dearest Kuri, It's nighttime here on Komugi and I miss you more than words can express. I've lost count of how many letters I've sent at this point, though I'm sure you haven't seen a single one. This strike has made being apart from you especially hard this time around. But, hopefully, if you're reading this, my bribe worked and a seagull has delivered this letter along with a care package that has a box of my homemade strawberries and cream doughnuts inside. Your favorite! <3 As far as reaching you via transponder snail, I've had less luck. For some reason, my calls won't go through. Which leads me to believe that your snail might've gotten sick in your travels. Fortunately, a local merchant was selling Snail Fix-Em-Up at the market today, so a bottle is tucked safely in your care package as well! One spoonful will heal your snail in three days or less, but there isn't a lot. So distribute between your men wisely. In happier news, I think you'll be excited to learn that Soda has said his first word! And you'll never guess what it was! Brûlée and I were in the sitting room, having tea and catching up, when Soda suddenly came waddling in with one of your pictures in his grasp. I have no idea how he managed to get it. I usually keep it hidden in my dresser drawer. But regardless, he held it up and said "Dada!" with a big smile! Can you believe it?! Naturally, Brûlée and I were both a mess. You know the crybabies we can be when it comes to things like this. But it can't be helped. He seems to grow more and more every day. And the more he grows, the more he reminds me of you. Besides that, not much else has happened. Things at the bakery have been going business as usual. Mail orders have become harder to fill with the strikes, but it's nothing I can't handle. Brûlée gives you her best. Now that she's older, she tries to act all cool about it. But it isn't hard to see how melancholy she is when you're gone. And I can't say I blame her. These past few months have been long without you, my love. And I'm not too prideful to admit that I've been counting down the seconds until I can see you again. Not a moment has passed where I haven't thought of you... of your smile... of your hands... of your warmth. My heart breaks when I wake up to see your side of the bed empty and cold. But I know that I must remain patient and strong, like you. We will see each other again soon. I don't doubt that for a second. Anyways, I'm sure this letter has been a distraction. You're a busy man and I'd hate to take you away from your important work. But just know that my heart belongs to you. You are the sweetest ache in my chest and I never want to be rid of it. And hopefully you feel the same. Be careful. Stay safe. Eat well (more sweets on the way!) And most of all... I love you.

Forever and always yours, XOXO (y/n)

P.S enclosed is something to remind you of what you're coming home to <3 love you with everything, Kuri! enjoy!

P.P.S. if you like them, there's a few more in your package <3

Just as he reached the end of the letter, three small photos fell out from its curl.

Quickly, he caught them, and pulled them close to examine in his palm.

The first was one of you, naked, in your shared bed, lying on your side with nothing but a thin sheet concealing your most intimate parts, your expression a sultry one.

The second was of your face, a rather large popsicle tucked in the side of your mouth while you smiled and shot a wink into the camera.

The third was of your upper half, breasts on full display while your head was thrown back in ecstasy, lip tucked between your teeth and hand very obviously further south.

Katakuri nearly choked on the air he was taking in, eyes saucer wide as he came face to face with images that had starred in his every dream since he left.

In an instant, dark shades of red bloomed all over his pale face and neck, his stomach roaring with warm and pleasant arousal while the monster in his pants twitched to life without a moment to waste.

You looked as exquisite as the day he left you, if not more...

"It came with this large box," the henchman added, another crew member entering the room and placing it on the table, "Should we open it for you, sir?"

"NO!" Katakuri exclaimed, a little louder than intended as he slammed his hand over the top of the box.

All the men in the room flinched, confused and terrified by his sudden outburst.

Quickly, he reined it in, taking a deep breath and regaining his composure.

"There's no need. I'll take the package to my chambers and open it myself," he corrected, scooping up the box with one hand before starting toward the door.

"B-But what about our course?" the navigator piped up.

"We'll discuss it tomorrow. For the rest of the day, I am not to be disturbed," Katakuri answered, "Unless we are under attack or you all are dying, I better not hear a single peep."

Sharply, he glanced back, his glare one of molten fire.

"Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir! General Katakuri, sir!"

He nodded, exiting the room, "Good."

The trek to his cabin made him feel like he was walking on air, your husband the happiest he'd been in months.

An uncharacteristic, lovesick grin sat plainly on his lips, concealed by his large scarf.

Your every word had left him helplessly undone, and this little stunt had him beginning to think you enjoyed having him at your complete and utter mercy.

