INTRO: Hello, everyone! My name is Kitty! And I have NO idea what to put here for my intro and information post but to post my rules here and my master-list link here! Mostly because my blog has become dead for too long.. ANYWAY!- My pronouns are “she/her,” and I speak English. Mostly, all characters I write about are my OCs and I will NOT write about any already-existing characters (don’t ask or even request for any of that please-). You can meet all my OCs’ introductions by clicking ‘Masterlist’, and then clicking one of my OCs on the ‘Meet My OCs’. Requests are accepted in the inbox. And you can ask me anything, and even do fanart with my OCs, but please credit me. Also the pictures I use are also all from Pinterest. Finally, here are the rules.
RULES! (aka rules before requesting)
• Be kind. (If don’t, then WHY are you even here?)
• Reader can be a female, male, gender neutral, or non-binary.
• Don’t ask me to do already-exist or even real characters.
• NO racism, homophobia (I will not even fricking hesitate to block immediately).
• No Spamming.
• NO stealing my OCs.
• What I writes: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, headcanon, AUs, SMAUs, x reader, my OCs, DILFs, MILFs, GMILFs (mostly), Curvy/Plus-size/Chubby, Poly, Love Triangle, Age gap, slightly suggestive topics (..?), Yandere, LGBTQ
• What I WONT writes: werewolves, super heavy angst with no comfort.
Summary: you’re gonna find out what it’s like marrying your genuine baker wife.
TW: GN!reader, plus-size!OC, age gap (reader is 35, Shyann is 59), fluff, romantic
• Marrying her means your home always smells like something gently sweet—vanilla, cinnamon, browned butter—like comfort quietly settled in and decided to stay in your kitchen.
• She wakes up early and moves quietly so she doesn’t disturb you, easing into the morning with the same care she puts into everything she does. By the time you’re up, there’s always something waiting—tea already steeping, a pastry tucked under a cloth, and a small handwritten note you weren’t meant to notice but always do.
• Her love language shows up in careful effort and quiet care, in the way she pays attention to even the smallest details about you without making it feel stiff or distant. She remembers exactly how you like things and holds onto that knowledge gently, treating it like something meaningful rather than something to take for granted.
• You start noticing little scraps of paper tucked everywhere—recipe tweaks, quiet reminders, thoughts she didn’t want to lose—like her mind is always gently at work. It might look scattered at first, but she knows exactly where everything is, keeping track of it all with a kind of quiet, intentional order that only makes sense once you see it through her eyes.
• She gets a little flustered when you watch her bake too closely, gently shooing you away with a small, nervous smile as if she’s suddenly too aware of every movement. Still, there’s a quiet warmth in it, because even as she pretends to mind, she secretly likes that you’re paying attention and taking an interest in what she loves.
• When she’s focused, she hums softly under her breath and murmurs quiet instructions to herself, as if she’s carefully guiding each step along and keeping everything around her steady, balanced, and exactly where it needs to be.
• She apologizes for the smallest things she never needed to apologize for, almost instinctively, like she’s trying to smooth over even the slightest ripple before it can grow. After a while, it becomes second nature for you to meet each apology with quiet reassurance, gently reminding her (again and again-) that she’s already enough just as she is.
• She doesn’t argue loudly or raise her voice, even when something matters deeply to her, choosing instead to speak with a calm, measured certainty that never feels uncertain or weak. When she stands her ground, it’s quiet but unwavering, the kind of steady resolve that makes it unmistakably clear she won’t be moved, no matter how much pressure is placed against her.
• You learn quickly that even the slightest disrespect toward her, her father, or the bakery is the fastest way to see her quiet bravery sharpen into something firm and unyielding, a steady, grounded strength that leaves no room for doubt and doesn’t waver once it’s set.
• She keeps everything—old recipe cards, worn tools, small keepsakes that others might overlook—holding onto them with quiet intention rather than habit. Over time, you begin to understand that she isn’t collecting clutter, she’s carefully protecting pieces of her life, keeping memories safe in a way that feels thoughtful and deeply personal.
• Her idea of a good evening is something simple: a quiet walk side by side, your hands occasionally brushing, as she talks softly with you about everything and nothing in a way that makes the moment feel full without ever needing to be loud.
• She plans things ahead of time with quiet care, never strict or controlling, in a way that shows she’s really thinking about everything. Loving her means stepping into a life that feels steady and gently structured, where even the smallest details are handled with care and nothing important is left to chance.
• She will absolutely insist on feeding you even when you’re certain you’re not hungry, placing something warm in your hands with quiet certainty… and more often than not, you realize she was right to do so.
• She notices when you’re tired before you say anything, and senses when something feels off before you’ve even figured out why yourself, paying attention in ways that feel almost instinctive. Instead of grand gestures, she responds with small, practical kindnesses—quiet adjustments, thoughtful actions—that gently make things easier without ever making a show of it.
• Her strength surprises people, both physically and emotionally, and over time you grow used to carrying a quiet, steady pride in knowing just how much she’s capable of, even when she doesn’t draw attention to it herself.
• She still wears that silver locket every day, absentmindedly brushing her fingers over it when she’s deep in thought, and at some point it quietly settles in that you’ve become part of what she keeps closest to her heart.
• On stressful days she grows a little sharper and quieter, her words more measured but never unkind, like she’s holding everything together as carefully as she can. Even then, there’s a softness in her that never fully fades, and once the weight lifts, she always finds her way back to that gentle warmth as if it’s something rooted too deeply to lose.
• She takes quiet pride in doing things the right way, with patience and attention to detail, and being loved by her feels the same—like you’re being handled with steady, deliberate care that never feels careless or rushed.
• The bakery isn’t just her work, it’s her heart, her history, and her family all entwine together, and loving her means stepping into that story with her, becoming something included and cared for rather than something set apart.
• She doesn’t say “I love you” in grand or dramatic ways very often, choosing instead to express it through what she does rather than what she says. It shows up constantly in the small things—flour-dusted hands, carefully written notes, and the quiet, consistent way she makes sure you’re cared for before she ever thinks of herself.
• She has a quiet habit of adjusting her headband whenever she gets nervous, especially when you compliment her out of nowhere, like she needs a small moment to steady herself. It never quite hides the soft, shy smile that follows, the kind that lingers just enough to give her away.
• If you’re ever sick or worn down, she quietly slips into caretaker mode, her voice softer, her movements more attentive as she makes sure you’re comfortable. She checks on you more often than she lets on and brings you warm food without asking, always brushing it off as “just in case,” even though it’s clearly so much more than that.
• She keeps a quiet mental catalog of all your favorite things and brings them to you on completely ordinary days as if it’s nothing special (it is-).
• You’ll sometimes find her late at night, half-asleep and rereading her notes, quietly determined to get everything just right for the next day. Loving her means learning when to step in gently, closing the notebook or turning off the light with a soft insistence that she needs rest too. You end up guiding her to bed in those moments, reminding her with quiet care that she doesn’t have to carry everything perfectly on her own.
• She doesn’t like being rushed, preferring to move at a steady, thoughtful pace that gives everything the attention it deserves. Over time, you learn to slow down with her, to let things unfold as they need to and to find meaning not just in the result, but in the quiet care of the process itself.
• Sometimes she grows quiet in crowded or tense spaces, drifting just a little closer to you without needing to explain why, her presence seeking something steady. You respond without making it obvious, staying close and grounding her in small, reassuring ways so she knows she’s not facing it alone.
• She doesn’t waste food, effort, or feelings, putting in real thought into everything she gives instead of doing things carelessly. Being on the receiving end of that kind of care feels calm and steady, like you’re being looked after in a way that’s simple, meaningful, and hard to fully explain.
• Her frustration shows in small, subtle ways (like shorter responses, a slightly tighter grip on whatever she’s holding-) rather than anything loud or sharp. She never lashes out, instead taking a quiet moment to steady herself, gathering her thoughts until she can return to you with the same gentleness she always tries to keep.
• When she’s proud of something she made, she won’t say it directly, holding it close instead of announcing it out loud. She’ll just glance at you for a moment, quiet and hopeful, waiting to see if you notice on your own, and it means more to her than she ever says when you do.
• She loves sharing what she creates with others, but there are a few recipes she keeps close and guarded, the ones tied to her dad, her childhood, and the quieter parts of herself she doesn’t reveal easily.
• She fixes things quietly (like mistakes, small problems, even emotional gaps-), handling them with such subtle care that most of the time you don’t even realize anything was wrong until it’s already been set right.
• if someone underestimates her, she doesn’t waste time arguing, choosing instead to prove them wrong through quiet, undeniable action that speaks for itself. Half the time, she has to gently hold you back from stepping in for her, because your instinct is to defend her more loudly than she ever would for herself.
• She has a soft spot for giving, often adding an extra pastry for a kid, a little more than someone paid for, or something warm for anyone who looks like they might need it. It’s never done for attention, just a quiet instinct to care, the kind of generosity that shows up in small moments and lingers longer than she realizes.
• You’ll catch her talking softly to her baking tools like they’re old friends, murmuring to them without even realizing she’s doing it. At some point, you stop questioning it altogether and start finding it quietly endearing.
• She doesn’t need grand romance or dramatic gestures, because to her love is built through consistency, trustworthy, and showing up every single day with care.
• She’ll sometimes rest her head against you without warning, just for a quiet moment, like she’s grounding herself in your presence. It’s her subtle way of checking that you’re still there.
• Her world is built on routine, carefully structured and thoughtfully planned, but she makes space for you inside it without a second thought. She adjusts her days in small, meaningful ways that might seem simple at first, yet they quietly show just how much you matter to her within the life she’s built.
• She doesn’t like disappointing people, and when she feels like she has, it weighs on her more than she ever lets on, even if she tries to carry it quietly. You learn to offer gentle reassurance without her having to ask, because those steady, sincere reminders mean far more to her than she’ll ever openly admit.
• When things are calm, when the bakery is quiet and the day is finally done, she settles into her softest self, a little more talkative and gently open in ways she isn’t during the rush. It’s in those quiet hours that her guard lowers just enough for you to see everything she usually keeps tucked away, trusting you with the parts of her she doesn’t show the rest of the world.
• Her hands are almost always warm, and she reaches for yours absentmindedly, like it’s something she does without even thinking about it. It becomes such a quiet constant that you start to notice when it’s missing.
• On date nights, you tend to plan something thoughtful or try to make it feel a little special, putting in more effort than she ever expects. But she always softens at the simplest parts instead, like having “baking date night” in the kitchen (she cooks A LOT, just like Jamie, even if you aren’t a good baker, Shyann still teaches you. And she has a lot of fun while she does it), quietly cherishing the time with you over anything elaborate, as if just being together is what matters most to her.
• You’ll probably be banned from the kitchen sometimes, because she likes doing things her own way and keeping everything in order while she works. It’s not that she doesn’t want you there, she just gets focused and careful, and you usually end up watching from the side while she quietly makes something amazing. One time, she caught you sneaking a taste and just paused, giving you that soft, knowing look instead of scolding you. Then she sighed quietly, handed you a proper piece, and told you to wait next time, even though you could tell she didn’t really mind.
That One Time I Panicked Over… A Cake? | wife!Brenna Brooks x husband!reader
Ft. Dior (Brenna’s dog), Shyann (mentioned), Shea (mentioned)
Summary: Brenna has just got back from shopping and order new designer bag for her bag collection. But wait… did she say that you left your credit card on the floor, and also just say that the handbag is a “limited-edition”?! And not only that but she decided to grab a knife and cut straight into the handbag, making you panic and wonder if she had lost her mind. But little did you know that you were being set up for a harmless, surprising prank.
A/N: kiss (4th) prompt from @urfriendlywriter
TW: male reader, plus-size!OC, age gap (reader is 35, and Brenna is 59), soft fluff, slight angst, financial anxiety/panic, a secret prank twist, mild emotional manipulation (playful/romantic)
Daylight spread across the penthouse floors, reflecting off the glass and shiny surfaces and making the whole place look like something out of a magazine. You were stretched out comfortably on the couch, phone in hand, half-focused on whatever you were scrolling through. Dior lay on the other end like she owned the place, her long, sculpted body relaxed with effortless elegance. One of her hind legs rested squarely on your lap.
Your fingers moved absentmindedly, gently stretching and massaging her leg. Dior’s deep blue eyes snapped toward you, narrowing into an annoyed glare as a low, offended growl rumbled from her chest. The look said everything: a firm warning about your so-called “dirty human hands.” Still, she didn’t pull away. If anything, it relaxed just a little more in your lap—quietly giving away that she was actually enjoying it.
Then the quiet luxury of the room shifted as you heard the front door opened.
“Hey, sweetheart… I’m home. Just got back from a little shopping.”
Brenna’s voice carried through the penthouse—smooth, velvety, and laced with that soft Southern drawl that always made even the simplest words sound like something intimate. You looked over your shoulder instantly, a grin already forming as she came into view.
She was impossible to miss.
The dazzling silver strapless cocktail dress hugged her curves with deliberate precision, its icy embellishments catching the daylight like scattered stars, the sheer hemline shimmering with a soft, starburst glow as she moved. The high-shine spiral heels on her feet flashed with each step, while delicate blue-and-white clover-shaped earrings swayed near her jawline, perfectly matched by the necklace resting at her collarbone. In her hand, she carried a sculptural silver handbag adorned with a beaded bow.
You sat up slightly as she approached, and without hesitation, the two of you met halfway for a quick, familiar kiss.
As she pulled back, you let your eyes drop to the designer box in her hand, your brow lifting with playful curiosity.
“Hey, Bren,” you said, tilting your head, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’m surprised that you brought only one thing.”
Dior, still sprawled across the couch, huffed softly.
Brenna gave a light, almost careless shrug, her lips curving into a playful smile that never quite meant innocence when it came to her. “Mhm,” she hummed, lifting the box slightly as if it were already part of a performance. “And I think I’m gonna show the fans while I unbox this.”
Before you could respond, she turned smoothly and made her way toward the kitchen, her heels clicking in a steady, confident rhythm against the floor. The silver of her dress caught the light with every step, scattering reflections along the walls as she set the designer box carefully on its side atop the kitchen table.
You watched from the couch, your attention fully pulled away from your phone for a moment before going back to it, now a bit more curious.
She slipped her phone out, propping it up neatly against a small stand. There was a practiced ease in the way she adjusted it—tilting it slightly, stepping back, leaning in again—checking angles, lighting, framing. After a final glance at the screen, she reached forward and tapped the record button.
“My husband just went and left his credit card on the floor,” she said smoothly, eyes fixed on the camera, voice soft and teasing in that way she knew people loved. “So I figured I’d go ahead and gift myself a little somethin’.”
Of course, it would be an another new designer handbag— Wait… WHAT?!
And for a split second, the room felt very still.
Your eyes widened immediately, your brows pulling together as your head snapped toward her, disbelief and suspicion colliding all at once. “Brenna, what—”
She turned her head toward you, slow and unbothered, as if she hadn’t just said something that sounded very bad.
“You gift yourself with what?” you pressed, your tone edged now, searching her face for any hint of whether she was serious.
For a brief moment, she just stared at you.
Blank.
Unreadable.
“…Now what exactly did you think I meant?” she replied at last, her expression giving nothing away.
And just like that, she turned back to the camera, the smile returning as if a switch had been flipped, seamless and effortless.
“Anyway now,” she continued lightly, “let’s go ahead and unbox this.”
She reached for the box with careful hands, slipping the ribbon free with slow precision before lifting the lid. The tissue paper inside crinkled softly as she peeled it back layer by layer, paying close attention. The way she handled everything felt special, like she was enjoying the moment just as much as whatever was inside.
Each movement seemed to deepen her satisfaction, her smile growing just a touch wider with every fold of paper she uncovered.
From across the room, you didn’t move.
Your eyes stayed locked on her, narrowed now, your mind turning over her words again and again. Whether she had just casually admitted to something outrageous or was setting up one of her signature on-camera jokes—you couldn’t tell.
When Brenna finally peeled back the last layer of tissue paper, what sat inside the box was unmistakable.
It was a light blue Hermès Birkin bag.
The color alone was soft and striking, almost delicate under the kitchen lighting, while the silver hardware gleamed with that unmistakable, polished luxury. There was a charm dangled from the handle—a tiny horse, a crisp “H,” and an additional delicate detail that completed the signature look.
Brenna carefully turned the open box toward the camera, her face practically glowing now, eyes lit with genuine excitement as she presented it.
“This right here is the new limited edition Hermès Birkin bag.”
“The what?!” The words left you before you could stop them, your eyes widening even further as the word “limited-edition” echoed loudly in your head—for all the reasons it shouldn’t.
But Brenna didn’t flinch.
Not even a little.
She kept admiring the bag like nothing else existed, her gaze soft, almost affectionate. “Now tell me she isn’t just gorgeous.”
You didn’t answer right away.
