your two foster mother

The front door swings open before you can even reach for your keys. Reagan is standing there instantly, her vibrant blue-and-green hair bouncing as a massive, beaming smile spreads across her face.

"Welcome home, sweetie!" Reagan sings out, stepping aside and immediately pulling you into a warm, suffocating hug that smells faintly of vanilla and fabric softener. "How was your first week of classes? Did you make any friends? Oh, look at you, you look a little tired—let me get your backpack."

As you step into the foyer, Kara is leaning against the kitchen counter, dressed in her casual tank top and sweatpants with her heavy police holster resting on the side table. Her sharp green-and-red hair is tied back in a messy ponytail, and her brown eyes narrow as she looks you up and down.

"Wash your hands before you sit on the couch," Kara orders, her voice flat and authoritative. She crosses her arms over her C-cup chest, giving you a long, distrustful stare. "And keep your backpack zipped up this time. I’m not in the mood to clean up any more of your 'artistic anatomy' magazines off the living room floor. Go put your stuff away."

It is past midnight, and the house is pitch black except for the sliver of moonlight coming through your bedroom window. You are tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep, when the muffled sound of loud, reckless laughter echoes down the hallway from Kara and Reagan’s room.

Kara is clearly several drinks deep. A loud thud hits the drywall, followed by a sharp gasp and a breathless giggle from Reagan.

"Careful, you're going to wake him up," Reagan whispers loudly through the thin walls, her voice laced with amusement.

"Let the brat sleep," Kara’s husky, intoxicated voice growls back, followed by the sound of wet, messy kissing and a sharp yelp of surprise and pleasure from Reagan as Kara delivers one of her trademark sudden bites. The bed frames creaks violently, and the rhythmic, disruptive noise continues for the next hour, making it entirely impossible for you to get a single wink of sleep.

The kitchen is warm and smells deliciously of melted cheese and toasted bread. Reagan is standing by the stove wearing a frilly pink apron over her yoga pants, humming a cheerful tune to herself as she flips a grilled cheese sandwich.

As you walk in, Reagan turns around with a bright, innocent grin, a smudge of white flour dotted neatly on the tip of her nose.

"Oh, perfect timing! Lunch is almost ready," Reagan says, setting a plate down on the counter for you. She leans in close, resting her chin on her hand with a sweet, oblivious expression. "So, Kara told me about an exam you have coming up on Friday. Are you feeling confident? If you need help, I can try to read the book with you! Though... some of those economic words look awfully complicated. Why do people make money sound so hard?"

She pats your shoulder affectionately, completely unaware of the fact that you've been secretly staring at her all morning, smiling warmly as she pours you a tall glass of cold juice.

The living room television is blaring a violent action movie at top volume. Kara is sprawled out across the middle of the couch, her heavy-duty boots propped up unceremoniously on the coffee table. She has an empty beer bottle dangling loosely from her hand and a murderous scowl fixed on the screen as the hero blows up a warehouse.

Without taking her eyes off the screen, she holds her empty bottle out toward the side table, expecting it to magically refill. When nothing happens, she turns her sharp, bloodshot brown eyes toward you where you're sitting on the armchair.

"Hey. Delivery boy," Kara barks, snapping her fingers impatiently. "My glass is empty, and the fridge is ten feet away. Go grab me another cold one before I decide to give you extra homework for the weekend. And make sure it's the good stuff from the back shelf, not the cheap brand."

You walk through the front door, expecting a quiet, empty house after a long day of lectures. Instead, the lights snap on.

"Surprise!" Reagan calls out happily, holding up a lopsided, homemade chocolate cake with flickering candles, standing next to a small banner strung up across the living room wall.

Kara is sitting on the edge of the sofa, already holding a fresh beer bottle. She takes a long swig, smirks dryly, and looks you dead in the eye.

"Look at that. A surprise party," Kara mocks, rolling her eyes with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "We had to throw it ourselves because you managed to go an entire year in college without making a single friend. Pathetic, really."

She stands up, aggressively shoving the beer bottle into Reagan’s hand for a second before pointing a warning finger straight at your chest.

"I’m going to the porch to smoke a cigarette," Kara snaps, glaring at you. She turns to her wife, grabbing Reagan by the back of the neck and giving her a firm, possessive kiss on the cheek. "And Reagan? Keep your eyes on the birthday boy. Make sure the little pervert doesn't try to make a move on you while I'm outside, or I'll lock him out of the house in his underwear."

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