And yet, he couldn't deny it, seeing as his newfound eagerness had brought him back to his chambers in record time.

Not wasting a second, he locked the door behind himself, reinforcing it with haki-infused mochi before placing the package at the foot of his bed.

There, he opened it, tearing off the tape and pulling the flaps to reveal everything you said you included in the care package.

The box of his favorite doughnuts, along with a few more of varying different flavors.

The bottle of Snail Fix-Em-Up, and the measuring spoon to go with it.

Photos of you and Soda, along with a few more scanty ones of yourself.

But one thing you'd failed to mention was that at the very bottom there would be a pair of black, lace panties with a picture to match.

A picture of you on your knees in the very same pair—and nothing else—staring up at the camera with a completely and utterly enamored look, the cursive at the bottom reading "all for you, Kuri <3"

The saying goes that eyes are the windows to the soul, and judging by this picture, it was painfully obvious that his name was written all over yours.

Katakuri let out a primal growl at the sight, his cock chubbing painfully against the zipper of his leather pants.

This had to be some form of torture...

Weak, he allowed his head to lull back, eyes screwed shut as all sorts of new scenarios and daydreams related to your pictures danced in his head.

He loved you with every fiber of his being... but oh my God were you going to get it when he got home.

"Yeah! And make it a hard one this time," he nodded, pencil at the ready, his fangy grin sharp and confident.

You nodded, giving him a thumbs up, "You got it."

"M'ready, too!" Cocoa raised her hand, eager to be included. "I wanna math, too!"

"Alright, then," you smiled, pinching her cheek with your flour-covered fingers. "I'll give you a problem, too."

But first, you turned your attention to Soda.

"Okay. Last Thursday, a customer placed an order for three dozen butter pecan cupcakes and four dozen honey-butter doughnuts. At the time, I only had two baker's dozen of the cupcakes and one baker's dozen of the doughnuts. How many more cupcakes did I have to make? How many more doughnuts? And how many treats would I have to make all together?"

Swiftly, Soda began to scribble in his notebook, tongue between his lips and brows furrowed with concentration as he jotted down his work.

36 - 26...

48 - 13...

10 + 35...

"You would have to make ten more cupcakes and thirty-five more doughnuts to complete the order," he answered almost instantly, lifting up his paper to show his work. "All together, that would be forty-five treats."

Pausing your work, you leaned in, examining his messy scribbles with a serious face.

For a moment, his confidence faltered, expression falling at your extended silence and stern expression.

"Is that... is that wrong?"

Leaning back, you sharply arched a brow, resting your thumb and forefinger on your chin.

"It... is... correct!"

Your stern expression turned into a bright smile in an instant, hand raising for a high-five, which he happily obliged, relieved to see you weren't upset.

"Great job, honey. I think that was your fastest yet."

"My turn! My turn!" Cocoa raised her hand, waving it in the air.

"Yes, yes, I didn't forget you, Co," you chuckled, grabbing your rolling pin. "You ready?"

"Yuh-huh!"

"Alright, then... If you have five blueberry muffins, and Soda gives you two more, how many muffins will you have all together?"

For a moment, she paused, face visibly scrunching as she thought hard.

Looking down at her hands, she raised and dropped a few fingers, carefully calculating in her head before finally revealing her answer.

"Seven!" she realized, holding up that amount of fingers.

"Yes! That's correct!" you cheered, dropping your pin and snatching the two of them up in your arms, swirling them around in your embrace. "My babies are so smart! Must be why your heads are so big."

"Hey!" Soda exclaimed, cheeks warm with embarrassment as you peppered them with kisses, some of the nearby chefs fawning at the sight from their stations. "Mom!"

"That tickles!" Cocoa giggled, resting her hands on your chest.

"Oh, don't act like you don't love my kisses," you smiled, purposefully pressing your cheek into his.

"I'm too old for kisses!" he huffed.

"Since when?"

"Since... uh... since now!"

"That's news to me."

"Well, m'tryna be like Dad... he doesn't like kisses."

"Oh, honey, if there's anything your father does like, it's kisses."

"EW! MOM!"

"Just saying!"

DING-DING!

Cocoa gasped, "A customer!"

"Yes! First one of the day!" you smiled, lowering the two to the ground before dusting off your hands on your apron. "Alright, kiddos. You know the drill."

"C'mon, Soso! Let's go say hi!" Cocoa grinned, snatching up his hand and scurrying toward the front room.

"You don't have to run, Co! He's not goin' anywhere," Soda groaned, falling in step behind her.

