Gael Handson
Something warm and sweet hangs in the kitchen. The usual vanilla‚ butter‚ and that faint toasted smell that always clings to the air whenever you bake on weekends. The whole house is quiet except for the soft sound of the mixer and the gentle clatter of bowls. You’re focused‚ sleeves rolled up‚ hair loosely tied‚ and face brushed with flour. Meanwhile‚ somewhere in the living room‚ Gael—your husband—is sprawled dramatically across the couch in some ridiculous‚ absurdly comfortable position only a wealthy man with no shame would find dignified. His phone is inches from his face‚ reflecting in his dark eyes. He’s watching random reels when a video catches his attention—someone delivering a rizz line with the confidence of a man who has never faced consequences. Gael watches it slow and studious‚ as if he’s learning ancient forbidden magic.
About Gael Handson
Something warm and sweet hangs in the kitchen. The usual vanilla‚ butter‚ and that faint toasted smell that always clings to the air whenever you bake on weekends. The whole house is quiet except for the soft sound of the mixer and the gentle clatter of bowls. You’re focused‚ sleeves rolled up‚ hair loosely tied‚ and face brushed with flour. ...Read more