Your eyes moved from the handbag… to Brenna… and then back to the handbag again, trying to process what you were looking at—and what it might have cost.
“How much was it?” you asked slowly, cautiously, like you weren’t sure you actually wanted to hear the answer.
Instead of responding, Brenna reached over to the kitchen table and picked up a knife.
Your posture stiffened immediately.
“Brenna.”
She turned her head slightly, her gray-blue eyes locking onto yours as she raised the knife.
And then—without breaking eye contact—she lifted it toward the bag.
“Brenna.”
There was a sharper edge in your voice now, concern fully taking over as your body tensed.
And then she drove the knife straight into the handbag.
Your heart jumped.
“BRENNA! WHAT—?!”
You were already moving, pushing yourself off the couch and rushing into the kitchen, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you had just seen—whether she had completely lost it or you had.
But before you could reach her, she calmly lifted her free hand, signaling you to stop.
No panic.
No urgency.
Just… calm.
Then, with a smooth, almost delicate motion, she slid the knife a little deeper beneath the surface—and gently lifted it.
The “leather” opened.
But it didn’t feel like leather.
It was soft.
Smooth.
And inside, you could see the layers.
Inside was sponge cake—perfectly baked, evenly layered, covered in smooth fondant, with icing made to look like stitching. Even the silver details were edible, made to look exactly like real bag hardware.
You froze.
Your eyes widened again, but this time—not from panic.
From realization.
It wasn’t a handbag.
It was a cake.
A Hermès Birkin bag… made entirely out of cake.
You stared at the slice she had lifted, your eyes following the neat layers of cake and icing where the “leather” should have been. For a moment, you didn’t say anything.
Then your gaze slowly lifted to her, settling into a flat, deadpan stare.
“Brenna—”
She broke immediately.
A soft laugh slipped past her lips as she brought her free hand up to cover her mouth, her shoulders shaking slightly while she tried—and failed—to hold it in. The cake-bag wobbled just a little in her other hand, but she kept it balanced with surprising control.
“Mm… gotcha~.”
You didn’t respond.
You just kept looking at her, your expression unchanged, like your brain was still catching up to everything it had just gone through—the shock, the confusion, the brief spike of panic, and now… this.
A long, slow breath filled your lungs.
Then you turned.
Without another word, you began walking out of the kitchen, each step measured and deliberate, like you were actively trying to lower your heart rate and convince yourself that no actual designer handbag had been harmed in the last thirty seconds.
Behind you, Brenna’s laughter lingered, light and unrestrained now as she carefully set the cake back into the box. She steadied herself against the table for a second, still amused, before reaching for her phone and slipping it off the stand. With a few quick taps, she stopped the recording, already glancing over the footage with a satisfied, knowing smile.
It was perfect. Dramatic, stylish, and just chaotic enough to get people talking—a kind of video her fans loved.
But as her laughter started to fade and the excitement wore off, she began to feel a small bit of guilt.
Her eyes drifted toward the direction you had walked off to.
She knew that look you gave her.
And maybe, just maybe…she had pushed it a little too far this time.
[…]
By the time night settled over the house, everything had gone quiet in that soft, familiar way it always did after a long day.
You were already in bed, dressed in your pajamas, lying comfortably against the pillows with your phone in hand. The glow of the screen lit your face as you scrolled, your expression neutral, focused—maybe a little too neutral.
The bedroom door opened gently.
And Brenna stepped in. The midnight-blue satin nightgown clung to her curves and draped elegantly over her body, the low, softly scooped neckline and delicate lace trim catching the dim light with a subtle sheen. The fabric moved smoothly as she walked, falling just below her knees with a slight slit, while the matching robe hung loosely at her waist, slipping off one shoulder as she moved. Plush, open-toe cream slippers padded quietly against the floor. The sleep mask rested on her head, pushing back her auburn waves, now slightly tousled from the night.
After putting the kids to bed, she didn’t say anything right away. She simply slipped off her robe and slippers, climbed into bed, and let herself fall into the space beside you with a quiet, unceremonious flop. The mattress shifted under her weight as she shuffled closer, turning onto her side.
Then, without hesitation, she wrapped both arms around your waist.
Her forehead rested lightly against your shoulder, and she let out a soft, tired sigh as she tucked herself into you like it was the most natural place in the world—like she belonged there, no questions asked.
For a moment, she stayed quiet.
Her grip loosened just slightly, almost cautious now, like she was testing the waters—seeing if you’d pull away, or stay still, or react at all.
“…You still mad at me, sweetheart?” she asked softly, her voice quieter than usual, stripped of its earlier playfulness.
You didn’t look up from your phone.
“You traumatized me with cake,” you replied flatly.
There was a brief pause.
Then Brenna let out a small, faintly offended hum—soft, almost dramatic in its own quiet way—as her arms tightened around you again, pulling herself just a little closer like she had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
You shifted slightly, still staring at your phone before breaking the quiet. “Did you post it on Instagram?”
“Mhm, I did—” Brenna answered immediately, already reaching for her phone without loosening her hold on you. She stayed tucked against your side as she unlocked it, her energy picking up just a little. “And baby, you should’ve seen those comments.”
She turned the screen toward you, angling it so you could see the video, the likes, and the flood of comments. Most of them commented about your reaction:
fashionablylate98: Bro looked like he just watched his retirement fund disappear 😭
glitterandgrace: The way he stood up IMMEDIATELY had me crying 💀
coffeecupchaos: His soul left his body the second she said "limited edition" 😂
velvetstarlight: The way he said "The WHAT?!" took me out 🤣
cinnamonclouds: Sir was about to file a financial emergency report 💳😂
cherrysoda88: Not him thinking she stabbed a six-figure handbag 💀
rainydaysandtea: Somebody check on this man 😭
daisydoodleco: Brenna knew EXACTLY what she was doing and I respect it 🤣
sunnysideviolet: The panic in his eyes deserves an award 💀🏆
SheaHerreraOfficial: Sweetheart, I have spent 35 years in fashion, and even I thought that was a real Birkin for a second
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⤷ Brenna, darling, that cake is an absolute masterpiece
⤷ For three full seconds I was preparing a fashion emergency statement when you stabbed that "bag” and then it turned out to be cake
⤷ [Y/N], your panic was completely justified—your expression belongs in a museum. I watched your soul leave your body the moment she said "limited edition”
Your eyes scanned for a second.
Then you rolled them, unimpressed, and leaned back into your pillow as you returned to your own phone like you were actively trying to recover your dignity.
“Where did you even get that cake?” you asked.
Brenna’s attention drifted back to her screen, a satisfied little smile tugging at her lips as the video replayed. “Oh, I got it from Shyann,” she said, half-distracted. “That woman is insanely talented… I mean, her baking and cake work? It’s unreal.”
“It had me questioning my entire financial stability,” you muttered.
That made her pause.
Then she laughed softly, the sound warm against your shoulder. “Mm… okay, that’s fair.”
A quiet beat settled between you both, softer now.
Brenna shifted closer, tucking herself just under your chin, her voice lowering as her fingers lightly traced against your side.
“I did feel a little bad, you know…”
You lowered your phone just enough to glance at her. “Yeah?”
She nodded against you, still wrapped around your waist. “You looked like you were about two seconds away from callin’ your accountant and your therapist at the same time.”
A quiet snort slipped out before you could stop it. “I almost did.”
That earned a softer smile from her—something more genuine now, less teasing. Her hand lifted, threading gently through your hair as she leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. Then another. Each one unhurried, intentional, like she was smoothing over the last of the tension she’d caused.
Her thumb brushed lightly along your cheek before she kissed you again, softer this time.
“Mm… peace offering,” she murmured against your lips, her voice low and warm. “And we can just go ahead and have that cake-bag for dinner… I know those kids are gonna love that.”
Your phone slipped from your hand onto the bed as you exhaled, the last bit of resistance fading.
“Okay… you’re forgiven.”
Her smile deepened into the kiss, satisfied and soft, as she finally relaxed completely against you, her body settling into yours like she’d been aiming for that exact moment all night. Her eyes drifted closed, content.
You let out a quiet, amused laugh, shaking your head as your arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her in closer. The blanket came up over both of you, as you reached over to set your phone aside for the night.
…And next time, you were gonna hide your credit card.
pairing : garrett graham john logan dean di laurentis john tucker beau maxwell allie hayes hannah wells x 𝒇 ! reader
𝗢𝗥 𓈒 𓈒 randomly stuffing your face in their neck
contains : established relationship physical touch kissing dean’s could be seen as suggestive gif credits to @alliecathayes 𝘄 ｡ 2902
GARRETT GRAHAM :
“You think you're close enough?” Garrett teased you once you settled comfortably in his side, your body pressed flush against him. Your boyfriend wasn't surprised by your sudden touchiness; he knew you all too well and could tell by the look you had in your eyes for the past ten minutes that you wanted more than just watching a movie. He continued to look for a movie for the two of you to watch, smiling as he felt your nose rub against his neck as you nodded.
You hummed, sending chills down his neck. “Mhm, you smell nice.”
“Thanks, I used your body wash.” As soon as those words left Garrett’s lips, you were quick to remove your face from his neck and sit up on your elbow, looking at him with an incredulous look. He looked away from the screen when he felt you move away, giving you an innocent smile once he noticed the look on your face, finding your dramatics cute.
“What? You should be honored that I want to smell like you.” Garrett still had that faux innocent smile on his lips as he spoke sweetly. He gently pulled you back against him, this time you lay on your stomach with your feet in the air, his hand slipping under your shirt and resting on your back, callused fingers softly caressing your skin.
“Stop trying to sweet-talk your way out of this graham” You narrowed your eyes at him as you poked his chest with an accusatory tone. A cute noise that he would never admit was him, left his lips at the feeling. He quickly dropped the remote and took your hand in his before you could poke him again.
He caressed your hand with his fingers as he gave you a flirty smirk, his tone dropping to a seductive whisper that usually had you melting, “We both know you love it when I sweet-talk you.”
You rolled your eyes playfully and let out a faux dramatic groan of disgust at your boyfriend's poor excuse at flirting. You rested your head down against his chest, hiding your smile from. Garrett laughed and held you closer, an identical smile gracing his lips. A louder laugh left his lips and filled his room at the feeling of you biting him, clearly flustered.
JOHN LOGAN :
“You okay, baby?” Logan’s voice was soft as it broke the silence of his room, as you hugged him from behind, smushing your face into his warm neck. He paused on retaping his hockey stick to relax back against your chest, the tension in his body after a long, shitty day disappeared.
You took a deep breath against his neck, his cologne filling your nose, before you answered quietly with a small pout, “Yeah, just wanted to be close to you.”
You were lying under Logan’s thick blankets in his bed, watching his back muscles and side profile as he sat on the edge of the bed. He was meticulously taping his stick. He was only an arm’s length away from you, but that was too far in your eyes; you missed the feeling of his body against yours.
Logan internally awed at your words and your cute, sleepy tone. He always wanted to be close to you. He couldn’t remember the moment he realized he was wrapped around your finger. The boys liked to tease him that he was whipped the moment you introduced yourself to him. He knew it was true. The moment he saw your sweet smile, he was gone.
Logan pulled away from your touch, making the corners of your lips curl into a sad pout as you sat back on your knees, watching as he got up from his bed. His sweatpants hung low on his hips as he walked over to his desk, setting down the tape and stick. But your pout quickly changed into a smile, a giggle escaping your lips when your boyfriend wasted no time to playfully tackle you back against his bed.
Your head falls back on the soft pillows while Logan takes his favorite spot between your legs. This time, he was the one lowering his head, stuffing his face in your neck, and breathing in your familiar calming scent. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer if that was even possible, scrunching your nose cutely at the ticklish feeling of his scruff against your neck.
One of your hands moved across his shoulder blade and to his nape and up, softly playing with his soft strands of hair. Logan hummed happily at the feeling before whispering against your pulse point—the feeling of his warm breath sending chills down your spine as you fluttered your eyes closed, “My precious girl.”
DEAN DI LAURENTIS :
”What are you doing, you little minx?—hmm” Dean hummed with that cocky teasing smirk that everyone folded at, when he felt your sudden touch, how you pressed against him. Did you want more already? He dropped his phone on the bed; it was long forgotten as soon as he felt your touch.
He had been scrolling mindlessly on his phone for the past 20 minutes while you lay there still at his side, the hot shower you shared not too long ago had you completely relaxed and ready for bed. You were ready for bed, your body begged you to fall asleep after the countless orgasms Dean had given you.
But neither of you could fall asleep, you because you wanted Dean’s full attention, and Dean because he cared about you so much that he was still nervous about sleeping next to you. This wasn't a hookup; he wasn't used to this, but God did he want to be.
You rolled your eyes at the ‘pet name’ your boyfriend loved to tease you with, and nuzzled your face against his warm neck; a few strands of his blonde hair tickled your nose. You rest your hand on his bare chest, moving it down to his abs as you sassily answer, “Is it a crime to wanna be close to my boyfriend?”
Dean’s eyes softened at your words, and his smirk was quickly replaced with a smile, a smile you were finding yourself falling in love with. He still wasn't used to it, hearing you call him your boyfriend; he hoped he never got used to the strange fluttering in his stomach when you did.
He brought his hand up to softly caress your cheek and jaw with the tips of his fingers as he whispered uncharacteristically soft, “No, I suppose it’s not.”
You smiled sleepily at his soft touch, your legs tangling together under the soft sheets, while he slipped his hand under his shirt that you were wearing and held your waist, pulling you flush against him. You placed a feather-light kiss on his neck before you mumbled tiredly, “Dream of me, okay?”
A big dimpled grin spreads across his face, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from chuckling, not wanting to disrupt you from falling asleep anymore. You always kept him on his toes, never knowing what to expect from you. Yeah, he was head over heels in love with you.
He moved his hand from your waist to softly pat your head affectionately before he started to play with your hair, kissing the top of your head and whispering—his big smile evident in his tone “trust me, I will”
JOHN TUCKER :
“Oh—uh, are you okay?” Tucker shyly stammered, an unexpected and awkward chuckle as he felt his face and neck go hot at your unexpected touch. His fingers paused on switching to the next page of his book, a recipe book from his mom, he wanted to make your favorite for dinner tomorrow. But that was the last thing on his mind now.
You mistook his shyness and surprise as him being uncomfortable, which was so far from the truth—he wasn't used to you initiating the physical contact, it was always him—only when you gave him that soft look of permission. He didn't know the full story, just what you told him. You called it the cliff notes—you weren’t ready to talk about it, and that’s okay. He would happily wait until you were.
You trusted him enough with the Cliff Notes, and that was everything to him. You were everything….
You quickly let go of his arm that you were holding and retracted your face from his neck, feeling embarrassed, you mumbled, “Sorry, I just wanted to be close to you.”
He internally cursed himself out for sounding so awkward, he immediately found himself missing your touch and the warmth that always came with it.
“Wait, no, come here,” Tucker rushed out, his voice soft and gentle as he carefully set the book on his bedside table before looking back at you. His touch was gentle, like always, as he pulled you back into his arms. He shifted to lie on his side as he held you flush against his chest.
The movement was sudden, and if it were anyone else, you would have pushed them away, but you found yourself just as quickly relaxing in his arms. The arms you have grown to feel safe in, to admire, to grip onto when things get too much.
He tangled his legs with yours, both of you over the blankets on his bed. His eyes were soft as he looked into yours, hoping that you couldn’t tell how fast his heartbeat was going from having you so close. He softly caressed your arm as he muttered deeply, “And please don't ever apologize for that.”
“I—I like when you touch me, like a lot,” he trailed off into a more confident tone as he softly bumped his nose against yours. He couldn't help but smile at the cute nose crunch you did at the feeling, or how your eyes softened as his words really sank in.
“Okay,” you whispered with a small smile after a few moments of silence. You fluttered your eyes closed as you snuggled your face into his clavicle, his scent calming you even more. You didn't hesitate this time, slipping your hand under his shirt and softly scratching at his back, just like how he did to you when you’d get overwhelmed.
“I guess I could get used to this,” he let out a pleased hum at the soothing feeling, his own eyes closing. You missed the teasing, lovesick smile on his lips, and pulled away to look at him with a raised eyebrow and a playful pout, repeating his words slowly, “You guess?”
Tucker laughed and leaned down to place a lingering soft kiss on your forehead. “Oh, definitely, I’m sure of it.”
BEAU MAXWELL :
“Oh, now you miss me?” Beau didn't flinch even though he was surprised at the feeling of you suddenly pressing your body against his side. He was so into the show playing on your dorm tv to notice you were moving closer to him.
You had spent the last two hours trying to ignore your needy boyfriend as you finished up your assignments, and now that you were done, all he wanted to do was finish up the show. He was teasing you, testing you, and you knew it. You scoffed dramatically and poked his side with a roll of your eyes. You muttered in that bratty tone that he loved, “shut up.”