Amused by their antics, you followed close behind, entering the lobby of your huge bakery to see a rather seedy-looking man waiting at the register.

"HI!" Cocoa exclaimed a little louder than necessary.

"Not so loud! He's right there!" Soda scolded, shushing her.

"Good morning, sir!" you greeted with a smile, helping Cocoa onto the counter while Soda stepped onto his stool to see over it. "Give me one moment. My son can take your order while I unlock the till."

"Whatever you say, lady," the man shrugged, leaning against the display case.

You reached in your apron pocket, fishing around for the key as Soda took out his notepad and pen.

"What can I get for you today, sir?" he asked, flipping to a fresh page. "Our coffee rolls are fresh from the oven. And we've just put on a new pot of tea."

"I'll take a—"

The man stopped mid-sentence, eyes accidentally glancing over Soda's mouth.

Or rather... his teeth.

"JEEZ! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Confused and concerned, Soda's brows furrowed.

"Uh... what?" he asked, voice suddenly small.

Record scratch.

You froze, everything coming to a stand still as silence fell over the room, your body as rigid as a statue.

Did he just....

Did he just say what you think he just said?

"Excuse me?" you spat, giving him one chance—and one chance only—to correct himself.

"Your kid! His teeth! He has monster teeth! The hell's the matter with him?!" the man doubled down, as if he had never seen someone who looked different in his entire life.

As if he wasn't in a nation entirely founded on people and creatures from different walks of life living together.

Instantly, Soda's face fell, any previous light or happiness extinguished as his eyes frantically scanned over the man's face, secretly hoping for it all to be some kind of joke.

But, sadly, it wasn't.

Soda had always been treated different on account of his appearance, given his striking resemblance to his father didn't end at just his looks. And while he hadn't inherited the facial scars, one of the many features he had inherited were a mouth of long, razor sharp teeth.

Of course, you found them absolutely adorable. They gave your son character, and reminded you of the man you fell in love with.

But many others failed to share the same sentiment. Especially since Soda didn't hide his mouth like his father.

It drove you up the wall—how judgmental people could be, how insensitive.

But most of all... how audacious.

Before you even had a moment to think about the idea that popped into your head, your body was already moving, and the sound of a mirror being activated and the shink of a heavy spur cutting through the air.

"(y/n)!" Katakuri called from the back room the moment he made it through, having used Brûlée to teleport to your bakery from a meeting on Snack Island after seeing a snippet of a concerning future.

But you ignored him, instead opting to dive over the counter, tackling the man to the ground and slamming the back of his head against the tile with a harsh thwack.

"Mom!"

"Momma!"

"What the—?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU LADY?!"

"APOLOGIZE!" you shouted from your spot on top of him, roughly yoking the man up by his collar, more angry than you'd ever been in your entire life. "APOLOGIZE TO MY SON RIGHT NOW!"

"(y/n)!" Katakuri rushed into the front room, eyes going wide at the sight before him.

"Dad?!"

"Daddy?!"

"I didn't do anything! What are you even talking about?!" the man exclaimed.

"YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SAID! NOW APOLOGIZE!" you shouted once again, shaking him.

"What?! You talkin' about the kid's teeth?! That was an observation! You got a scary kid, lady! I don't know what you expect!"

BAM! BAM!

BAM! BAM!

BAM! BAM!

BAM! BAM!

Your fists flew, and for the first time in your life, you punched someone—multiple times at that.

Katakuri watched, frozen, completely dumbstruck at the sight.

In all his ten years of knowing and loving you, he had never, ever seen you so furious.

Not when Soda broke your mother's favorite vase. Not when Cocoa spilled hot chocolate on your wedding dress. Not even when his mother made a comment about your baby weight after your second pregnancy.

Nothing.

You were practically the patron saint of patience and forgiveness, so to see you so worked up was a once in a lifetime sight.

"HOW DARE YOU!" you roared, practically trembling. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO TALK ABOUT ANYONE'S APPEARANCE WHEN YOU LOOK THE WAY YOU DO!"

SMACK!

"I'M GIVING YOU ONE MORE CHANCE TO APOLOGIZE TO MY SON, OR, SO HELP ME, THE ONLY TEETH YOU'LL BE WORRIED ABOUT WILL BE THE ONES I KNOCK OUT YOUR SKULL!"

BAM!

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!"

"Yes!"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

SMACK!

"YES!"

