How would the rotten dads react to the girls being drunk? 🐰
Will knew she was drunk before she even opened her mouth. The way she stumbled through the door, her coat sliding off her shoulders, the lazy, lopsided grin—dead giveaway.
He sighed, locking the door behind her. “Mia.”
She turned, looking at him like she was seeing him for the first time. “Daddy,” she drawled, pointing a finger at him with great importance. “You’re very… here.”
Will ran a hand down his face. “Yeah. You, on the other hand—”
Mia took two unsteady steps forward and collapsed against his chest. He barely reacted, just let her weight settle, arms loosely wrapping around her out of habit.
“Mm,” she sighed. “You feel nice.”
“You reek.”
She hummed, utterly unconcerned, pressing her face against his shoulder. “S’fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Will muttered. “You need a shower.”
Mia groaned dramatically, letting herself go limp. He caught her easily.
“Nooo,” she whined, pressing a hand against his chest like she could physically push the idea away. “Too much effort.”
Will rolled his eyes. “C’mon.”
She didn’t fight when he led her to the bathroom, just stood there, swaying slightly as he reached for the shower knobs.
“Can you—?”
Mia, already halfway undressed, raised an eyebrow at him. “Will.”
He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Forget I asked.”
Mia grinned. “You’re such a prude.”
“Just get in the damn shower.”
She did, eventually. Will sat on the closed toilet lid, arms crossed, waiting. When she finished, he towel-dried her and threw one of his old t-shirts at her and helped her into bed.
She curled up immediately, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away.
“Where you going?” she mumbled into the pillow.
Will just huffed, pulling the blanket over her. “Sleep.”
-
Hannibal was waiting when Amara arrived, the quiet disapproval barely visible in the crease of his brow, the slight tilt of his head.
She wobbled inside, attempting to appear composed and failing spectacularly.
Hannibal didn’t comment, merely stepped forward and caught her arm before she could sway too far.
“You’ve had quite the evening,” he observed.
She huffed a small laugh, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” he assured, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “Though I do wonder what led you to believe drinking yourself into near-collapse was a wise decision.”
Amara groaned. “Not a lecture.”
Hannibal said nothing, merely guided her toward the bathroom with gentle insistence.
She leaned against the sink as he turned on the shower, testing the water.
“Can you manage?”
Amara, now pressing her face into his shoulder again, made a vague noise of agreement.
Hannibal smiled, steadying her. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
By the time she emerged, warm and drowsy, he was waiting with a robe. She let him wrap it around her, let him steer her toward bed with quiet efficiency.
As she curled up beneath the covers, she mumbled, “Sorry, daddy.”
Hannibal smoothed her damp hair back. “Rest.”
-
Francis hadn’t expected the call. Hadn’t expected to have to drive out and pick her up, weaving through the night streets with a tension in his chest he couldn’t quite place.
By the time he arrived, Savannah was barely upright, mumbling something to herself as she squinted at the passing headlights.
Francis sighed, running a hand down his face before stepping forward. “Let’s go.”
She blinked at him, then grinned. “Dad.”
“Yes,” he muttered, carefully looping an arm around her waist.
The drive home was quiet, Savannah swaying slightly in her seat, humming some tune under her breath.
“You’re mad,” she finally said.
Francis exhaled. “Not mad.”
She turned, looking at him with exaggerated seriousness. “You look mad.”
He glanced at her. “You scared me.”
That seemed to quiet her.
By the time they reached home, she was practically asleep against the window. He hesitated before touching her shoulder.
“Come on.”
She groaned but let him help her inside. When he murmured something about a shower, she sighed dramatically but didn’t argue.
Francis stood outside the bathroom, listening for any signs of trouble. When she finally emerged, wrapped in an oversized sweater, he just shook his head and guided her to bed.
Before he could step away, she grabbed his sleeve.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
Francis hesitated, then nodded. “Get some sleep.”