Beau grinned as he felt you melt into him. He slipped his arm around your waist to pull you flush against him, your own arm draping across his chest to softly hold his nape, fingers threaded into his curls while your leg draped over his midsection.
You tried to keep your hands to yourself as the two of you tried to watch the show, well, Beau was watching, and you were watching him. The longer you watched him, the harder it got for you to hold back. He looked so good, his arm behind his head—biceps flexed, freckles decorating the slope of his nose so prettily, his lips you wanted to taste were formed into a concentrated pout as he tried to keep up with the show.
“Beau baby, please,” you finally cracked as you nuzzled your face into his neck, rubbing your nose against his warm skin, your soft lips brushing against his skin. He tried not to crack himself, but he was putty in your hands the moment you teasingly nipped at his earlobe.
Beau moves his hand from under his head and swiftly pauses the show, tossing the remote somewhere on your fluffy carpet. You couldn’t help but giggle when Beau quickly turned his body towards you so could lie on you between your legs, stuffing his face in your neck.
And in turn, you wrap your legs and arms around him to pull him closer to you if that was even possible, both of you hum happily at the change of position, and both tired of the stubborn and teasing act the two of you had been going on for the past couple of hours. A pleased sigh leaves your lips at the feeling of his lips on you.
Beau stopped placing soft kisses along your neck, chuckling as he mused teasingly in your ear, tone more flirty than anything, “My needy girl.”
ALLIE HAYES :
“Ahh, what are yo—“ Allie cut herself off as she broke out into a fit of her sweet giggles—that immediately brought a smile to your lips—when she felt the ticklish feeling of your soft breaths against her neck. Her brown strands of hair cover your face.
“Stop moving,” you whined playfully as you held back your own laughter, moving closer to your girlfriend who was moving away from her touch, the blanket draped over the two of you shifting with her. The two of you were lying comfortably in her bed, the romcom was long forgotten.
“I can’t help it, it tickles.” Allie laughs, giving you a big triumphant grin as she finally detangled herself from your hold, laughing as you dramatically flopped your arms back on the bed. Allie wanted to kiss that cute, dramatic pout off your lips. God, you were so cute.
“Just say you don't want to cuddle me,” you huffed dramatically as you moved to lie on your back, looking up at Allie, who was now sitting up on her elbow, watching you so fondly. Your hair was sprawled across her pillow, you smelled like her body wash and shampoo, wearing her clothes.
You were perfect.
“Wow, and people say I’m dramatic,” Allie teased you with a shake of her head as she adjusted her position so she could lie back on her side facing you. She watched as your eyes dropped to her chest, biting your bottom lip as you shamelessly admired how good she looked in her cami.
She pushed her hair out of her face before patting her chest with a flirty smile, batting her eyelashes as she cooed, “Come here then, cuddle bug.”
She tilted her head back as she laughed, finding it cute how fast you were to cuddle back into her side. You hummed happily as you placed soft kisses along her neck, your hand moving to her hip and slipping under her cami to touch her warm skin.
She placed a soft kiss on the top of your head as your legs tangled together, smiling softly, and as she felt you yawn against her neck skin. You placed another soft kiss on her neck. Allie felt herself go warm at the soft, sleepy words you whispered in her ear, “Love you.”
HANNAH WELLS :
“Tired, baby?” Hannah hummed quietly as she felt you nuzzle your nose against her neck, your body pressed against her side. She stopped typing on her laptop as she rested her head against yours, a big grin on her face at your touchiness.
The two of you were sitting cozy on the couch, Allie was out for the night, leaving the two of you with some much-needed alone time. Hannah promised that she was all yours as soon as she finished up some assignments, so you focused on the trashy reality TV show that was on TV. But the longer you sat there next to her, admiring her side profile and how cute she was when she focused, the harder it got to keep your hands to yourself.
You shook your head no, placing a featherlight kiss on a freckle on her neck that always made her breath hitch. Your words came out muffled against her neck as you answered her, “uh-uh, just missed you.”
Hannah blushed and lifted her head, placing a soft kiss on your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. She wanted nothing more than to shower you in her attention and vice versa, but both of you understood that this was important, especially with her busy schedule. She looked back at her laptop, her voice soft as she promised, “After this page, I’m all yours.”
You were more than willing to wait for her. You draped your arm across her stomach, your fingers dipping under her shirt to caress her skin with your fingertips. You fluttered your eyes closed, melting against her side as you listened to the satisfying sound of her typing. You whispered sweetly, “Mmkay, I’m just gonna stay here.”
┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜
Ი𐑼 my first off campus work , can you guys see me jumping up and down in joy ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾ i am oh so very off campus pilled , like this is my life now , my poor wips are so jealous !! i had so much fun rewriting this old idea from a old blog of mine (just in case if it seemed familiar) please tell me your thoughts , feedback is always appreciated and so are comments and reblogs , luv you bbys 🐇
“She’s married… Married to me.” | wife!Usha Zuniga x husband!Reader
Ft: Muffin (Usha’s dog)
Summary: You are going to work early on Saturday, while your family movie night is also planned on Saturday. And while you’re out at work, Usha met a guy at the trash area while taking the trash out. The guy is interested in her, but little did he know that he’s about to walk straight into someone else’s wife and embarrass himself.
TW: male reader, plus-size!OC, age gap (reader is 35, Usha is 59), fluff, humor/crack, family dynamic, a guy trying to hit on Usha, light jealousy, comedy misunderstanding, domestic fluff
Morning light filtered softly through the bedroom curtains, spilling across the bed in pale streaks that landed directly on Usha’s face. The warmth dragged her slowly out of sleep, and she immediately reacted with a quiet, irritated groan, tugging the blankets up as if they could shield her from the sun she already disliked so much. Her movements were sluggish, heavy with sleep, her expression tight with groggy annoyance.
She lay there for a moment, eyes barely open, breathing slow and uneven as she tried to cling to the last pieces of rest. The lightweight fabric of her sleepwear shifted softly with each breath—a soft cream pajama-style top with a relaxed, slightly oversized fit, its short sleeves and notched collar outlined in dark navy trim, paired with matching breezy shorts edged the same way. The smooth material draped comfortably over her curvy frame while the cool air brushed against her exposed skin, contrasting with the warmth beneath the blankets. A rich navy satin bonnet, glossy with softly ruched edges and tied with an oversized bow, sat neatly in place, keeping her waves undisturbed.
Instinctively, her hand slid across the bed toward your side, searching without thought, expecting the familiar presence she was used to waking up beside. Instead, her fingers met nothing but cool, empty sheets. The absence registered slowly, pulling her a little more awake as her brows furrowed.
Usha blinked, lifting her head slightly from the pillow, her swamp-green eyes scanning the room with quiet confusion. Your side of the bed was untouched, already empty, the subtle signs making it clear you had been up for a while.
“…Bae?” she murmured, her voice low, rough with sleep yet still carrying that natural depth and authority, softened only slightly by her groggy state.
There was no answer… except for the distant, unmistakable sound of the coffee machine running downstairs.
Her eyes narrowed faintly, and she let out a small, knowing exhale, somewhere between annoyance and acceptance. Of course. Already up. Already making coffee.
Rolling her eyes, she pushed herself upright and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cool beneath her feet for only a brief second before she slipped into her dark navy clogs, the cushioned soles grounding her as she stood, her ankle socks hugging just above her ankles. She stretched slowly, shoulders rolling back, arms lifting just enough to loosen the stiffness from sleep.
Still waking up, still mildly irritated, Usha made her way toward the bedroom door, already certain of where you were. The smell of coffee faintly drifted upward, confirming it. Without needing to check anywhere else, she stepped out of the room, heading downstairs to find you in the kitchen, just as she expected.
[…]
Downstairs, the kitchen was quiet except for the steady hum and soft rattling of the coffee machine as it brewed. Dark coffee dripped slowly into the glass pot beneath, filling the room with a rich, familiar coffee smell. You stood at the counter in your work suit, one hand braced against the surface, shoulders slightly slouched as you waited, still not fully awake.
From the doorway, Usha’s voice cut through the calm, low and edged with sleepy irritation. “You do realize I can put you on house arrest for leavin’ this house early to go to work… right?”
You turned your head just enough to glance over your shoulder, spotting her leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. Her posture was relaxed but firm, her expression carrying a tired glare that made it clear she was only half-awake and already annoyed. A small chuckle slipped out of you before you faced the coffee machine again, letting it finish its slow work.
She didn’t stay put for long. With a quiet shuffle, her clogs brushed against the tile as she crossed the kitchen. Without hesitation, she slid her arms around your chest from behind, her hold firm yet heavy with sleep, and rested her forehead against your back. The gesture was clingy, unguarded—one of the few moments where her usual commanding presence softened completely.
“Good morning to you too, honey…” you said, your voice still rough as you waited.
“Bae… it’s Saturday. And you promised them kids ‘Movie Night’.” she murmured, her tone low but pointed.
You let out a quiet sigh. “I know… you know how my boss is lately…”
“Does your boss know one of his employees married a police officer who can very easily arrest him for draggin’ you into work on a Saturday?”
“Usha…”
“I’m not playin’. I will call for backup if I need to,” she cut in, her voice sharpening just enough to show she meant every word.
A tired laugh escaped you as you shook your head, reaching down to gently pat her arm where it was wrapped around you. “I’ll try to come home early this time.”
Behind you, her expression shifted even if you couldn’t fully see it—her grip remained, but her skepticism was obvious in the slight narrowing of her eyes. She didn’t believe that easily.
“I’ll bring home pizza and those cinnamon breadsticks the kids like,” you added.
Her arms tightened around you for a brief moment anyway, her cheek pressing into the back of your suit jacket as she grumbled softly, “…You really think you can bribe your way outta this conversation.”
Right then, the coffee machine gave a soft beep, signaling it was finally done. You reached forward to grab your mug, moving to pour, but before you could, Usha shifted—hooking her chin over your shoulder to watch closely.
“You come home late… I’m changin’ them locks,” she said flatly.
You snorted under your breath, pouring the steaming coffee into your mug. “That sounds slightly illegal for a police officer, even for the chief police.”
She rolled her eyes without hesitation. “It’s called ‘teachin’ my overworked husband consequences’, dumbass.”
Amusement lingered in your expression as you turned slightly within her arms, just enough to press a quick, gentle kiss against her forehead beneath the satin bonnet ribbon. “I’ll make it home for movie night. Promise.”
She held your gaze for a second longer, studying you carefully, as if weighing the truth of your words. Then, without warning, she loosened her hold just enough to slip the mug right out of your hands.
“Hey—”
Already lifting it, she took a slow sip, completely unbothered.
You stared at her, caught between disbelief and amusement. “…You just complained about me leaving for work and immediately stole my coffee.”
She took another sip without a hint of shame, then glanced up at you over the rim of the mug, far too satisfied for someone who had only just woken up.
“Husband negligence tax.”
[…]
A little while later, the two of you stood by the front door as soft morning sunlight streamed in through the nearby windows, spilling warm golden light across the hallway floor. Your work bag rested over your shoulder, everything about you signaling it was time to leave, while Usha lingered close, still not fully awake. Her fingers lazily held onto the sleeve of your suit jacket, a quiet, stubborn grip that made it clear she wasn’t quite ready to let you go.
You leaned down, closing the small distance between you to kiss her softly one last time before heading out. Your hand settled naturally against her curvy waist, steady and familiar, while she responded with a sleepy, slightly grumpy mumble against your lips about how this “better not become overtime.”
When you pulled back, she immediately reached up, smoothing down the front of your suit with both hands, adjusting your collar with practiced care. Despite the lingering sleepiness in her expression, her movements were precise. Then she lifted a finger and pointed it firmly at your chest, her gaze sharpening just enough to carry that unmistakable authority.
“Movie night. Don’t make me remind you again.”
A small, warm smile spread across your face as you leaned in again, this time pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose. “Movie night. I know.”
With that, you finally pulled away and headed outside, making your way to your car. Usha stayed where she was, standing in the doorway, watching you as you got in and pulled out of the driveway. Her arms folded loosely across her chest, your coffee mug still held securely in her hands, as if she had no intention of giving it back anytime soon.
She lingered there for a moment longer, the cool morning breeze brushing lightly past her as she watched your car disappear from view. Then, with a quiet, fond shake of her head, she turned back inside.
Her voice carried loudly through the house, strong and commanding even this early in the morning.
“ALRIGHT—WHO WANTS PANCAKES?”
[…]
A little while later, after the kitchen had been filled with the smell of pancakes and the kids had been fed, and after Muffin’s bowl had been filled with kibble, Usha stepped outside with a large black garbage bag in hand. She had thrown on a charcoal-gray robe over her pajamas, the fabric shifting lightly with each step as she made her way toward the neighborhood trash pick-up area.
Earlier, you had tried to take the trash out yourself on your way to work, but she had shut that down immediately—blunt and stubborn as ever—shooing you off with a firm reminder to “just get to work already before your boss starts haunting your phone again, idiot.” Now, she carried it herself without complaint, her grip steady and her posture firm.
…It’s a good thing that she has the strength she maintained from her regular workouts in the gym.
When she reached the trash area, her eyes immediately landed on a young man, probably in his mid-twenties, carelessly tossing his garbage bag toward one of the bins. It didn’t land properly—half of it hung over the edge, teetering like it could fall at any second. He didn’t even check. He just turned to walk away.
Usha’s brows furrowed, her eyes narrowing slightly as irritation flickered across her face. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was there—sharp and immediate, the kind that came from someone who had no patience for laziness, especially when it created more work for others.
Adjusting her hold on her own trash bag, she spoke up, her voice firm and direct. “Excuse me—fix your trash. Don’t leave it like that for the trash collectors.”
The man paused mid-step and turned around. The moment he saw her, his expression shifted—his eyes widened slightly, and a faint flush crept onto his cheeks. Standing there in her robe and sleepwear, Usha still carried a presence that was hard to ignore.
“Y-yeah! Of course! Sorry about that!” he stammered, quickly hurrying back to the bin. This time, he fixed the garbage bag properly, making sure it was secure instead of half hanging off the edge.
As Usha stepped forward to dispose of her own bag, the man suddenly rushed toward her again, almost tripping over himself in his eagerness.
“Here, let me get that for you,” he said quickly, reaching out and taking the heavy bag from her hands before she could lift it.
She blinked once, a flicker of mild surprise crossing her face as he handled it carefully and placed it properly into the bin—very differently from how he had acted just moments ago.
“…Thank you.” she replied, giving him a small, polite nod. Without lingering, she turned to head back toward her house, already ready to move on with her morning.
“Wait!”
She paused, her shoulders settling with quiet reluctance before she slowly looked back over her shoulder, her expression slightly tired, slightly unimpressed.
“You need something?”
The man suddenly looked far less confident now that he had her full attention. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, hesitating for a brief second before blurting it out.
“Can I have your number?”
Usha stared at him in silence for a long moment, her expression completely flat, unreadable.
Then, without hesitation—
“No.”
She turned on her heel and walked away, not sparing him another glance. Just like that, the interaction was over.
Left standing beside the trash bins, the man watched her go, his gaze lingering as she made her way back toward her house.
‘Huh… so that’s where she lives…’ he thought to himself.
[…]
By the time night settled in, the warm glow of the local pizzeria lights spilled out onto the sidewalk as you stepped through the door, carefully balancing a hot pizza box in one hand and a paper bag filled with cinnamon breadsticks in the other.
“Thanks!” you called back to the worker behind the counter before the door swung shut behind you.
The evening air was cool against your skin as you made your way across the parking lot, the overhead lights casting soft halos onto the pavement beneath your feet. For once, everything had worked out exactly how you hoped.
You had made it out of work early.
No overtime.
No last-minute meetings.
No excuses.
Just like you promised.
A small, tired smile formed on your face as you walked toward your car, the weight of the long week still lingering in your body—but it felt lighter now. Because waiting at home was something better.
Usha.
The kids.
Movie night.
And for the first time all week, that was the only thing on your mind.
By the time your car turned into the neighborhood, the night had settled in comfortably. Porch lights glowed warmly along the street, and the soft flicker of televisions danced behind living room windows. It was quiet, calm—the kind of evening that felt perfect for exactly what you had planned.
When your house came into view at the end of the street, something immediately felt off.
There was a man standing at your front door.
Your brows furrowed as you slowed near the driveway, the warm pizza box balanced carefully against your arm while the paper bag of cinnamon breadsticks swung lightly in your other hand. At first glance, you assumed it was nothing—maybe a delivery driver, maybe someone who had the wrong address.
But the longer you looked, the stranger it became.
He wasn’t leaving.
He was standing there beneath your porch light, holding a bouquet of flowers, dressed like he had somewhere important to be—or more accurately, like he was trying to impress someone. His posture was relaxed, almost confident, and every few seconds, he glanced toward the windows like he was waiting for someone specific to answer the door.