Without warning, a sharp pang of arousal shot straight through Katakuri's stomach, twisting itself into a delicious knot as everything from his ears to his face to his chest burned at the sight of you pummeling this random man.

Something about the look in your eye, the bass in your voice, your absolute lack of composure.

It was wild, different, and uncharted territory.

Did it... Did it turn him on to see you upset? Angry?

God, what did that say about him?

Did that make him a bad husband?

"WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!" you shouted, shaking the man. "SAY IT!"

"I'M SORRY!" the man cried, tears pouring down his cheeks now.

Instantly, Katakuri shook himself out of it.

Eh, questions are best kept for later.

"SORRY FOR WHAT?"

"I'M SORRY FOR SAYIN' YOUR KID HAS MONSTER TEETH!"

"DON'T APOLOGIZE TO ME! APOLOGIZE TO MY SON!"

Quickly, the man looked past you and toward the little boy just barely peeking over the counter.

"HEY, KID! M'SORRY I SAID YOU HAVE MONSTER TEETH! YOU DON'T, ALRIGHT! I DIDN'T MEAN IT! I SWEAR!"

Turning, you glanced over your shoulder toward Soda, offering your son a comforting smile.

"What do ya think, honey?" you asked, sincerely. "Do you accept his apology?"

And the boy thought long and hard, a smirk curling on his lips as he played up his indecision.

"I... do," he nodded.

You nodded back, before turning your attention to the man once again.

"You're lucky my son is so kind," you spat, brows furrowed. "I, however, am not so forgiving."

You pulled him in close, voice dropping to a dangerous rumble.

"If I ever, and I mean ever, see you anywhere near me, my shop, or my family ever again, I will take my favorite bat and knock your kneecaps so far back, you'll walk backwards for the rest of your life, do you understand me?"

"YES! I DO!"

"Good," you huffed, finally letting him go and rising to your feet. "Now get out of my sight."

He didn't have to be told twice.

Before you could even get the rest of the sentence out, he was already scrambling for the door, leaving tracks as he made a beeline for anywhere that was far away from you.

Finally able to let your guard down, your shoulders dropped, a heavy sigh slipping past your lips as you turned back to your family.

"I am so sorry you all had to see tha—"

Without hesitation, Soda ran up to you, arms wrapping around your legs tight in a grateful bear hug.

Your eyes widened, hands instinctively nestling in his hair and pulling him close.

Embarrassed, he buried his face in your skirt, though you didn't miss the wet warmth of tears on your leg.

"Thanks, Mom..." he sniffled, quiet voice muffled by your dress.

That was it.

In an instant, you felt ready to cry yourself, eyes growing misty as they glanced toward your husband, who was holding Cocoa in his one arm.

Taking notice of your growing distress, Katakuri was quick to act.

"Children," he remarked, slowly lowering Cocoa to the ground, "why don't you both snack on some treats in the display while your mother and I talk in the back."

Cocoa beamed, tugging at his hand with excitement, "Even the brownies?!"

Under his scarf, he cracked a small smile.

"Yes, munchkin, even the brownies," he nodded, patting the top of her head.

More than eager, she scurried over to the counter, practically throwing the door open to the display and grabbing whatever she could.

Slowly but surely, Soda unwound himself from you, making a point to wipe his nose with the back of his hand and furrow his brows in fear of looking weak in front of his father.

But before he could turn away, you squatted down to his level, cupping his cheeks in your hands and smoothing your thumbs over his tears.

The boy's eyes widened, and leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss into his hairline.

"I don't care what anyone else in this world says..." you stated, resting your forehead against his. "You are my son, Soda, and you are perfect just the way you are... fangs and all."

At your words, the waterworks began again, only this time the boy rolled his lips to fight the tears.

Quickly, he nodded, before turning around and running toward the counter, hoping to drown his thankful sorrows in something sweet.

"Here, Soso!" Cocoa grinned, holding out a plate of Cherry Cola Cake to her older brother. "Your favorite! It'll make you feel better."

Soda took it carefully, shoving a forkful in his mouth and letting out content hum, leaning against his littler sister.

"Thanks, Co."

"Of course, big bro!"

With the children distracted, you followed your husband into the back, and were met with over fifty pairs of eyes staring back at you, curious as to what all the ruckus was.

Sheepishly, you smiled, but Katakuri didn't have time for such pleasantries.

"Leave us," he barked, sharp and final—and partly annoyed that they didn't leave the moment he returned, given his intense entrance through the emergency mirror next to the ovens.

