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

Kafka stepped through the boutique's aisle toward the far end, where June and Olivia stood at a display that might as well have been in its own special section of the shop.

The bras hanging here weren't just large, they were massive, the kind of size that made everything else in the store look like it belonged in a children's department. A solid wall of lace and satin, cups big enough to serve fruit salad in, each piece clearly crafted for women with Olivia's kind of curves.

June was in full professional mode, scanning the rack with a keen eye and a measuring glance at Olivia's frame. She reached for a deep burgundy bra with delicate frills along the edges and held it up.

"This one..." June said with confidence, her voice warm. "This color will look incredible on your skin tone. And these frills here?" She gave a small smile. "Perfect for adding a touch of softness to that royal aura you've got."

Olivia's eyes flicked toward the bra briefly before she returned her gaze to the rack. Her voice was cool, clipped. "Yes. That would be nice."

Nothing more.

If June noticed the lack of warmth, she didn't show it.

She kept her smile, pivoting to grab another option.

"And this one, oh, this would make your figure even more dangerous. I can already picture Kafka's reaction." She gave a little laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

But Olivia didn't laugh. Didn't even crack a smile. Just nodded again, eyes flat. "I suppose."

June's grin faltered, just slightly, before she straightened her shoulders, refusing to surrender so easily. She kept pulling options, kept offering little jokes.

But every attempt met with the same cold wall of short answers and distant stares.

The presence Olivia had when she was calm was now something else entirely, icy, unyielding.

And June, for all her charm, couldn't seem to thaw it.

When June finally glanced away and spotted Kafka watching from down the aisle, her professional mask cracked. She gave a quiet exhale of relief and hurried over to him, the click of her heels rapid against the floor.

The moment she reached him, she grabbed his shoulder, leaning in with an urgency that caught him off guard.

"What happened?" She whispered sharply, glancing back over at Olivia like she was making sure the woman wouldn't hear. "What exactly happened to your lover?"

Kafka opened his mouth, but June was already speaking again, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial hush.

"Just a moment ago, when you both came in, she was so cute! Shy, even! She had that regal presence, yes, but she looked like a tiny princess pretending to be a queen. It was...adorable."

She leaned closer, her tone turning incredulous. "Now?"

June gave a little shiver for emphasis. "Now she looks scary. Cold and scary. I'm trying so hard to get through to her, but it's like running into a wall. It's...honestly kind of intimidating."

Her brows furrowed. "Just what did you do? How badly did you screw up to get that look from her?"

Kafka's lips parted, searching for a response, something that could explain the shift without sounding like a full confession.

The truth was, he didn't have an answer ready. This wasn't part of the script he'd been playing by since day one in this world.

But before he could speak, June raised a hand.

"Stop. Actually, don't even tell me. That's between you two."

She gave him a firm look and a little push toward Olivia.

"What you should do..." She said. "...is cheer her up. Bring back the girl I saw a few minutes ago, not this Ice Queen."

Her tone softened, but the urgency stayed. "Go on. Do something. You're her man, aren't you?"

Kafka smirked faintly at that, shaking his head with a small, amused exhale. "Alright, alright."

June stepped back, still watching him closely as he approached Olivia.

She was standing at the rack again, her delicate fingers sliding along the hangers without really looking at any of them.

"Olive..."

When he heard her call her childhood nickname and not as "Mom" like usual she was startled for a second, but then she realised that they were supposed to be a couple right now. She calmed herself down and then she didn't turn immediately, just glanced over her shoulder.

The look she gave him wasn't the usual soft, loving glance he'd gotten used to.

It wasn't teasing.

It wasn't shy.

It was cold. The kind of look she used for strangers she didn't particularly care for.

And, Kafka actually felt a faint chill creep down his spine.

She really was angry at him.

Kafka felt the weight of that cold glare in his bones, the kind of look that could've frozen lava mid-flow.