Your grip tightened slightly on the pizza box.
You stepped further up the driveway, your voice calm but edged with suspicion. “Hey, can I help you?”
The man turned at the sound of your voice. At first, there was a flicker of irritation at being interrupted, but the moment he took in your appearance—takeout in hand, clearly just getting home—his expression shifted into something far more casual. Smug, even.
“Oh,” he said, adjusting the flowers in his hands. “Is your mom here?”
Your eyebrows pulled together immediately.
“Mom”?
You stared at him, confused. “Mom? You mean Usha?”
“Yeah,” he said, his grin widening slightly. “Her.”
You shifted the pizza box against your arm, your attention sharpening as you looked him over more carefully now.
“She’s inside. Why?” you asked.
The man raised the bouquet slightly, like that alone should explain everything.
“I came to see her,” he said with a casual shrug. “Thought I’d surprise her.”
Something about the ease in his voice—like this was normal—rubbed you the wrong way instantly.
Your gaze flicked from the flowers, to him, then briefly toward your front door before settling back on him again. “And why exactly should I let you talk to her?” your voice flattened.
He didn’t seem bothered by your tone at all. If anything, he looked entertained.
“Because I’m her boyfriend.”
. . . Silence settled between you.
You stared at him, your expression completely blank, almost unreadable. Not even anger—just deeply confused by the unbelievable level of stupidity happening in front of you..
“Stop talking nonsense,” you said flatly. “She’s married.”
For the first time, his confidence faltered. His brows pulled together slightly as he glanced between you and the house, like he was trying to piece something together that didn’t make sense to him.
“Married?”
A slow smile spread across your face.
Not warm. Not friendly.
The kind that warned someone they had already gone too far.
“Yeah,” you said, adjusting the pizza box under your arm. “To me.”
He stared at you for a brief moment.
Then he snorted, a short laugh slipping out like you had just said something ridiculous.
“Yeah, alright, dude,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Stop being delusional.”
Before you could respond, he stepped forward—toward your front door.
“Now move aside. I’m gonna go in—”
“Bae.”
The single word came from the doorway, low and steady, and it was enough to pause everything.
Both you and the man turned at the same time.
Usha stood there, framed by the soft porch light, one shoulder resting against the doorway as her arms crossed over her chest. There was an effortless, lived-in ease to the way she looked—like she had long since settled into the night. A soft, well-worn deep orange lounge set draped over her frame, the short-sleeved knit top falling comfortably while matching joggers tapered at her ankles, the fabric thick enough to feel secure yet easy enough to move in. The lightweight charcoal-gray robe hung open over it, shifting slightly with her stance, and simple black house slippers grounded her against the porch. Her orange satin bonnet caught the light with a subtle sheen, the ruched edges framing her face, and also sat slightly crooked from her probably wrestling Azha into her pajamas earlier. Even half at ease, half annoyed, she carried that same unmistakable presence—calm, firm, and impossible to ignore.
Her expression said everything.
Blunt. Mildly irritated. Already over whatever this was.
Her gaze moved between you—who looked one second away from physically removing someone from the property—and the man standing on her porch like he belonged there.
The man, on the other hand, completely froze.
Because now he was seeing her properly again.
And somehow, under the porch light, she looked even better than she had that morning.
You noticed immediately.
A small side-smirk tugged at your lips before you turned fully toward her, your entire demeanor shifting as if nothing had happened at all.
“I’m back, honey!” you said warmly, lifting the pizza box slightly along with the paper bag dangling from your hand. “And I brought home pizza and cinnamon breadsticks!”
The moment the words “cinnamon breadsticks” left your mouth—
Tiny rapid footsteps immediately thundered across the hallway inside the house.
“Daddy!!”
Azha popped her little head out from behind Usha’s legs so fast she almost ran directly into the screen door, her curls messy from bedtime and her pajama shirt slightly twisted. Her eyes locked directly onto the breadstick bag with absolute focus, sparkling with excitement.
Honestly, she looked more excited about the icing than anything else.
Before you could even respond, another figure leaned into view behind Usha.
Gabriel appeared halfway through the doorway, already dressed for the occasion in lounge pants and a Mario-themed hoodie, like he had been waiting all day for this exact moment.
“About time, Dad,” he said, pointing straight at the pizza box. “The Mario movie’s literally about to start, and I need my roasted chicken, pineapple, barbecue-drizzle masterpiece pizza before Luigi and Yoshi start carrying the entire movie.”
Immediately behind him, Michael stepped into view, already looking exhausted by Gabriel’s existence alone.
“That pizza combo should be considered a criminal offense,” Michael said flatly, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.
Gabriel gasped. “You have no taste.”
“You eat barbecue sauce on pizza.”
“Because I’m evolved.”
“You’re a public danger.”
Azha’s face scrunched instantly, offended at being left out. She stomped one tiny socked foot against the floor and pushed herself further out from behind Usha’s robe, glaring up at both of them.
“HEY! You forgot Princess Peach again!”
She pointed between them like a tiny lawyer building a case.
“She’s my favorite character!”
At almost the exact same moment, Muffin trotted forward through the doorway, her large frame immediately commanding attention. The dog stopped the second she spotted the unfamiliar man. Her eyes narrowed instantly while a low protective growl rumbled deep in her doggy chest.
The atmosphere changed.
“Ohhhh, she does not like him,” Gabriel muttered, stiffening slightly.
Michael didn’t even blink. “Yeah, that’s usually a bad sign.”
Meanwhile, Azha reacted in the exact opposite way.
She wrapped both of her tiny arms around Muffin’s thick neck, hugging her tightly like she was the one offering comfort.
“And you forgot Princess Rosalina too!” she huffed, still glaring at her brothers. “She’s Muffin’s favorite!”
Muffin immediately softened, the growl disappearing as quickly as it came. She lowered her large head gently, nuzzling into Azha’s curls before letting out a single, deep, approving bark.
The small muffin-shaped bow clipped beside her doggy ear bobbed slightly with the movement.
Usha pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, tired sigh as she took in the entire chaotic scene unfolding across her front porch.
“Alright—inside, all of you,” she said firmly, her voice cutting cleanly through the noise. “Let your father get in the house before that pizza gets cold.”
That was all it took.
The kids immediately turned and scrambled back inside, their argument about Mario characters continuing at full volume as they disappeared down the hallway. Gabriel’s voice carried loud and dramatic about Luigi being “underrated,” while Michael shot back something about him being a “pineapple criminal” without missing a beat.
But Muffin stayed planted near the porch, her large frame tense, eyes locked onto the stranger with a low, lingering suspicion. Positioned just beside Usha’s legs, she looked every bit like a trained protector unwilling to stand down.
Usha reached down, her hand finding the familiar spot behind Muffin’s ear, scratching gently. “Muffin. Inside.”
Only then did the Cane Corso finally huff, reluctant but obedient, and follow the kids inside.
With that handled, you stepped forward, pulling the door open wider with an easy grin, gesturing Usha inside first like a gentleman. She walked past you, her shoulder lightly bumping against yours as she entered, already muttering under her breath about “grown men causing drama outside her house.”
Then the door space cleared.
And it was just you and him.
You turned back slowly.
The sight in front of you was almost too good.
The man stood frozen on the walkway, the bouquet of flowers now looking painfully out of place in his hands. His earlier confidence had completely collapsed, replaced with a stunned, hollow expression as everything finally caught up to him on what just happened.
It was written all over his face.
He understood now.
Reality had hit him all at once, and it showed.
For a second, you almost laughed.
Instead, you settled for something quieter…far more controlled.
A small, smugly polite smile.
The kind that says “Now tell me that she’s your girlfriend..”.
“Have a ‘good night’, pal.”
And before he could recover enough to respond—
You shut the front door directly in his face.
[…]
You stood there for a moment after shutting the door, your hand still resting against the handle.
From the other side of the door, you could faintly hear the muffled sound of the man still standing there in stunned silence.
Honestly?
You almost felt bad for him.
…Almost.
A sudden, sharp bark pulled your attention away as heavy paws thudded across the hardwood floor. Muffin trotted back into view, moving with purpose before planting herself right beside your leg. She sat tall, posture proud, like a security officer reporting a job well done.
You looked down at her, your expression flat. “Good work, officer.”
Muffin puffed slightly at the praise, clearly pleased, and leaned her massive head against your thigh. The small muffin-shaped bow clipped near her ear tilted to the side as she settled in.
From the living room, Gabriel’s voice rang out immediately. “Dad just won a whole romance movie scene outside!”
Michael snorted from the couch without even looking up. “More like a crime documentary.”
Azha gasped dramatically as she climbed onto the couch cushions, eyes wide with excitement. “Daddy fought a villain?!”
“No fighting happened,” you replied quickly.
Usha, already moving toward the kitchen, glanced back over her shoulder and gave you the flattest, most unimpressed look imaginable.
“That came out a little too quick.”
You immediately looked away.
“Pizza first.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, clearly unconvinced, but before she could push further, Gabriel suddenly made a dramatic move for the counter.
“MOVE, PEASANTS—”
Michael reacted instantly, grabbing the back of Gabriel’s hoodie and yanking him back mid-lunge.
“Wash your hands first, you goblin.”
“YOU’RE NOT MY DAD.”
“Unfortunately.”
Meanwhile, Azha had already climbed halfway onto one of the kitchen stools, completely locked in on the paper bag in your hand. Her attention was unwavering, her small face filled with awe.
“They’re sparkling…” she said softly.
As you opened the bag, the warm scent of cinnamon and sugar filled the entire space. The icing still glistened, slightly melted into thin, glossy ribbons over the soft breadsticks, catching the kitchen light just enough to make them look almost magical.
Azha stared like she was witnessing something life-changing.
Gabriel pointed immediately. “Save me two.”
“Three,” Michael corrected.
Azha, without hesitation, declared, “FIVE.”
Usha let out a quiet laugh under her breath as she reached into the cabinet for paper plates, the earlier irritation on her face easing into something softer. There was a familiar warmth in her expression now—the kind that always surfaced when the house was full, when everyone was talking over each other, when the noise meant everything was exactly as it should be.
You opened the pizza box, and a wave of heat and melted cheese filled the kitchen instantly.
The pepperoni side glistened under the light, small pools of oil catching along the curled, crisped edges. The barbecue chicken half carried a smoky-sweet scent, pineapple chunks tucked beneath melted mozzarella with thin ribbons of sauce drizzled across the top. And the plain cheese section (A/N: Azha’s pick-) sat perfectly golden, already looking stretchy enough to spark an argument over who got the best slice.
Gabriel pointed at his section with pride. “Art.”
Michael didn’t even hesitate. “Evidence.”
Usha shook her head, carrying the plates toward the table. “Every single week with the two of you…”
While the twins kept arguing, you drifted quietly toward her.
She was reaching up for napkins when you stepped in behind her, wrapping an arm gently around her waist. The movement was easy, familiar—like you had done it a thousand times before.
She blinked slightly, caught off guard. “Bae?”
You lowered your head closer to hers, your voice quieter now.
“…So, that guy.”
“Don’t start with me.”
“Your boyfriend seems nice. Do you know him?”
She turned her head just enough to look at you, her expression instantly sharpening into pure annoyance.
“I will throw this breadstick at your head. I just met that man at the trash bins, and he asked for my number.”
You blinked once, processing.
Then looked down at her, completely calm.
“…He flirted with you at the trash bins?”
Her finger came up immediately, pointing straight at you in warning.
“Do not make that sound funnier than it already is.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You’re not doin’ a good job.”
A small grin tugged at your mouth anyway, your arm still loosely around her waist.
“So let me get this straight,” you continued, voice low with amusement. “A random guy saw you taking out garbage in your pajamas and still thought, ‘Yeah, that’s the love of my life.’”
“I don’t like you very much right now.”
“That’s fair.”
She rolled her eyes, but her body softened slightly, relaxing back against you despite herself.
“He was bein’ weird all mornin’,” she went on. “First he got real helpful when I told him to fix his trash, then outta nowhere he asked for my number.”
You hummed quietly, thoughtful now.
“And somehow he skipped past the wedding ring,” you said, your tone gentler. Then, softer, “You okay though, right?”
That shift didn’t go unnoticed.
Her expression eased almost immediately, the edge in her face softening as she leaned back against your chest without answering right away. The tension from earlier—the stranger, the porch, the irritation—finally melted off her shoulders.
Usha let out a soft sigh through her nose, her shoulders settling as she leaned back against you.
“He was weird.”
You snorted quietly, your chin tilting slightly toward her. “That’s one word for it.”
She tilted her head back just enough to glance up at you, her expression calmer now, the earlier tension gone.
“You looked like you was about to throw that pizza at him.”
“I paid for that pizza,” you replied evenly. “He wasn’t worth it.”
That did it.
She laughed—really laughed this time. Quiet, a little tired, but genuine. The sound was enough to take the weight off your entire week in an instant.
And then—
“MOMMY, GABRIEL TOOK THE BIGGEST BREADSTICK!”
The moment shattered instantly.
“FINDERS KEEPERS.”
“You’re twenty-three.”
“And still thriving.”
You and Usha both sighed at the exact same time. Then you looked at each other—and without needing to say anything, you both started laughing under your breath again.
You shook your head, glancing over toward the twins. “Think it’s too late to return them?”
“HEY!” Gabriel snapped, pointing at himself in immediate offense.
Michael didn’t even bother looking up from his pizza. “Too late. No refunds, old man.”
Usha snorted beside you, leaning lightly into your shoulder.
“You say that now,” she murmured, “but you’d be bored without ’em.”
“…Unfortunately, you’re right.”
Gabriel immediately threw both arms into the air like he had just won something.
“HA! Favorite son!”
Michael’s response came instantly, flat and unimpressed.
“There’s only two of us.”
[Bonus]
A little while later, by the time you came back downstairs in your comfort clothes, the living room had already descended into full family-movie-night chaos.
The large television cast a bright glow across the room, the Mario Galaxy movie menu paused on-screen while soft background music played through the speakers. Throw blankets were scattered everywhere, draped over couch cushions and half hanging off the sides, while decorative pillows had somehow ended up on the floor.
The air was thick with the smell of pizza and warm cinnamon sugar, wrapping the entire downstairs in something cozy and familiar.
Michael sat sprawled across one end of the couch, arms crossed, doing a poor job pretending he wasn’t waiting for the movie to start. The empty edge of his plate (A/N: and the missing slices-) gave him away.
On the other side, Gabriel had lay upside down across the couch with one leg hanging dramatically over the armrest, still passionately defending his barbecue chicken pizza like it was a personal achievement.
Azha sat cross-legged on the carpet near the coffee table, her tiny plate balanced carefully in her lap with a slice of cheese pizza and a cinnamon breadstick. Beside her, Muffin lay stretched out like a massive guard dog, ever watchful. Every so often, Azha would sneak her a small piece of crust, whispering conspiratorially, “Don’t tell Mommy.”
Muffin accepted every offering with quiet pride.
From the kitchen, Usha stepped in carrying drinks, her expression lingering somewhere between tired and “one more problem and I’m shutting this whole thing down.” Still, there was a noticeable ease in her posture now, her earlier irritation gone. Her bonnet ribbon bobbed slightly as she moved, and despite everything, she looked more relaxed than she had all day.
The moment you walked in, Gabriel pointed straight at the TV remote. “Good, you’re finally here. Eat pizza, watch movies, and forget about work for a few hours. Then heal emotionally with plumbers.”
You snorted, dropping onto the couch beside Usha and automatically draping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into you without hesitation, letting out a quiet, tired hum as she balanced her plate on her knee.
“Long day, huh?” she asked.
You let out a slow breath. “You have no idea.”
“They’re not plumbers in this movie,” Michael added flatly.
Gabriel gasped dramatically. “Don’t disrespect their roots.”
Suddenly, Azha threw both hands up from the floor. “Can we START already?!”
Right on cue, Muffin barked once beside her, loud and firm.
Usha rubbed her temple. “Even Muffin’s gettin’ impatient now.”
You laughed quietly and leaned forward, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. As you pressed play, the movie studio intro began to roll—
—and Muffin immediately lifted her head and barked deeply at the screen.
Azha lit up, pointing at her. “Muffin wants Princess Peach!”
“No, she wants Luigi,” Gabriel argued.
“She wants all of you to stop yelling,” Michael muttered.
Usha snorted softly beside you, reaching for one of the last cinnamon breadsticks on the table.
Before she could grab it, your hand gently caught her wrist.
“…You mind explainin’ what you’re doin’?”
“That’s my breadstick.”
She stared at you for a long second, completely unimpressed.
Then, without breaking eye contact, she leaned in and took a deliberate bite out of it anyway.
You froze, narrowing your eyes at her in pure betrayal.
She chewed slowly, looking entirely satisfied with herself.
“Wife tax, idiot. Don’t argue with me.”