"Y-Yes, sir! Commander Katakuri, sir!" they all exclaimed, bowing before frantically rushing toward the back exit.

And once you were sure they all were gone, you turned to him, apologies spilling from your mouth without a second thought.

"Kuri, I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me! That man started talking about Soda's teeth and I just got so mad and suddenly I was over the counter! I didn't mean to pull you away from work. I hope you weren't doing anything too important. I—"

"Stop," Katakuri swiftly cut you off.

Instantly, you clammed up, and with tender care, he took your right hand in his, gingerly examining it as if it were fractured porcelain.

Your skin was split at the knuckle, wrist swollen, and fingers already starting to bruise—not to mention the decent amount of blood caked into your nail beds.

It wasn't pretty.

In fact, it looked like it hurt a great deal.

"I did it all wrong, didn't I?" you weakly chuckled, wincing as he prodded the problem area. "Figures. I can bake damn near every dessert imaginable, but god forbid I have to throw a punch..."

"If I had it my way, you wouldn't have to lift a finger," he stated simply, gently and effortlessly scooping you up with one arm and carrying you to an empty workstation, placing you on top.

At his remark, you couldn't help but crack a small smile.

Bending over, Katakuri grabbed a first aid kit from a cabinet under the station, plopping it on the counter before fishing out some antiseptic and bandages.

And with all his supplies at the ready, he began patching you up, cleaning, drying, and dressing your wounds with the care of a priceless artifact.

"What about now?" he asked with a slight rumble as he did away with the rest of the bandages, dropping them back into the kit. "How is the pain?"

You winced at his touch once again, doing your best to put on a brave face.

"Not too bad," you muttered through gritted teeth.

Your husband arched a brow, leveling you with a knowing look.

You caved.

"Okay... pretty bad."

He zipped the bag shut, returning it to its rightful place under the table.

"How did you hold your fist?" he naturally migrated closer, allowing himself slot right between your legs, "Show me."

You held up your fist, fighting through the pain to clench it like you did before, and he only had to examine it for a split second to realize the problem.

Gently, he rested his hand over yours, softly correcting your form.

"Curl your fingers tighter into your palm, and straighten out your wrist," he instructed, using his free hand as a model for comparison. "It'll keep you from hurting yourself."

And looking at it made it painfully obvious that your form was totally wrong.

Your cheeks warmed, embarrassment flooding your face as you opened your mouth to say something.

"No, I am not mad at you, my love," Katakuri answered smoothly, having peered into the future to catch your question before you could ask it, "This is my fault. If I'd arrived sooner, you wouldn't have had to get your hands dirty."

Leaning down, he lifted your bandaged hand, pressing a gentle kiss into your knuckles through his scarf.

"Forgive me."

You shook your head, refusing to let him take the blame, "No, no, it's my fault. I shouldn't have flown off the handle like that. Especially since I don't have the strength to back it up like you do."

He shook his head in return.

"I'm your husband. It's my job to be strong for you," he countered, cupping your cheek in his large palm, heart warming as you melted into his touch. "To handle the problems that are beneath you."

Your shoulders sank with a sigh, "Even still... I'm sure you were busy. I wish I didn't have to take you away from work."

"You and the children are my utmost priority," he denied, swiping a few stray hairs from your face and sweeping his thumb over the plush of your cheek, "I don't care if I'm in a meeting with Oven or Mama herself. If you're in trouble or need my help, you call me immediately."

Resting his hand on your hip, he smoothly pulled you closer, taking the opportunity to relish in the radiating warmth of your body.

"And if you feel the need to... handle it yourself... then be more careful. I don't enjoy seeing you in pain."

Heart buzzing, you leaned into his chest, nodding at his words.

"I take it that means I did good? Surprised you, didn't I?" you asked, cheeky and unserious, hoping to lighten the mood.

Arching a brow, he smirked from behind his scarf.

You let out a yelp as he suddenly hoisted you off the table, hiking your body up in his grasp as if you weighed no more than an apple.

"I've never seen you so angry before... yet still you remain so beautiful," he remarked, eyes glazed over with a shine only you could've inspired, a filter of brightness and warmth only you could've applied, "How do you do it?"

You keened at his praise, tugging down his scarf only slightly before wrapping your arms around his neck, "Wouldn't you like to know..."

With a growl of amusement, he pressed his lips against yours, your body melting into his grasp.

He cherished the feeling of your soft hands resting on his powerful shoulders, of your deft fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. So much so that he couldn't help the swarm of fluttering dragonflies that zipped their way through his stomach.