But he refused to let it make him falter. If anything, it made him lean harder into his trademark style, if charm wasn't cracking her mood, maybe absurdity would.

Without a word, he plucked one of the largest bras from the rack, a lacy, cream-colored monster of a thing, and with exaggerated care, lowered it onto his head like a crown. The enormous cups flopped slightly to either side, giving the distinct impression of him wearing a double-sail hat.

He tilted his head toward her, utterly deadpan.

"You know." He said. "I already knew your bra size was impressive, Olive. But seeing them all here lined up like this...I've stopped thinking of them as bras. These are hats now. Quality headgear. This one could pass for a sunhat."

No reaction. Not even a twitch of her lips.

Undeterred, he tapped one of the cups with his finger.

"Actually, these might have a practical use. If it ever rains, I could wear this outside, collect the water, and just…" He mimed drinking from it, making a ridiculous slurping sound for emphasis. "…stay hydrated."

Normally, normally, Olivia would have cracked. She'd have flushed pink, maybe smacked his arm with an embarrassed little "Kafi!" and turned her head to hide a giggle.

But right now?

She looked at him flatly. No blush. No smile. Just...unimpressed.

Like he was some street performer she didn't ask to see. Then she turned away, her attention sliding back to the rack.

That hit him right in the chest. He swore he could feel the damage, like someone just punched him straight in the heart.

But he didn't stop.

Setting the "hat" back, he reached for a different bra, a sleek black one with faint glittering accents along the edges.

"This..." He said, holding it up. "...would suit you perfectly. Your skin's pale, like the moon on a clear night. The best way to make the moon shine is to set it against the darkness of the sky. And this one…" He tapped the glitter along the cups "…has little stars already on it. It's like it was made for you."

She took it from him.

His heart gave a tiny, victorious leap.

Gotcha.

But Olivia only glanced at it, expression unreadable, then set it neatly back on the rack.

Kafka's smile slipped.

She moved on to another display without a word, fingers trailing over the lace as though he hadn't spoken at all.

From the corner of his eye, he could see June standing further down the aisle, half-hidden behind another rack of lingerie, watching the exchange with her head tilted like she was watching a tense scene in a drama.

And that, more than anything, made Kafka decide to push further.

He stepped behind Olivia in one smooth movement, looping his arms around her waist from behind. His chest pressed to her back, his chin dipping to the side of her face.

She gasped, sharp and quick, but didn't pull away.

His voice dropped to a murmur, meant only for her. "I'm sorry, Olive."

Her fingers froze on the hanger she was touching.

"I shouldn't have mentioned Mom just now." He went on quietly. "This was supposed to be our moment. I ruined it. And…" He nuzzled lightly against the curve of her neck. "…my relationship with June isn't like that. I helped her once, that's all. Nothing happened."

His lips brushed the side of her neck, a slow kiss against her skin.

He could feel her heartbeat quicken under his arm.

Even if her face stayed calm, her body betrayed her, the subtle tension in her shoulders, the warmth spreading through her neck, the little hitch in her breath when he kissed lower.

Normally, this would have been it. This would've melted her.

But Olivia slowly turned her head just enough to meet his eyes out of the corner of hers.

The look was still cold.

"Would you get off me, Kafka?" She said flatly. "We're in a public store."

He blinked, caught off guard. "…Olive. "

"I don't want to be seen with you like this here." She continued, tone level. "It's inappropriate."

Kafka's brows lifted, genuinely baffled.

Inappropriate? That had never been her complaint before. Still, he slowly let her go, his hands sliding from her waist as he stepped back a pace.

For a brief moment, he considered saying something else, something to salvage it, but the look she gave him as she turned away made it clear that if he kept pushing right now, he'd only make it worse.

She plucked a handful of bras from the rack, choices he wasn't even sure she'd looked at properly, and made for the changing room.

Kafka stood there, watching her disappear behind the curtain.

And for the second time in under ten minutes, he realized he didn't know what the hell to do.