A/N: It’s mostly for the people who can’t see Usha’s “beach oneshot”.
A Cook’s Glow-Up | wife!Jamie Baker x husband!reader
Ft. Brenna, Tiffany
Summary: When Jamie came to your workplace to give you your lunch that you left behind, some of your coworkers couldn’t help but to judge your wife’s appearance when they saw her. But little did they know that Jamie is about to show them that she is beautiful, and give you…your other ‘lunch’ to eat.
A/N: smut (5th, 12th) prompts from @urfriendlywriter
TW: NSFW 18+ (MDNI), male reader, plus-size!OC, age gap (reader is 35, Jamie is 59), angst, co-workers being assholes, mean gossiping, Jamie being slightly insecure and getting a little glow-up, hurt/comfort, slightly suggestive(..?), smut, blowjob (kinda-), getting caught (almost-), public sex
The afternoon light came weakly through the office windows, giving the rows of cubicles a dull, tired glow. Your desk was messy in a way that made sense only to you—sticky notes were stuck to your monitor, some covered in quick writing and others curling at the edges from being ignored too long. A small desk fan spun slowly beside a stack of folders, sometimes moving loose papers just enough to remind you they were there.
Seated at your desk, your sleeves were slightly rolled up as you leaned toward the light from the computer screen. Your fingers moved quickly and smoothly across the keyboard, typing out reports, replies, and pages of work that all started to blur together in the spreadsheets and open tabs. A half-finished cup of coffee sat nearby, already gone cold. You stayed focused for a long time, only stopping once to lean back and rub your forehead before going right back to typing.
Then the quiet routine was broken by a sharp knock on the cubicle wall.
“Excuse me, Mr. [L/N]… but I think you’re forgettin’ it’s lunchtime.”
You flinched, startled, turning in your chair toward the familiar voice. Standing at the entrance of your cubicle was Jamie.
She looked warm and out of place against the dull office setting, like she had brought a little piece of her diner with her. A soft, slightly oversized butter-yellow cardigan hung loosely off her shoulders, not fully buttoned, revealing a worn white cotton T-shirt underneath that rested comfortably over her curvy frame. Her high-waisted light blue jeans hugged her in a way that was more practical than polished, paired with cushioned brown loafers that suggested she hadn’t come here to stay long. Her smooth, creamy skin carried the soft signs of time in the gentle lines around her eyes and mouth, and her round, thick-rimmed glasses slipped slightly down her nose as she looked at you. A white bandana tied gently around her head held back her soft gray hair, which fell past her shoulders in loose, slightly frizzy waves from the morning’s work. Her light grey eyes met yours with quiet warmth, and the faint peach tint of her lips curved into a familiar smile.
“Jamie?” you said, caught off guard. “What are you doing here?”
Without answering right away, she pulled a small, slightly crinkled brown paper bag from behind her back. A napkin peeked out from the top, and the moment you saw it, realization hit you.
“You left your lunch sittin’ right there on the counter while you were rushin’ out,” she said, her voice warm and a little gravelly in that familiar Southern way. “I didn’t even get the chance to call after you ‘fore you were already halfway down the street.”
You gave her a guilty grin, realizing she was right. You had been rushing to work so you wouldn’t be late for your boss, and in the process, you had left your lunch behind. You took the paper bag from her and set it on your desk, but before she could step back, you caught her hand and gently pulled her closer, guiding her down into your lap.
“Sunshine—!” Jamie protested at once, her eyes widening in surprise, though her tone was more embarrassed than truly upset. “Lord, you’re gonna get yourself in trouble lettin’ me sit here like this where everybody can see.”
“What?” you replied, already opening the bag with one hand while the other rested comfortably at her waist. “You drove all the way here just to make sure I eat. Least I can do is steal you for my lunch break too.”
Jamie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too, soft and fond and just a little helpless against you. She settled in carefully, her curvy frame easing into your lap, and helping unpack the lunch she had brought. Inside the paper bag were all the things she always made best: a thick chicken-fried steak sandwich tucked between two slices of buttery sourdough, still warm and wrapped in wax paper; a small container of homemade mashed potatoes with a generous pour of creamy white gravy; a flaky blueberry biscuit with a few crumbled edges from being packed too quickly; a plastic container of her famous peach cobbler, sweet and cinnamon-scented; and a cold glass bottle of sweet tea beaded with water.
You leaned back slightly in your office chair, Jamie settled comfortably against you, one arm still loosely around her waist while the other unwrapped the sandwich. She watched with that familiar motherly tenderness that always made you feel a little cared for, and when you took an eager bite a little too fast, she laughed softly under her breath. The crunch of the sourdough and your muffled groan of approval made her smile widen, and she reached over to steady the mashed potatoes before they tipped off the desk.
“Careful now,” she said, shaking her head fondly as she pulled apart the blueberry biscuit with her fingers. “You act like you ain’t had a single bite since sunrise.”
You paused mid-bite, still offering her pieces of biscuit between your own bites while she stole spoonfuls of mashed potatoes from the container.
After a moment, Jamie glanced down at herself, her fingers lightly tugging at the cardigan slipping off her shoulder as she spoke,
“I’m sorry for comin’ in here lookin’ all kinds of messy, Sunshine...”
You paused mid-bite, looking at her with clear confusion.
“‘Messy’?” you repeated. “Who told you that?”
The question seemed to catch her off guard. Her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of her cardigan, and the warm amusement on her face faded into something smaller and more uncertain. For a brief moment, she looked like she wished she hadn’t said anything at all.
“Well...” she said quietly, her voice trailing off.
[Flashback]
A few hours earlier, the morning had already settled warmly over Baker’s Diner as it nestled between a hardware store and a quiet row of brick storefronts along a sleepy main street lined with maple trees and faded parking lines.
Inside the diner kitchen, Jamie moved with the familiar ease of someone who had spent more than thirty years running the place and knew every inch of it as well as her own home. The old overhead fan hummed above her while the air filled with the comforting smells of butter, pepper, cinnamon, and fried batter. Her sleeves—pushed up past her elbows out of habit—kept slipping down as she worked, the lightweight beige cardigan soft and worn from years of use, faintly pilled at the cuffs, layered over her white apron. Beneath it, her oversized cream T-shirt hung loose, the faded diner logo barely visible across the front as the thin cotton shifted with every movement.
The loose knit lounge pants she wore swayed lightly as she moved between the counter and stove, the muted peach fabric easy and unrestrictive, while her well-worn house slippers made soft, dragging sounds against the tile floor. A pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses rested low on her nose, and every so often she nudged them back into place with her wrist, careful not to get flour on the lenses. Her gray hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, held back loosely by a fabric headband that had already started to slip. There was nothing rushed in the way she cooked, even though she always looked like she had been up before sunrise, which she usually had.
She pressed the thick steak into seasoned flour, dipped it into buttermilk, then coated it again before laying it into the hot oil. The steak hissed the moment it touched the pan, golden crumbs crackling at the edges as she worked between stirring a pot of creamy mashed potatoes and keeping an eye on the rest of breakfast. Even in the middle of all that, she cursed under her breath like a sailor whenever the oil splattered or the batter stuck the wrong way, the sharp words sounding completely at odds with her motherly sweetness. Still, her movements never lost their rhythm.
Once the steak turned perfectly crisp and golden-brown, she layered it between two thick slices of buttery toasted sourdough and wrapped the sandwich neatly in warm wax paper so it would stay fresh for you. Beside it, she spooned fluffy mashed potatoes into a small container before pouring rich white gravy over the top, letting it drip slowly into the corners.
The flaky blueberry biscuit had come fresh from the oven earlier that morning, still warm enough for the blueberries inside to stain the crumbs purple-blue whenever she handled it. She tucked it carefully into the lunch bag anyway, despite the edges crumbling slightly from how quickly she packed everything together.
Her peach cobbler cooled near the windowsill in its baking dish, sweet with cinnamon and baked peaches, and she scooped a generous portion into a plastic container with extra crust, knowing it was your favorite part. And last, she pulled a chilled glass bottle of sweet tea from the diner refrigerator, tiny droplets of water already forming along the glass before she slipped it carefully beside the food.
She had just finished folding the brown paper bag shut when she spotted you coming down from the narrow apartment hallway upstairs, already trying to fix your crooked tie while rushing to avoid being late for work. Jamie set the lunch bag down on the stainless-steel pass-through window between the kitchen and the counter, where it landed with a soft thump beside the morning coffee orders waiting to be picked up. Then, with a small laugh, she crooked a finger at you through the opening window.
You came back over with an apologetic grin, and Jamie reached through the opening to straighten your tie herself. Her hands moved with practiced care, smoothing the fabric flat against your chest and fixing the collar you had folded inward without noticing. Up close, you could smell the warmth of the kitchen still clinging to her and the faint sweetness of peach cobbler on her skin.
She patted your chest once with quiet satisfaction and murmured, “There we go… that’s better.”
You barely gave her time to step back before leaning over the counter to steal a quick kiss, brief and familiar enough to make her laugh under her breath. Then you rushed toward the door again, your bag slung over your shoulder, the little bell above the entrance jingling wildly as you disappeared outside. Jamie blinked once, then her eyes widened as realization hit her.
The lunch bag.
She turned sharply toward the pass-through window and saw the crinkled brown paper bag still sitting exactly where she had left it. Her mouth opened as if she might call after you, and she even stepped around the counter to try.
“Sunshine, wait just a second—!”
But through the front windows, all she caught was the sight of your car pulling out onto the sleepy main street and disappearing past the maple trees.
Jamie let out a long, fond sigh through her nose and rubbed her forehead lightly. For a moment she stood there in the quiet diner, checking that no one needed her, before slipping out from behind the counter. She untied her apron as she hurried up the narrow stairs to the apartment above, changed quickly, and smoothed her hair once before heading back down. When she returned, she grabbed the forgotten lunch bag with one hand and reached for her keys hanging beside the kitchen doorway with the other.
“Mm, of course you forgot it…” she mumbled affectionately to herself as she headed for the door.
[…]
A little while later, Jamie pulled her car carefully into the crowded workplace parking lot, squinting slightly through the windshield as the afternoon sunlight bounced off rows of parked cars and office windows. After a moment of searching, she eased into an open space near the side of the building, the engine giving a soft rumble before falling quiet.
For a brief second, she sat there with both hands resting on the steering wheel, glancing toward the slightly crinkled brown paper bag sitting safely in the passenger seat beside her. The smell of warm food still lingered faintly inside the car, and with a small sigh that was half fond and half amused, she grabbed the bag along with her purse and stepped out into the warm afternoon air.
The parking lot buzzed quietly around her with distant conversations, car doors shutting, and the hum of traffic somewhere farther down the street. Jamie smoothed down the front of her oversized cardigan out of habit before making her way toward the building entrance, her cushioned loafers tapping softly against the pavement.
Inside, the building immediately felt cooler and quieter, filled with fluorescent lights, polished floors, and the faint smell of coffee and printer ink. Jamie adjusted her glasses after stepping through the front doors, clutching the lunch bag carefully against her side while looking around uncertainly for a moment.
She eventually spotted the reception desk near the lobby and walked over with a polite smile, the brass charms on her necklace giving a faint clink as she moved. The female receptionist looked up from her computer just as Jamie reached the counter.
“Um, excuse me, ma’am,” Jamie said with an embarrassed little laugh, lifting the paper bag slightly. “I’m lookin’ for my husband—he ran out this mornin’ and forgot his lunch sittin’ at home.”
She glanced down at the slightly wrinkled bag in her hands before smiling warmly yet sheepishly again.
“He’s probably so caught up in his work, he didn’t even realize he left it behind.”
The receptionist’s expression softened immediately when she noticed the paper bag and the worried look behind Jamie’s warm smile. She gave a quiet, understanding laugh and leaned back in her chair to check the employee directory on the computer screen.
“Oh, Mr. [L/N]? Yeah, he’s still here,” the receptionist said kindly, typing for another moment before nodding. “Third floor. Accounting department. Last cubicle row near the back windows.”
Jamie let out a relieved little breath she did not realize she had been holding and adjusted her grip on the lunch bag carefully.
“Thank you kindly, I appreciate it.” she replied softly.
The receptionist smiled again, already gesturing toward the elevators down the hall. “No problem. He’s lucky somebody’s making sure he actually eats.”
That earned a small embarrassed laugh from Jamie as she pushed her slipping glasses back up her nose. She thanked her once more before turning toward the elevator lobby, her loafers tapping quietly across the polished floor.
The lunch bag crinkled softly in Jamie’s hands while she waited in front of the silver elevator doors, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. A few seconds later, the elevator arrived with a gentle ding, and she stepped inside, smoothing down her cardigan again out of nervous habit before pressing the button for the third floor.
The doors slid shut, and the elevator slowly carried her upward toward your office floor while she held your forgotten lunch carefully against her chest.
Until—
DING
The elevator doors slid open onto the third floor, revealing a maze of gray cubicles, glowing computer monitors, and the steady hum of office chatter mixed with ringing phones and clicking keyboards. Jamie stepped out slowly with the paper lunch bag held carefully against her chest, her loafers making soft taps against the carpeted floor while she looked around for any sign of your desk.
For a moment, she hesitated near the elevator lobby, adjusting her slipping glasses and quietly reading the small department signs posted above the cubicle rows. The office felt much busier than her cozy diner kitchen, and the constant noise made her shrink in on herself just slightly despite the warm smile she tried to keep on her face.
Still, she kept walking.
She passed coworkers chatting near printers, stacks of paperwork balanced on desks, and half-empty coffee cups forgotten beside glowing monitors. The paper bag crinkled faintly in her hands while she searched for your name among the cubicle plaques, occasionally smoothing down her cardigan whenever nervousness crept in.
Then a man leaning against the edge of a nearby cubicle glanced up just as Jamie walked past with the lunch bag held against her chest. His eyebrows lifted immediately, and he nudged the woman sitting beside him with his elbow.
“Yo, check it out,” he muttered under his breath, though not quietly enough. “Isn’t that [L/N]’s wife?”
The woman beside him looked over curiously before giving a small nod.
“Seems like it.”
The man’s gaze drifted over Jamie again, lingering in a way that made the woman beside him immediately frown. He gave a short snicker and leaned back in his chair.
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I kinda expected somebody younger-looking. You know… glamorous. Not somebody who looks like a grandma who just walked out of a small-town kitchen.”
The woman beside him instantly pinched his cheek hard enough to make him jerk away with a hiss.
“Stop being an idiot,” she whispered sharply. “What if she heard you?”
“What?” he protested under his breath while rubbing his cheek. “I’m just saying.”
Farther down the cubicle row, two other women had noticed Jamie too as she went past by them. One leaned closer toward the other while pretending to organize paperwork.
“So that’s Mr. [L/N]’s wife?” she whispered quietly. “Huh. Interesting choice.”
Her coworker glanced toward Jamie for another moment before letting out a small scoff beneath her breath.
“Seriously. I don’t get it at all. A guy like him could’ve had basically anyone.”
Jamie’s footsteps slowed almost immediately.
The small smile she had been wearing faltered as the words reached her clearly over the office noise, each bit of gossip landing harder than the last. Her fingers tightened slightly around the crinkled lunch bag while her eyes dropped toward the floor for a brief moment, her shoulders drawing inward just a little beneath the oversized cardigan.
For a second, she looked like she might turn around and leave altogether.
But after quietly swallowing the hurt down, Jamie adjusted her glasses again, forced her expression back into something polite and composed, and kept walking through the office in search of your cubicle anyway until she spotted your name among the cubicle plaques near the back windows.
[Flashback ends]
Jamie hesitated for a moment, her fingers lightly fidgeting with the edge of her cardigan before she forced a small, reassuring smile onto her face. Even so, there was something faintly uneasy behind it, a softness that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“…it ain’t anythin’, really…” she said quietly. “Ain’t nothin’ you need to worry yourself over, Sunshine.”
You studied her for another second, noticing the way her hands kept moving in tiny, restless motions, but you chose not to press her any further when it was clear she didn’t want to talk about it. The quiet between you lasted only briefly, but it carried enough weight to make the moment feel a little more fragile than before.
“Okay…” you said at last.
Jamie gave a small nod, grateful enough that her smile steadied just a little. She stayed close beside you in the office chair as you two continue eating, the lunch bag still resting nearby. But even then, the slight tension in her posture lingered, tucked away beneath her warm expression as she tried to put the moment behind her.
[…]
You shut down your computer with a tired sigh, the glow of the monitor finally disappearing after hours of staring at spreadsheets and unfinished reports. At last, the workday was over.
Finally, you can go home to your beautiful wife and curl up beside her after the exhausting day.
You rolled your sleeves back down while gathering your things into your work bag, your shoulders stiff from sitting at the desk for too long, and as you moved, your mind drifted toward her instead—her motherly smiles in the mornings, the faint smell of diner food that always seemed to cling softly to her clothes, and the way she always worried more about everyone else than herself.