You kissed him back with just as much fervor, if not more, using your position to get the angle on him and deepen the kiss.

But little did you know, two sets of large eyes were peeking in the back room, having just caught the last part of your conversation.

"Huh..." Cocoa whispered, scratching her head, "Maybe Daddy does like kisses..."

"Gross!" Soda shuddered, quickly turning away from the disgusting sight.

Prepping, lifting, stocking, working the register, cleaning up. There was always a surplus of chores to be done. And always a surplus of complaints to be heard.

But now, with no chores and no work, the children had found themselves painfully, dreadfully, and deathly bored.

"So it's raining... what can we do?" Cocoa wondered, brows furrowed in thought.

"I have an idea!" Latte gasped, a bright smile curling on her lips. "Since we can't work at Mommy's bakery outside, maybe we could play Mommy's bakery and make sweets inside!"

"That's a great idea!" Cocoa and Frappe cheered.

"But where do we start?" Latte asked.

"Right here!" Cocoa grinned, quickly rushing over to their toy chest and pushing it from the foot of her bed to the wall, leaving a little space between so it could be used as a counter. "Mommy's Bakery! The best bakery the world has ever seen!"

She snatched up a few toy food items—a plastic cookie, a rubber doughnut, a felt croissant—and carefully placed them atop the chest.

"Look at all the sweets we have! A cinnamon sugar cookie! A strawberry cream doughnut! And a chocolate croissant! Would you like to try some?"

"Mama mama!" Frappe cackled, swiping all the play food onto the floor with her arm. "Give me an eclair! I want my eclair!"

She was clad in a bright pink dress-up dress, with matching heels, rings, and a pink feather boa stuffed in a pirate hat to give her pink hair.

"I want my eclair now!"

"Hey! What do you think you're doing!" Cocoa glared.

"I'm Grandma and I'm hungry. So I'm attacking the bakery," Frappe answered, simply.

"We haven't even had a customer yet!" Cocoa scoffed, "I still have to bake a new batch of cookies, go to Chocolat Town to pick up some chocolate, and taste test my new pudding recipe. So go attack somewhere else."

"Grandma doesn't wait for people to be ready when she attacks! She just does!"

"Well, too bad! I'm playing Mommy and I make the rules!"

"You are not!"

"Am too!"

"Are not!"

"Am too!"

"No!" Latte chimed, slamming a toy wooden spoon on the toy chest. "I'm playing Mommy."

She was wearing one of your signature dresses, along with an apron two sizes too big and a hair clip to pin up her hair in the same style you always did while baking.

Amused, the other two decided to go along.

"Yes, ma'am!" they saluted.

"Here's those flavor profiles, my Lady!" Cocoa smiled, handing her little sister a toy clipboard.

"Why thank you!" Latte thanked in a spot-on impression of you, happily taking the papers.

"And here's that new oven you ordered!" Frappe added, carrying over the toy kitchen.

"You're so kind!" Latte grinned, pointing to where she wanted it placed. "We've got a lot of work to do today! 200 macaroons and a 5-layer tiramisu! Where's Kota?"

Her question was met with silence.

"I said... where's Kota?!"

"Just a sec, my Lady!" Cocoa rushed past, speaking in her best Kota impression as she grabbed a newsboy cap from the dress-up closet before rummaging for a button-up.

"I'm waiting, Kota!"

"I said just a second, my Lady!"

After a few moments of searching, she found it, tugging it on before rushing to Latte's side.

"Sorry, ma'am. There was an incident in the Cookie division."

"That's alright. Is there anything important on my schedule today?" Latte asked as the two began to walk and talk.

"Well, ma'am, you've got a meeting with Mr. Streusen at noon, a pudding taste testing at two, and then your merienda with Daddy—er... I mean Commander Katakuri at three," Cocoa pretended to report, flipping through one of her old diaries. "Oh... and it looks like Mama's on one of her hunger pang rampages again."

"What?!"

The two girls turned to Frappe.

"Now?" she huffed, arms crossed.

"Now," Cocoa nodded with approval.

"Mama! Mama!" Frappe roared, knocking over the toy kitchen. "Give me my eclair!"

"Oh no! We have to protect the bakery!" Latte exclaimed, slapping her hands on her cheeks. "I'll call Aunt Smoothie for help!"

"Smoothie here! Let's hold off Mama!" Frappe rushed over, dress exchanged for a yellow scarf and a tan beret.