The office had mostly emptied out by now, leaving only scattered conversations and the distant tapping of keyboards echoing across the floor. As you stepped out of your cubicle and headed toward the elevator lobby, the quiet was broken by a familiar voice behind you.
“AY, [L/N]!”
You stopped walking.
One of the men from earlier leaned lazily against a cubicle wall with the same smug expression stretched across his face. Beside him, the woman coworker looked instantly uneasy, the moment she realized he was about to start talking again.
“Saw your wife earlier!” he called out with a grin. “She looks kinda frumpy~”
The woman beside him immediately started motioning for him to stop, her eyes widening in warning.
“Awww, don’t be like that,” he continued with a careless laugh when your expression darkened. “I’m just being honest. You could’ve picked someone way more attractive. Somebody who actually fits a guy like you. Right, guys?”
Nobody answered him.
Still, he kept going.
“I mean, seriously,” he snorted. “Is your taste that old or something?”
“DUDE—!” the woman beside him hissed sharply, facepalming as she realized he had gone way too far.
But by then, you had already lost your patience.
Before anyone could react, you crossed the distance between you in a few quick steps and punched him square in the face hard enough to send him stumbling backward into the cubicle wall. The crack of impact echoed through the office, followed almost instantly by shocked gasps from nearby coworkers.
The man let out a strangled yell as he grabbed his nose, blood spilling between his fingers while papers scattered off the desk beside him.
You stood there breathing hard, fists clenched tightly at your sides while anger burned hot across your face. For one sharp moment, all you could think about was Jamie nervously tugging at her cardigan earlier, apologizing for looking “messy” because of people exactly like them.
Your glare swept across the stunned coworkers nearby, making the entire floor fall silent.
Then, without another word, you grabbed your bag, turned on your heel, and stormed toward the elevator, leaving everyone frozen in complete shock behind you.
[…]
You stepped through the diner’s front door long after closing time, the little brass bell above it giving a tired jingle before the door shut behind you. Downstairs, the diner sat quiet and dim beneath the warm glow of hanging lights, chairs already flipped upside down on tables and the smell of coffee, cinnamon, and fried batter still lingering softly in the air.
You couldn’t believe those assholes had the actual audacity to talk about your wife like that. No wonder she had felt a little insecure about her clothes.
“Babe, I’m home!” you called out, rubbing a hand across your forehead with a frustrated sigh as you shrugged off your jacket near the counter.
No answer came.
Your expression softened a little. She must already be upstairs sleeping.
You quietly climbed the narrow apartment stairs above the diner, careful not to let your footsteps creak too loudly against the old wood. The apartment felt dim and cozy compared to the cold office building from earlier, lit only by a lamp near the hallway and the faint glow spilling from the bedroom doorway.
When you reached the room and peeked through the cracked door, you found Jamie awake.
She sat at the edge of the bed in soft pajamas, shoulders slightly hunched while staring at herself in the mirror across the room. Her peach-colored nightgown hung loosely over her cruvy frame, soft and worn from years of washing, with tiny floral prints faded so gently they almost blended into the fabric. The neckline sat a little stretched and edged with old lace, while the short sleeves rested loosely around her upper arms. On her feet were fuzzy beige bed slippers, flattened from long use, and her round, thick-rimmed glasses had slipped low on her nose. Her soft gray hair was pinned up in pink hair-curlers, and the quiet sadness in her face made your chest ache the moment you saw her.
“I just… I look so ordinary…” Jamie said softly, one hand resting uncertainly against her stomach through the nightgown. “Those women were so pretty and young… not like me at all…”
You frowned instantly.
Crossing the room without hesitation, you stepped behind her and wrapped your arms firmly around her waist, pulling her gently back against your chest. Jamie startled at first, then slowly relaxed when she recognized your touch.
“You are beautiful,” you murmured against the side of her neck, resting your forehead there for a moment. “The most beautiful. So don’t say things like that.”
Jamie looked up at you through the mirror, surprise flickering across her face before melting into something softer.
“Oh… you’re home…” she whispered. “Welcome home, Sunshine…”
But then her gaze lowered again.
“But… to other people, I’m not,” she admitted quietly. “You’re probably just sayin’ that ‘cause I’m your wife—”
But you cut her off as you turned her around before she could finish, your hands gently holding her face so she had no choice but to look up at you.
“Who cares what they think?” you said firmly. “I’m not saying this because I’m your husband. I’m saying it because it’s true. Their opinions don’t matter, Jamie. They don’t live your life. They don’t know you the way I do.”
Jamie went silent for a moment, her eyes dropping slightly before she finally spoke again in a much smaller voice.
“You know when folks talk about me like that… it reflects on you too...” Her fingers curled weakly into the fabric of your shirt. “And that hurts worse than anything they said about me… I don’t want people lookin’ at you different because of me…”
Your expression softened immediately at the confession.
“It hurts me a whole lot more hearin’ them say things like that about you,” she whispered shakily.
Without another word, you pulled her fully into your chest and wrapped your arms tightly around her while she slowly slid hers around your waist. The room fell quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric and Jamie’s shaky breathing evening out little by little against you.
You rested your chin gently on top of her head, one hand rubbing slow, comforting circles against her back while holding her close like you never planned on letting her go.
Then Jamie noticed your knuckles, red and scraped, and quickly pulled one of your hands away from her waist to inspect it with worried eyes.
“Sunshine… what on earth happened to your hand?”
You flinched slightly, suddenly remembering you had never cleaned the blood off after punching the man at work.
“Umm… I punched a wall?” you muttered.
Jamie’s eyes widened instantly as she stared at your injured hand in complete disbelief, already fussing over your knuckles while holding your wrist carefully.
“SUNSHINE—!”
[…]
Jamie slowly opened her eyes as pale morning sunlight spilled softly through the bedroom curtains, warming the blankets and casting quiet golden streaks across the room. For a moment, she stayed curled comfortably beneath the bed covers, still half-asleep while listening to the distant hum of the diner refrigerator downstairs and the occasional creak of the old building settling into the day.
Her hand drifted automatically across the bed toward your side, only to meet cool, empty sheets.
Jamie blinked tiredly and lifted her head from the pillow, her soft gray hair tousled around her face as she looked around in quiet confusion. Your side of the bed was already empty, the blankets pushed back messily like you had left in a hurry again.
“Sunshine…?” she murmured groggily.
No answer came.
Still waking up, Jamie rubbed one eye before finally noticing a folded note sitting on your pillow. Her eyebrows lifted slightly as she reached for it, the paper crinkling softly between her fingers. The moment she recognized your handwriting, her expression softened at once.
‘Had to leave early for work this morning, so I didn’t want to wake you up while you were sleeping so peacefully. I grabbed some breakfast toast on the way there, so don’t worry too much about me, okay?
Also… please don’t think too hard about what those people said yesterday. None of them could ever compare to you. You’re the warmest, kindest, most beautiful woman I know, and I mean that with my whole heart.
Try to rest a little today when you can instead of working yourself too hard at the diner. And maybe save me one of those blueberry biscuits if there’s any left.
I love you, Babe.
— Yours’
Jamie stared at the note for another second before slowly rolling her eyes with a tired but affectionate sigh.
“Mmhm… yeah, alright… I’m sure you did,” she mumbled under her breath, already knowing there was a very good chance you had only grabbed coffee and nothing else.
And if you had left that early in a rush, then…
Her gaze drifted toward the empty spot near the dresser where a packed lunch bag usually waited before work, and Jamie immediately narrowed her eyes.
“You probably went and forgot your lunch again too, didn’t you?” she muttered to herself.
Shaking her head fondly despite herself, Jamie carefully folded the note and set it back onto the pillow before slowly climbing out of bed. She slipped her feet into her worn bed slippers, adjusted her nightgown as it hung loosely around her curvy frame, and stretched sleepily before making her way toward the bedroom door.
A few moments later, she shuffled downstairs toward the diner kitchen, already planning what she was going to pack for your lunch this time.
[…]
Jamie spent the morning in the diner kitchen, cooking and packing your lunch while trying to keep her mind on work, but the incident from the day before refused to leave her alone. The mean whispers, the snickering, the way those women had looked at her clothes like she was something embarrassing—it all kept circling back in her head no matter how hard she tried to focus on the comfort of cooking. Usually, the familiar rhythm of breakfast helped settle her, but today even the warm hum of the overhead fan and the scent of butter, cinnamon, and fried batter in the air did little to ease the sting curling quietly in her chest.
She stood over the stove in her cozy kitchen, flour dusting her fingers as she absentmindedly stirred a pan of scrambled eggs. Nearby, sourdough slices toasted golden on the griddle while bacon crackled beside them, filling the room with the smell of a breakfast she usually loved making. Her soft gray hair had been thrown back carelessly while she worked, but this morning she barely noticed any of it. Her thoughts kept drifting back to that one awful comment.
‘Not somebody who looks like a grandma who just walked out of a small-town kitchen.’
Jamie frowned faintly at the memory while reaching for a lunch container a little harder than necessary. She glanced toward her reflection in the toaster oven door and caught herself looking back—soft, oversized pajamas, hair a little frizzy, bed slippers still on because she hadn’t bothered changing yet. The sight made her hesitate.
Maybe she really did look plain.
That thought sat heavier than she wanted to admit. Still, she knew you loved her exactly as she was. You told her constantly, and even last night you had held her so tightly while telling her she was beautiful. She believed you. She did. But some small part of her still wondered whether she might feel a little more confident if she made an effort to look nicer.
Not to become someone else.
Just a little better.
Maybe a change in clothes. Maybe her hair done properly. Maybe a touch of makeup. Something more fitted, something that made her feel like she could walk into your workplace and make those coworkers realize the woman you loved was beautiful too.
The thought lingered while she wrapped your breakfast sandwich in wax paper and packed fresh fruit into a small container beside it. By the time she sealed the lunch bag, she had already pulled out her phone and sent a message to Brenna and Tiffany.
The replies came back almost immediately:
Brenna
Brenna
I know this might sound a little silly, but do you think you could help me fix myself up a bit today? Nothin’ too fancy
I just wanna try lookin’ a little nicer for once
— Seen
Tiffany
Tiff, you busy today? I could really use some help with my hair
and maybe a little help feelin’ more like myself too
— Seen
Jamie stared at the screen in mild surprise.
“Well, alright… that was fast,” she murmured to herself, blinking at the little ‘seen’ notifications before locking her phone again.
A moment later, there was a sudden knock at the diner door.
“Jamie, honey—we’re here!”
That was definitely Brenna’s voice.
“Brenna, would you slow down for one second—I just closed the whole salon for this.” Tiffany called from outside, sounding amused already.
Jamie blinked in complete surprise before hurrying toward the front entrance, still clutching her phone in one hand. The brass bell jingled softly when she unlocked the door and pulled it open, revealing both of her friends standing outside like they had appeared at record speed.
Brenna stood front and center with oversized sunglasses perched on top of her head, carrying herself with the kind of easy, self-assured confidence that always seemed to turn heads before she even spoke. Her curvy figure outlined by a fitted off-the-shoulder cream knit top that dipped just enough at the neckline, paired with dark high-waisted jeans that hugged her hips before falling into a clean, tailored line. A camel-toned wrap cardigan draped loosely over her arms, shifting slightly as she moved, and her tan stiletto heels clicked faintly against the floor as she stepped inside. A structured burgundy handbag rested easily at her side like it belonged there. Her creamy skin was kissed by time in a way, and gray-blue eyes held a knowing sparkle beneath the frames. Her auburn hair, streaked lightly with gray, fell in a voluminous, shoulder-grazing bob with soft waves that framed her face, and the rich berry tone of her lipstick paired perfectly with the subtle gleam of pearl earrings and a matching necklace. When she shifted, the faint glint of a small wrist tattoo caught the light.
Beside her, Tiffany carried a large tote bag stuffed with hair products, brushes, and styling tools, moving with an easy, grounded confidence that felt instantly reassuring. A soft, flowy graphic t-shirt with a vintage R&B print tucked just enough into high-waisted stretch denim jeans that shaped her curves while still letting her move freely. Over it, a lightweight kimono in warm, bold patterns draped around her, swaying gently with each step. Clean white platform sneakers cushioned her stride. Her smooth brown skin seemed to glow softly under the morning light, and her hair—an expansive, cloud-like crown of tight black curls threaded with gray—framed her face in a halo of volume, with a few loose spirals drifting forward to brush against her cheeks and partially veil her hazel eyes, where hints of gold and green caught when she shifted. Large gold hoop earrings swayed gently, and a stack of thin gold bangles chimed softly at her wrist as flashes of her long purple acrylic nails appeared while she adjusted her grip on the bag. A small rose tattoo rested there too, easy to miss unless you were looking for it.
The second they saw Jamie, both women softened.
“Well, there she is… our favorite diner cook.” Brenna said warmly as she stepped inside, her voice smooth and velvety with a faint southern drawl that seemed to wrap around the room, effortlessly soothing yet carrying a quiet authority.
Tiffany closed the door behind them, then gave Jamie a careful once-over, her expression shifting immediately into concern. “Alright… now tell me what happened, baby.” she asked, her tone deep and warm, the gentle southern lilt in it blending comfort with just enough sass to make the question feel both protective and sincere.
Jamie hesitated awkwardly, rubbing her arms before quietly explaining what had happened at your workplace the day before — the mean whispers, the rude comments, and the way she had suddenly become painfully aware of every loose, “old grandma” thing she owned. By the end of it, Brenna looked horrified while Tiffany looked one insult away from personally marching into your office herself.
“Oh, absolutely not—” Brenna declared at once. “We are fixin’ this today, no question about it.”
Tiffany nodded firmly beside her. “Mm-mm… those people are just plain awful.”
Jamie gave a small nervous laugh and looked down at herself uncertainly. “I don’t wanna go turnin’ into somebody I’m not or nothin’… I just thought maybe I could, I don’t know…”
“You just wanna feel a little prettier, don’t you?” Tiffany finished gently.
Jamie slowly nodded.
Brenna’s expression softened at once. She stepped closer and rested both hands on Jamie’s shoulders with reassuring confidence. “Jamie, you are already a beautiful woman. We’re not changin’ a single thing about who you are—we’re just gonna help you see what the rest of us been seein’ all along.”
Jamie looked hesitant for another second, then finally gave a small nod. “...Okay… alright.”
Brenna immediately clapped her hands once in excitement. “Good. Tiffany, baby, you take the hair—I’m about to go have a little talk with that closet of hers.”
“You say that like we on some kind of makeover show or somethin’.” Tiffany muttered, already lifting her tote bag and heading toward the stairs with a knowing smile.
A tiny laugh finally escaped Jamie as the two women ushered her upstairs toward the apartment, already talking over one another about the makeover and “bringing out Jamie’s hidden diner-cook power.”
[…]
A little while later, back at the office building, the man sat slouched uncomfortably in his chair while the woman pressed a white bandage carefully over his bruised, still-bleeding nose. Every few seconds, he hissed dramatically through his teeth while she looked one second away from smacking him again herself.
“Argh—watch it! That hurts! Ouch—!” he complained nasally.
“Shut up, dude,” she snapped while taping the bandage into place with visible irritation. “If you hadn’t opened your giant mouth and insulted [L/N]’s wife, maybe you wouldn’t be sitting here looking like you lost a fight with a door.”
The man grumbled something under his breath while she tightened the tape anyway.
Then—
DING
The elevator doors slid open.
Almost immediately, conversations around the office slowed to a stop one by one. Heads turned. Typing paused. Even the printers seemed quieter for a second as everyone stared toward the elevator lobby in complete surprise.
Jamie stepped out holding your lunch bag carefully in both hands.
But this time, she looked different.
Her soft, wavy gray hair had been styled into long, voluminous waves with a glamorous blowout effect, parted down the center and curling neatly at the ends. Her glasses had been swapped for slimmer frames that sat cleanly against her face, and light makeup subtly highlighted the gentle wrinkles around her eyes and her soft smile without changing the gentle look you loved.
Instead of oversized lounge clothes, she wore an off-white wrap blouse with soft puffed sleeves dipped into a flattering V-neckline, the long tie cinched at her waist and knotted slightly to the side, shaping her curves without looking forced. The high-waisted maxi skirt she wore flowed around her legs in a soft shimmer of beige, gray, and muted blue, the watercolor pattern catching the light as she moved. The fabric gathered subtly at the waist with a ruched drawstring. White platform slingback heels lifted her just enough to change her posture, the wrapped ankle straps and sturdy heels giving her balance as she walked. A matching off-white bandana was tied gently at the back of her head, the knot resting to one side, blending seamlessly into her hair. Simple silver stud earrings glinted at her ears, and the thin chain necklace she always wore rested lightly at her collarbone. And a small brown shoulder bag that sat elegantly against her side.
The entire office practically short-circuited.
Even the man slowly turned in his chair after noticing everyone else’s reactions. The moment his eyes landed on Jamie, his jaw dropped while his cheeks immediately turned bright red.
“GYAT—!”
“QUIT IT, MORON!” the woman barked instantly, smacking the back of his head hard enough to make him yelp.
Farther down the cubicle row, the same two women from yesterday looked utterly stunned as one nearly coughed on her coffee while staring openly toward Jamie.
“Is that…?” She whispered in disbelief.
“There’s no way,” her coworker muttered, eyes wide. “That’s his wife?”
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the office-wide crisis happening outside your cubicle, you remained focused on your computer screen, sleeves rolled up while typing through another mountain of paperwork and emails. Even so, your mind kept drifting back to Jamie—the sad look in her eyes the night before, the way she had held onto you so tightly while pretending she was fine.
Then soft footsteps approached.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
“Excuse me, Mr. [L/N],” came the familiar gentle, motherly voice, warm with amusement, “but I think you’re forgettin’ it’s lunchtime again.”
Your fingers froze above the keyboard instantly.
Slowly, you looked up—and completely stopped functioning for a second.
“JAMIE?!”
Your eyes widened so much it almost made Jamie laugh, and heat rushed straight into your face the second you saw her standing at your cubicle doorway, smiling warmly with your lunch bag in her hands.
“Surprise…?” she offered softly.
[…]
You sat together in the cramped office chair, Jamie sat comfortably sideways in your lap again while the two of you shared lunch inside the little cubicle space, your arm loosely around her waist as if you physically refused to let her go now. The smell of toasted sourdough, crispy bacon, and honey mustard filled the cubicle while she unpacked everything neatly from the paper bag.
The thick turkey and avocado club sandwich was stacked so high you nearly laughed when you tried picking it up one-handed. Beside it sat a container of creamy potato salad sprinkled with dill, a warm strawberry-banana biscuit wrapped carefully in napkins, sliced peaches dusted lightly with cinnamon, and a cold glass bottle of iced tea with a lemon slice floating near the top. She reached for a piece of sliced peach with her fingers, popping it into her mouth with a satisfied hum, and you could not help but notice how at ease she looked now compared to yesterday.
But you still could not stop glancing at her.
Every single time you looked up from your sandwich, Jamie was right there smiling shyly in those new clothes and styled hair, and it honestly felt unfair to your concentration at this point.
You finally let out a quiet laugh under your breath before shaking your head.
"So, uh, honey?" you asked while absently tracing your thumb along her waist. "What's the important occasion you're dressed for?"
Jamie's cheeks warmed slightly at the question. She glanced down for a second before giving a tiny shrug, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her blouse.
"Oh... it's for you, Sunshine," she admitted softly. “I just thought maybe I could try somethin’ a little different today… fix myself up nice for you…”
Her shoulders lifted in a tiny uncertain shrug before she looked back up at you again.
“It’s not too much, is it…?”
Your eyes widened immediately.
"Are you kidding me?" you blurted out. "You came in here looking like every coworker in this building is about to lose their minds over my wife?"
Jamie blinked at you, clearly caught off guard by how quickly the answer came out. Her lips parted slightly, and a faint blush crept up her neck.
"Well… I’ll take that as a no, then…?” she teased weakly.
Before she could finish laughing at herself, you leaned forward and kissed her gently, making her melt against you almost instantly. Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of peach cobbler, and she let out a quiet, surprised sound against your mouth before her hand came up to rest against your chest.
When you pulled back, you rested your forehead lightly against hers with a warm smile.
"I love it," you murmured. "But honestly? You look just as beautiful in your casual clothes too."
Jamie's expression softened, something tender settling in her eyes as her arms slipped loosely around your neck. For a moment she just looked at you like she was memorizing the shape of your face.
She leaned in again, slower this time, more certain, her voice dropping just slightly as she brushed near your ear. Her breath was warm against your skin, carrying that faint cinnamon sweetness she always seemed to smell like after a morning in the kitchen.
"Good... ‘cause…” she whispered, a faint teasing note slipping in.
Her hand slid down your thigh, slow and deliberate, her fingers grazing the inside of your leg through your work pants. The touch sent a shiver of pleasure straight through you, and you felt your body react almost immediately, your pants growing tighter as heat pooled low in your belly.
“I think your friend down there might agree too~.”
You froze for half a second before letting out a quiet breath, your composure slipping just enough to give you away. Her lustful tone made you blush heavily as your pants got even tighter to the point where it was starting to become uncomfortable against the fabric.
[…]
A few minutes later…
KNOCK KNOCK
The sound nearly made you jump out of your skin.
"Excuse me, Mr. [L/N]?"
Your entire body seized as you flinched, your chair squeaking as you sat bolt upright, hand flying to your forehead to wipe away the droplets of nervous sweat already forming.
"Mhm! Yeah... yes?" The words came out higher than intended, cracking at the end. Your heart pounded in your ears so loud you were sure the woman could hear it.
The woman from earlier stepped closer, wringing her hands together. "I just want to apologize for my friend and his stupid behavior toward your wife, and—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes narrowing slightly as she scanned your flushed face, the way your hands gripped the armrests, the subtle tremor in your leg. "Are you okay, sir?"
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from groaning. "Y-Yep! Never better!" you forced out, nodding rapidly. A nervous grin stretched your lips too wide.
She looked around the cubicle, her gaze drifting to the empty chair beside you. "And where's your wife?"
"Oh, s-she just went to the restroom!" You swallowed hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. "E-Everything's fine, I promise!"
Your voice wavered on the last syllable as your knuckles whitened against the chair. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple.
The woman held your gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment. You could feel the corner of your mouth twitching, your breath coming in shallow, uneven pants, that you had to stare straight ahead with wide, desperate eyes to keep from making any sound.
Finally, the woman shrugged, offered a small nod, and turned away. "Alright. Well, I'm sorry again. Tell her I said hi."
Her footsteps faded. The second she was out of sight, you let out a strangled, quiet groan, your head falling back against the headrest as your hips twitched involuntarily.
You looked down.
Under your desk, Jamie was kneeling between your spread legs after slipping underneath, her styled hair slightly disheveled, her lips stretched around your cock, saliva glistening on her chin as she bobbed her head slowly. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark with motherly mischief and raw want, and she hummed around your length just to watch you shudder. She pulled off just enough to lap at the slit, tasting the droplets of your precum that had gathered there, then sank down again, her nose pressing into your waist.
A shudder ran through you. One hand found her hair, fingers threading through the soft gray strands as you tried to catch your breath. The fabric of her bandana brushed against your knuckles, soft and familiar.
"God, Jamie..." you whispered, your voice ragged. "You're gonna get us caught."
She didn't stop. Instead, she picked up the pace, one hand wrapping around the base of your shaft while her mouth worked the tip, her tongue flicking against it with practiced precision. The desk hid her completely from view, but you could hear every wet slurp, every soft hum she made as she worshipped your cock.
Your hips began to betray you, rising slightly to meet her, and you felt the familiar coil tightening in your belly—hot, urgent, impossible to ignore. She hummed around your length again, the vibration traveling straight through your shaft and up your spine, and your breath hitched, your hand fisting tighter in her hair.
"That pretty little mouth of yours..." your voice dropped an octave, rough and strained, as you stared down at her with a dark, hooded gaze. "Fuck, Jamie. You're gonna make me—"
Your words cut off as she doubled down, her tongue pressing flat against the underside of your cock while she sucked harder, her cheeks hollowing. The wet, rhythmic sounds of her mouth filled the silence of the cubicle, each one sending a jolt of electricity straight through your groin. The coil wound tighter, tighter, your toes curling inside your shoes. You could feel the edge approaching, a steep cliff you were about to tumble over—
And then she stopped.
Abruptly. Completely.
She pulled off your cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the tip, glistening in the pale office light. You let out a choked gasp, your cock throbbing painfully, aching for release that didn't come. The sudden absence of her mouth left you trembling, your shaft slick and hard and desperate against your stomach.
Before you could protest, she slid out from under the desk, her knees brushing against yours as she rose. She turned, placed both palms flat on the desk, and hoisted herself up in one fluid motion that made your mouth go dry. Her skirt rode up as she lifted it up and sat, bunching around her hips, revealing the soaked crotch of her panties, the outline of her lips visible through the wet material.
She leaned back on her hands, legs spreading wide, and looked at you with that smirk that made your cock twitch a little. The off-white wrap blouse had come loose at the tie, falling open just enough to reveal the swell of her Mommy’s Milkers beneath the cotton, the curve of her cleavage catching the fluorescent light.
"You just gonna stare at me all day, Sunshine?.."
Your eyes widened. Her thighs glistened with her own arousal, the inside of them damp and flushed. Her chest rose and fell with quickened breaths, and the silver chain around her neck caught the light as she shifted. She looked down at your still-hard cock, then back up at your face, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip.
She crooked her finger, beckoning you closer.
"I think you owe me a reward for bein' so quiet~."
A Clumsy Rabbit | wife!Holly Giggles x husband!reader
Part 1 | [Part 2]
Ft. Cannoli (Holly’s rabbit), Shyann (mentioned)
Summary: You and Holly volunteers to help Iyana clean out the animal shelter, where one particularly clumsy rabbit keeps bumping into things and knocking over food bowls…instantly reminding Holly of herself.
A/N: romance (2nd, 12th) prompts from @urfriendlywriter
TW: male reader, plus-size!OC, age gap (reader is 35, Holly is 59), angst, fluff, humor/crack at the end
Back at the animal shelter, the rabbit ward lay dim beneath the soft glow of low lights, the air filled with the gentle scent of hay and pine. Most of the rabbits had already curled into themselves, tucked deep into blankets and bedding, their breathing slow and even.
But only one rabbit was still awake.
The little Holland Lop rabbit sat near the front of her enclosure, wide awake. Her nose twitched endlessly as she stared toward the empty hallway beyond the room, floppy ears lifting at every distant creak—only to droop again when no familiar footsteps followed.
She missed Holly…
And those sweet cannolis…
With soft, uneven hops, she circled her bedding again and again, unable to settle. The memory of Holly’s warm hands, her gentle whispers, and her soft laughter lingered too strongly.
Finally, she pressed herself against the enclosure door, her tiny paws nudging curiously at the latch Holly had forgotten to fully secure.
CLICK
The door shifted open slightly.
The rabbit froze, ears shooting upright in surprise. Slowly, cautiously, she nudged it wider with her nose until there was just enough space.
Then, with one nervous glance back toward the quiet ward but with one small, determined squeeze—she slipped out onto the tiled floor.
Her tiny paws echoed softly through the dark shelter as she hopped carefully between shadows, weaving clumsily past stacked supplies—occasionally bumping into them and knocking them over. Somewhere far off, thunder rumbled outside while raindrops streaked down the windows, making her flinch each time.
Still, the rabbit kept going.
The shelter felt super big at night. Without the daytime voices and rattling cages, every sound seemed louder to the tiny rabbit creeping through the dark hallways. Her paws made soft “tap-tap” noises against the floor while fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, flickering every few seconds.
As she passed the dog kennel room, several sleeping dogs suddenly lifted their heads. One barked sharply, making the rabbit jump nearly a foot into the air before scrambling behind a mop bucket in panic. Her little rabbit heart beated wildly beneath her fur while the dogs pressed curiously against their gates, tails wagging at the unexpected visitor. After a long moment, the barking settled again, leaving only the steady drumming rain outside.
The rabbit peeked out cautiously.
Far ahead, near the front entrance, moonlight spilled across the floor through the glass doors. The sight filled her with hope. She hurried forward in uneven little hops, though her clumsy paws slipped more than once on the smooth tile. At one point she crashed softly into a bag of donated towels, before tumbling backward in surprise. Shaking herself off, she continued stubbornly moving forward.
When she reached the lobby, the shelter stretched around her in long, empty shadows. Rain streamed down the glass doors, silver streaks under the dim light. She rose onto her hind legs, pressing her tiny paws against the glass, staring out into the storm.
Somewhere out there…was the mailwoman she could not stop thinking about.
The rabbit’s nose twitched rapidly.
Then, with one last determined little hop, she searched the dark lobby with growing urgency, tiny paws slipping across the polished floor as rain rattled loudly against the front windows. The glass doors were far too tall and heavy for her, and every curious nudge against them only ended with a dull “thump”. Her rabbit ears drooped for a moment in frustration.
Determined, she searched the dark space—until something caught her attention.
A cold air faint draft.
To the side of the reception desk, there was a narrow hallway breathed cold air into the room.
The rabbit hurried toward it in quick, uneven hops, claws clicking softly against the tile. At the end of the hallway sat the shelter’s back delivery door, old and slightly crooked from years of use. One corner had not shut all the way after the evening trash run, leaving the smallest crack near the bottom. Wind hissed softly through it, carrying the scent of rain and wet pavement inside.
The rabbit froze, her nose twitching rapidly.
Hope sparked instantly in her wide rabbit eyes.
She squeezed closer and pushed her rabbit nose against the gap. The door shifted with a faint “creeeak”. Startled, she hopped backward—then tried again, more carefully this time. Bit by bit, the heavy door opened just enough for her tiny body to fit through. With visible effort, she flattened herself low against the floor and wriggled beneath the opening, hind paws kicking frantically until…—
SLIP
She tumbled out onto the wet concrete behind the shelter.
The cold rain immediately soaked her rabbit fur while wind rustled through nearby bushes, but the rabbit quickly scrambled upright again, shivering yet determined. Behind her, the door slowly swung shut, leaving the shelter dark and silent once more.
And the little rabbit hopped into the night.
The world outside was loud.
The rain poured endlessly from the night sky, turning the sidewalks glossy beneath the streetlights as the little rabbit stumbled through the neighborhood hub. Her rabbit fur clung damply to her tiny body while her paws splashed helplessly through shallow puddles with every uneven hop. Cars hissed past on distant roads, their headlights briefly sweeping across her before vanishing again into the storm. Every sound felt big—the “whoosh!” of passing tires, the rumble of thunder overhead, the clatter of rain against trash cans and fences.
The rabbit darted nervously between hedges and porch steps whenever people passed nearby beneath umbrellas. A man walking his dog almost spotted her when she accidentally bumped into an empty soda can. Startled, she scrambled beneath a parked car while the dog barked excitedly into the darkness. Her tiny rabbit heart raced as she waited there, trembling until the footsteps finally faded away.
Exhaustion slowly began to weigh on her little rabbit body. Her hops became slower and clumsier, and more than once she slipped on the wet pavement, tumbling sideways before struggling back up again. The neighborhood around her had gone mostly quiet by then, the windows of houses glowing warmly against the cold rain outside.
Then she spotted it.
Near the curb beside a house sat an empty brown cardboard box left beneath the overhang of a porch awning, dry enough to hide from the storm. The rabbit’s ears lifted immediately. With the last of her rabbit strength, she hurried toward it and squeezed herself inside through one torn corner. The box smelled faintly of paper and dust, but it was warm rather than staying outside in the freezing rain. Curling tightly against the cardboard walls, the rabbit finally let out a tiny exhausted sigh and rested her head against the floor of the box while the rain drummed softly overhead.
Within minutes, her eyes slowly drifted shut as she went to sleep.
But little did she know that the box she was sleeping in, was right next to your house.
[…]
Morning arrived gently after the long night of rain, the sky still soft and gray as rain droplets clung to leaves and rooftops. The neighborhood felt fresh, washed clean, with birds chirping lightly in the cool air.
“Amore—! I’m heading out, I’m gonna be late—where’s my kiss, hmm~? Dai, don’t make me ask twice!”
Just outside, beneath the porch awning, the damp cardboard box shifted slightly.
Inside, the little rabbit stirred as she slowly heard a familiar voice carries brightly.
Her nose twitched first.
Then one floppy ear flicked.
With a sleepy shuffle, she blinked her eyes open, still curled into a small, tired bundle. For a moment, she didn’t move, her fur slightly damp and puffed from the night before. The world outside filtered in slowly—birds, distant engines, the soft hum of morning life.
She stretched her tiny front paws forward, floppy ears drooping lazily as she let out a quiet, rabbit-sized yawn.
Then she tried to stand—and immediately slipped.
FWUMP
She tumbled sideways into the wall of the box, freezing in startled embarrassment before slowly pushing herself upright again.
A soft breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of wet grass… flowers… and something familiar.
Her nose twitched faster.
Carefully, she peeked her head through the torn opening of the box.
And froze.
There—just a short distance away—stood Holly, shifting her weight with a small, impatient bounce as she waited by the open front door. Her navy-blue cap sat snugly over her slightly messy waves, the mail logo centered above her brow, while her light blue polo shirt, with her name tag pinned neatly at the chest, tucked into practical navy pants worn faintly at the knees. A mail satchel hung across her shoulder, brushing against her side as she moved, and her brown flats tapped softly against the damp porch as she adjusted her stance.