"Hey! Whaddya mean Smoothie here?" Cocoa paused, brows furrowed.

"I mean I'm Aunt Smoothie. Duh," Frappe rolled her eyes.

"No no no no no. You can't be Smoothie."

"Why not? We're playing pretend, right?"

"Right."

"Then I'm pretending to be Smoothie."

"But you can't!"

"Why not?!"

"'Cause you're already Grandma!"

"Well, now I'm playing Smoothie."

"But then who am I supposed to be?"

"Uncle Peros."

"Ew! No way! You be Peros!"

"No way! You be Peros!"

"You're Peros!"

"You're Peros!"

"You're Peros!"

"I'll be Peros!" Latte happily raised her hand.

"You can't!"

"Why not?"

"'Cause you're already Mommy!" the two girls shouted.

At their harsh volume, Latte instantly burst into tears, her crying quiet in comparison to her sisters' endless bickering.

"You're Peros!"

"You're Peros!"

"You're Peros!"

"You're Peros!"

"Can you guys shut up?!" Soda burst into the room, brows furrowed with annoyance. "I just got Chai down for a nap and if you losers wake him up, he'll never go back to sleep!"

"Hey! We're not losers!" Frappe defended.

With a huff, he stepped further into the room, taking in the scene—Latte all teary-eyed, Cocoa all pouty, and Frappe all puffy-cheeked.

"The hell is all this about anyway?"

He was instantly bombarded.

"Frappe keeps on switching her character and I—!"

"Cocoa won't let me do anything and she's being—!"

"They yelled at me 'cause I said I wanna be—!"

"Jeez! One at a time!" Soda stopped them, throwing his hands up.

They fell silent, and the boy let out a sigh, turning his attention to his youngest sister.

"Latte... tell me what happened."

"We were playing Mommy's Bakery and Frappe was Grandma and I played Mommy and Cocoa was Kota! Then Frappe wanted to pretend she was Smoothie but Cocoa wanted to be Smoothie and I wanted to be Uncle Peros but they said I couldn't!" she rattled off all in one breath.

"Can't you just play nice?" Soda groaned, annoyed. "I've got a lot of training to do and I can't concentrate with all this screaming."

He looked around, glancing at the toy chest.

"You guys are smart. Think of a solution that makes everyone happy."

For a moment, the girls paused, pondering on what to do before the same thought popped into each of their heads.

"Well..."

.

.

.

"C'mon, Perospero! C'mon, Cinnamon! We gotta stop Mama!" Frappe exclaimed in her Smoothie-getup, pointing toward the bakery.

"Mama mama..." Cocoa unenthusiastically bellowed, limply kicking over a toy cart of ice cream.

"For the record, I am not happy," Soda remarked, brows flat and arms crossed in his oversized yellow raincoat and purple top hat.

"Hey! That's not how Uncle Peros talks," Latte chided, hands on her hips.

Soda let out a heavy sigh, correcting himself, "For the lickity-record, I am not happy. Lick."

"Much better."

"Let's go!" Frappe ordered, running into the fray.

She swung her toy sword at Cocoa, but it was caught with ease and she was promptly thrown down.

"Oh, no! Cinnamon! I'm hit!" she flopped.

"I'll get her!" Latte assured, running up to Cocoa with her fists, only to get gently shoved away. "Oh, no! I'm hit, too!"

"Peros! Help us!" the two called together.

"C'mon! I don't have time for this! I should be training!" Soda exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "Dad's gonna be back any day now and he's expecting some improvement."

"You gotta help us!" Latte wailed.

"And the faster you help us, the faster you can get back to your stupid training," Frappe huffed.

"Promise?"

"Yes! Now help us!"

"Fine," he groaned, walking up to Cocoa, "Here's your stupid eclair."

He pretended to shove it in her mouth, before speed-walking out the room.

"Now keep it down in here!"

"Yay! The bakery is saved!" Frappe and Latte high-fived.

"Not so fast!" Cocoa exclaimed, suddenly dressed in a black pirate hat, a large captain's coat, and a fake peg leg, with a small treasure chest in hand. "'Cause a pirate is stealing the bakery's treasure!"

Together, the twins dramatically gasped, turning to each other with excitement, "Oh no!"

"I will hide in my secret hideout, while you two try to hunt me down and stop me from getting away with the treasure!" Cocoa cackled.

"And once we find you, we're gonna kick your ass!" Frappe grinned.

With a gasp, Latte slapped her hands over her mouth, "Frappe! Mommy said we can't say that word!"

"Well, Mommy isn't here right now. And I heard Daddy say it once, and it was super cool."

"...Really?"

"Yeah! Try it!"

"Okay... we're gonna kick your stupid ass!"

"Hell yeah!"

"Alright, now close your eyes and count to sixty!" Cocoa ordered, running out their shared room.

"1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6..."

Frantically, Cocoa rushed around, desperate to find the perfect hiding spot.

The bathroom?

No.

The kitchen?

Nope.

Dad's room?

Absolutely not.

Soda's closet?

Perfect.

With the last few seconds on the clock, she dove in, carefully shutting the door behind herself.

"Haha! Those Big Mom pirates'll never find me..."

And sure enough, a minute passed.

Two minutes.

Ten minutes.

Thirty minutes.

An hour.

Two hours.

Before she finally had enough.

"Oh, come on!" Cocoa groaned, crawling out of her brother's closet and storming back into her room.

"Would you like more tea, Lady Frappe?" Latte asked, lifting up her toy teapot.

"Why yes. Thank you so much, Lady Latte," Frappe nodded, holding out her teacup.

"What's going on?" Cocoa asked, confused.

"We gave up looking for you hours ago," Frappe scoffed.

"You don't wanna finish our game?"

"We're way finished. We're having a tea party now," Latte waved her off.

"Lemme get this straight," Cocoa took a deep breath. "You guys left me alone in Soda's smelly closet for two hours and you're not even gonna try and stop my new evil plan?"

"And what exactly could your evil plan be?" Frappe scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Mr. Fuzzykins?"

"Or you're gonna throw your big, fluffy hat at me?" Latte snickered.

The twins broke into a fit of laughter, much to the chagrin of their older sister.

"Behold my finest evil plan yet!" Cocoa exclaimed, grabbing onto the edge of the table.

"What are you doing?!" Latte shrieked.

"You wouldn't dare!" Frappe glared.

But without hesitation, Cocoa flipped the entire thing, sending the toy tea set crashing to the floor.

"Alright, you asked for it!" Frappe smirked.

Together, she and Latte tackled Cocoa to the ground, turning into a ball of giggles as they all rolled together on the floor.

"Gotcha!"

"Oh, no, you don't!"

"Ow! That's my leg!"

"Sorry!"

"She's getting away!"

"Grab her!"

"EEK!"

"Hey!"

"Move over!"

"Latte, that's me!"

"Sorry!"

"Oh, crap!"

"Huzzah!"

Coming to a stop, Frappe stood triumphantly over Cocoa, she and her twin having hog-tied their older sister with her own jump-rope.

"Let me go, ya jerks!" Cocoa struggled, squirming and struggling against her binds.

"Ha ha! We kicked ass!" Frappe cheered, planting a foot on her sister's back and resting her hands on her hips.

"Yeah! Kicked ass!" Latte nodded, eager to use the new word.

"Kicked what now?" you raised a brow, stepping past the threshold of their room.

"Mommy!" the three girls cheered, excited.

Without hesitation, the twins broke into a mad dash, jumping into your arms.

"Hi, Mommy!" Latte beamed, resting a hand on your shoulder, "We missed you!"

"We've been playing Bakery! And running it just like you!" Frappe added, proud.

"I can see that," you smiled, enveloping them both in a hug. "I take it you both had a good time, then?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Yeah!"

"Guys! Untie me!" Cocoa called, reminding the rest of you of her predicament. "I wanna say hi to Mom, too!"

With a chuckle, you let the other two go, quickly striding over to your eldest daughter and helping her out of her restraints.

"Sorry, honey," you offered, softly, pulling her into a hug as well, "Thank you for being such a good sport."

Happy, she wrapped her arms around your neck, squeezing you back, "No worries. It was kinda fun."

"Hey! What if Mom played with us, too!" Frappe suggested, buzzing with excitement.

Latte gasped, frantically tugging on the sleeve of your dress, "Ooo! Mommy could you? Pleeeeeease?"

"I don't know... I have a few recipes I really need to look over for tomorrow's menu," you hesitated unsure.

But as your gaze fell to your girls, your resolve seemed to dissolve almost immediately, as each on had on her best puppy-dog look—pouty lips and big, sad eyes and all.

"Oh, alright," you caved with a sigh. "But only for a few minutes."

"Yay!"

"Ooo, who should she be?"

"I think she should be Mommy!"

"Latte! She's already Mommy!"