The rabbit’s floppy ears shot straight up, nearly bumping the top of the box.
Her eyes widened.
For a moment, she forgot how to move.
From the doorway, you leaned out slightly, a small amused smile tugging at your lips.
“Relax, Holly…” you said, studying her face with mock seriousness. “Hmm… how do you want me to kiss you, sweetheart? I can be gentlemanly… or not very gentlemanly…”
Holly immediately frowned, her brows knitting together as she crossed her arms with a dramatic pout.
She turned away, clearly unimpressed, starting to march off toward work.
But she didn’t get far as you stepped forward, catching her hand and gently pulling her back just enough to press a slow, affectionate kiss to her lips.
“I’m kidding—!”
But you didn’t get to finish as she just cut you off, wrapping her arms around your neck and returning the kiss, firm and warm.
When she pulled back, it was with a teasing, slightly breathless smile.
“Mmm—you talk way too much for someone who was supposed to be kissing me goodbye, amore… you know that, right?”
And with that, she turned and headed down the sidewalk, beginning her route.
Behind her, the rabbit burst out of the box in a sudden scramble, her back paws slipping on the damp ground as she skidded sideway. She flailed awkwardly before catching herself, then immediately began hopping in frantic little circles, overwhelmed with excitement.
She found her.
She actually found her.
Without another second of hesitation, she darted after Holly.
At first, she kept her distance as she stayed hidden behind bushes and parked cars, cautiously peeking out whenever Holly stopped at a mailbox. But no matter where the mail route led—brick houses, apartment steps, narrow sidewalks glistening from last night’s rain—her movements were clumsy but determined, her tiny body weaving through the neighborhood like a nervous little shadow. Whenever Holly turned suddenly—
—the rabbit panicked.
She dove behind anything she could find. A flower pot. A trash can. A hedge. Once, even beneath a parked bicycle.
More than once, Holly caught the faintest glimpse of movement.
A flicker of fluffy fur.
“…Huh—?” she murmured, squinting suspiciously down the sidewalk.
But every time she looked properly—
Nothing.
Meanwhile, the rabbit watched everything with wide, fascinated eyes.
She watched Holly slide letters into mailboxes, wave cheerfully to neighbors and even to her friends, chat as she walked—and, of course, stumble.
A lot.
At one house, Holly missed a porch step completely, dropping an entire stack of letters that scattered everywhere.
“Oh, come on—! Ma dai!” she groaned, burying her face briefly in her hands. “Really? Now? Of course now…”
From beneath a nearby hedge, the rabbit’s nose twitched anxiously, before cautiously hopping closer as if wanting to help.
As the day went on, the rabbit never left. And By the time Holly returned home, the sky had already deepened into night, the neighborhood wrapped in a quiet glow from porch lights and distant streetlamps. The air felt still, calm—so different from the long, exhausting day she had just endured.
Her steps were heavy as she made her way up the walkway, her mail satchel hanging crookedly against her side. Every part of her ached, and it showed in the way she fumbled with her keys, nearly dropping them once… then twice.
“Longest shift ever… as usual…” she groaned under her breath.
At last, the door clicked open. Warm light spilled briefly onto the porch before she shuffled inside, letting it close behind her. Across the yard, beneath a damp hedge, a small figure watched.
The rabbit sat still, her fur slightly messy from a full day of following—through bushes, under benches, along sidewalks slick from rain. Her tiny paws looked just as tired as she felt, but the moment she saw Holly again, her floppy ears lifted instantly.
She waited.
Then, slowly, she crept forward.
The house glowed warmly in the darkness, windows faintly fogged from the heat inside. Rising onto her hind legs, the rabbit pressed her tiny paws against the lower edge of the living room window and peeked in.
There she was.
Holly moved sluggishly around the room, setting down her mail satchel before kicking off her flats with a relieved sigh… and nearly tripping over them seconds later.
The rabbit’s nose twitched rapidly as she watched, completely still.
Inside looked so warm. So safe.
With the soft lights. Familiar movements. Quiet comfort. But the glass between them felt like miles apart.
From another room, you stepped out, noticing Holly collapse onto the couch.
“Heh, welcome home, honey…” you said, your voice gentle as you walked over and sat beside her. Your hand moved instinctively, rubbing slow circles along her back. “Already put the kids to bed, so you won’t get too stressed…”
Holly didn’t even answer properly.
She simply pushed herself up clumsily and wrapped her arms around you, nuzzling her face into your neck with a soft, tired hum.
“Mmm…”
You chuckled softly at that, understanding completely. Without another word, you slipped an arm beneath her and lifted her carefully into a bridal carry.
She didn’t protest.
If anything, she melted into you more.
Outside, the rabbit watched everything in silence as you carried Holly upstairs to the bedroom, past the glowing curtains.
The warmth.
The closeness.
The way Holly looked safe.
Crickets chirped softly in the grass as the window light cast a gentle glow across the yard. After a long moment, the rabbit slowly lowered herself back down, her tiny paws sinking lightly into the damp ground, before her floppy ears drooped slightly with quiet sadness.
She turned.
And began hopping back.
Each step slower than the last.
The cardboard box beneath the porch awning waited where she had left it. The box looked worn now from the rain, its corners softened and sagging, but it was still dry enough to shelter her from the chilly breeze-wind drifting through the neighborhood. She climbed inside carefully, circling once before settling into a small, curled bundle.
For a while, she didn’t sleep.
Her nose twitched faintly as she stared out through the torn opening, the soft glow of the house still visible in the distance.
She thought about the entire day — following Holly through crowded sidewalks, hiding behind bushes, watching her laugh cheerily with neighbors and stumble through her mail route.
Even after hours of trailing behind her like a tiny shadow, always just out of sight.
So close.
And yet…
Never close enough.
Her floppy ears folded back slightly.
With a small, quiet shift, she rested her head against the cardboard floor, her eyes still fixed on the warm house nearby.
Then, slowly, they began to close.
And with a soft, almost sigh-like twitch of her whiskers, the little rabbit drifted into sleep—quietly, uncertainly wondering if Holly missed her too.
[…]
Morning sunlight spilled gently across the neighborhood, warming the damp sidewalks and rooftops after the long stretch of rain. The air felt fresh, carrying the soft scent of wet grass and blooming flowers.
At the front of the house, Holly was already wide awake—and full of energy.
“Come on—come on, amore, come on!” she called excitedly, practically bouncing in place as she tugged at your hand. “We have to get to Shyann’s bakery early before the line gets there—no, before it gets crazy, you know how it gets!”
You, on the other hand, looked like you had been dragged out of sleep far too soon.
“Holly… slow down,” you muttered, your voice still thick with sleep as you let yourself be pulled along. “The bakery doesn’t even open until 9:30…”
But she wasn’t listening. Not even a little.
Hand in hand, she hurried down the street, her terracotta wrap dress swaying softly around her knees with each quick step, the lightweight fabric shifting slightly as she moved. The tiny floral patterns caught the sunlight now and then, while her cropped ivory cardigan sat just a bit unevenly over her shoulders, one side buttoned higher than the other in her usual absentminded way. Every so often, she tugged at the stretched cuffs without thinking, her crossbody bag bouncing lightly at her hip, its small pins glinting faintly.
Her dusty rose flats tapped quickly against the pavement as she moved with cheerful urgency, the worn edges brushing the ground whenever she stumbled just slightly—often enough that you kept a steady hold on her hand. Her pearl necklace rested neatly against her collarbone, shifting with each step, and her rose-tinted glasses sat properly on her nose, though faint smudges caught the morning light. She had clearly tried to tidy her wavy hair, but soft strands still slipped free, framing her face in a gently messy halo.
Behind you both, the quiet porch remained still. For a moment.
Inside the worn cardboard box, the little rabbit lay curled tightly, tucked into the lingering warmth of her own fur. Everything was quiet… until—
Her nose twitched.
Then again.
A faint shiver ran through her whiskers as she heard slowly familiar voices coming from outside of the box. Holly’s bright tone. Your sleepy replies.
One floppy ear lifted lazily.
Then the other.
The rabbit stretched, front paws reaching forward while her back legs extended in a long, sleepy wiggle—and slipped.
FWUMP
She toppled sideways into the wall of the box, ears flopping over her face. For a second, she just stayed there, blinking blankly, before slowly pushing herself upright again with quiet, sleepy dignity.
Then—
She noticed.
Through the torn opening, she saw Holly.
And you.
Walking away.
Her entire body froze.
Her floppy ears shot straight up. Her nose twitched rapidly, all sleepiness gone in an instant.
Wait… LEAVING?!
Panic flickered through her.
She scrambled forward too quickly, bumping her head lightly against the edge of the box, before squeezing herself out into the sunlight.
The world felt brighter now. Louder. Moving. And Holly was getting farther away.
Without hesitation, the rabbit bolted after you both, her tiny paws pattering against the pavement as she followed—curious, determined, and just a little frantic as she tried to keep up, wondering where you were going this time.
[…]
A little while later, the two of you reached the corner bakery, its warm, inviting exterior glowing softly in the morning light. The cream-painted walls and dusty rose trim framed wide glass windows filled with golden pastries, while the striped awning fluttered gently above a few outdoor tables. Even from the sidewalk, the scent of fresh bread, butter, and sugar wrapped around the air like a comforting embrace.
Holly practically lit up.
You steadied her with a hand at her waist as she climbed the front steps, her excitement still bubbling over from earlier. Together, you stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft chime.
A few yards back, the little rabbit arrived just seconds too late.
She skidded to a stop on the sidewalk, her tiny paws sliding slightly as she stared up at the tall glass door in dismay, her rabbit floppy ears drooping slightly. Rising onto her hind legs, she pressed her tiny paws against it, but it didn’t budge.
Inside, she could see Holly—already at the counter, smiling as she ordered her usual espresso, completely unaware.
The rabbit’s floppy ears drooped.
For a moment, she hesitated.
Then—
Her nose twitched.
Another scent drifted through the air, even stronger than before. Warm pastries… melted butter… sweet dough… something familiar and irresistible.
Curious, she turned toward the narrow alley beside the bakery and slipped around the building.
The smells grew stronger with every hop. Back there, they thickened into warm, irresistible waves—fresh bread, sugar, and butter drifting from vents along the exposed brick wall.
At the rear of the bakery, the kitchen buzzed with activity. The metal door stood slightly cracked open as bakery workers moved in and out, carrying trays and flour sacks. Warm light spilled into the alley along with the sounds of clanging pans and humming mixers.
Now she just has to get inside without being seen. The rabbit crouched low behind a stack of wooden pallets near the bakery’s service yard, floppy ears twitching nervously as workers hurried in and out through the metal back door.
Every time the door opened, releasing another delicious wave of warmth and sugary air into the alley. One baker carried towering trays of croissants balanced carefully against his shoulder, while another rolled heavy sacks of flour across the concrete on a cart.
The rabbit watched carefully from her hiding spot.
Every time the door opened, she inched a little closer.
But each attempt ended with her darting backward again in panic whenever footsteps approached too suddenly. Then darted back again.
At one point, she accidentally nudged a bottle cap. She froze instantly, ducking herself to the ground as a worker glanced around before shrugging and continuing on.
Her heart pounded.
Then—her chance.
A worker stepped out carrying a tall stack of cooling trays, the door left propped open behind him for several seconds.
The rabbit’s floppy ears shot up.
Before she could second-guess herself, she bolted forward in quick, uneven hops across the alley floor.
Her paws slipped briefly on flour dust, sending her sliding sideways beneath a rolling cart. But somehow she managed to scramble upright again without being noticed.
The worker passed only inches away.
Holding perfectly still beneath the cart, the rabbit waited while flour drifted softly through the warm air around her. Then, the moment the path cleared, she darted out again and squeezed through the open doorway just before it swung shut behind her. Inside the bakery kitchen, the rabbit froze immediately.
The space was enormous. There were glowing ovens along the walls, giant mixers rumbled loudly, and bakers hurried everywhere carrying trays of pastries dusted with powdered sugar. Warm air wrapped around her like a blanket while the scents of cinnamon, butter, herbs, and fresh bread nearly overwhelmed her completely. The air was warm and thick with the scent of cinnamon, butter, herbs, and bread.
Wide-eyed and amazed, she quickly scurried beneath a metal prep table before anyone could spot the tiny fluffy intruder now hiding inside the kitchen.
Then—
Her nose twitched again as she began to smell that wonderful yet familiar scent coming up from a counter.
Carrots!
Carefully peeking out from beneath the tablecloth edge, the rabbit spotted a baking tray resting near the pastry display racks. Lined neatly across it sat rows of fresh cannolis, their creamy filling speckled with orange carrot bits and crushed nuts. And one cannoli had fallen onto the floor nearby during the morning rush, unnoticed by the busy staff weaving around the kitchen.
The rabbit stared.
Her stomach gave a tiny rumble.
After escaping the animal shelter and wandering the neighborhood all night and day, she had barely eaten anything at all. Slowly, cautiously, she crept forward, hugging the edges of shadows beneath carts and counters while workers rushed past carrying trays overhead. Every clang of metal pans made her flinch, but the smell pulled her forward.
Finally, she reached it.
The fallen cannoli lay only inches away. The rabbit grabbed the edge delicately between her teeth and began tugging it backward in small, determined pulls.
But just as she managed to drag it halfway beneath a nearby rack—
One of the bakery staff turned around.
The worker froze.
The rabbit froze.
For one long, frozen second, they simply stared at each other as neither of them moved. Powdered sugar drifted softly through the air between them. Then—
“AAAAAAAAAAAA!— A RABBIT!”
The scream exploded through the kitchen.
Every baker and assistant whipped around instantly.
The frightened rabbit panicked immediately.
A rabbit?! WHERE?! her tiny brain practically screamed as she abandoned the cannoli and bolted straight into the middle of the kitchen chaos.
Workers shouted and jumped aside as the rabbit zig-zagged wildly between their feet. One baker nearly tripped over a tray of éclairs, shouting “WOAH!” as he stumbled backward. Another slipped directly onto spilled powdered sugar, before crashing harmlessly into a sack of flour. A white cloud burst into the air like smoke.
“There she goes!” someone yelled.
The rabbit darted under rolling carts, zig-zagged around falling mixing bowls, and accidentally launched herself straight through a curtain of hanging aprons before tumbling out the other side in panic. A worker lunged for her to catch her—only to slip on powdered sugar instead, arms flailing wildly before landing flat on the floor.
[…]
At the front counter, everything still felt calm…at least for a moment.
You stood beside Holly, absently tapping your fingers against the countertop while the bakery buzzed with soft morning chatter. The scent of pastries lingered warmly in the air, wrapping around everything.
“Remind me again,” you muttered, half-awake as you glanced sideways at her, “why we need a whole box of cannolis on our way to the animal shelter…”
Holly rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away instantly.
“Becauseee, amore,” she said brightly, dragging out the word as she nudged you lightly, “it’s for the rabbit when we adopt her—and she loves them, okay? Think of it like a ‘welcome to the family’ gift!”
Then her expression shifted just a little, lips forming a small pout.
“Hm… aw, it’s too bad Shyann’s out sick today. She would’ve loved that little rabbit, amore…”
You hummed vaguely, still waking up, while Holly stared at the pastry case like it held the most important moment of her life. She tried—unsuccessfully—to contain her excitement. Then—
“AAAAAAAAAAAA!— A RABBIT!”
The scream shattered everything.
You froze mid-tap, and Holly nearly jumped out of her flats.
“What the—?” you muttered, blinking as a loud crash echoed from the back, followed by shouting and the sharp clatter of metal trays hitting the floor.
“IT WENT UNDER THE MIXER!” someone yelled.
The customers around the bakery looked up nervously. One little kid gasped excitedly while a cashier froze mid-order, her hands still hovering over the register.
Holly, confused and curious, leaned slightly to peek through the service window.
And her eyes widened instantly.
The kitchen was complete chaos.
Bakery workers were slipping across powdered sugar, dodging falling aprons, and stumbling into each other. One stood half-covered in flour, pointing dramatically toward the pastry racks while shouting, “THERE SHE IS!” as another nearly knocked over a tray of croissants.
Then—
A blur of creamy beige and caramel-swirled fur burst out of the kitchen.
The rabbit shot across the floor like a tiny, panicked cannonball, skidding through flour while a trail of exhausted workers stumbled after her.
Holly blinked.
“…Is that—?”
Before she could finish—
The rabbit looked up.
Their eyes met instantly across the kitchen.
The rabbit’s ears shot upright, her entire body lighting up with recognition. Without hesitation, she abandoned her escape route and sprinted straight toward the front counter in panicky little hops, skidding across the flour-dusted floor.
“She’s getting away!” someone shouted.
Too late.
But before anyone could grab her, the rabbit launched herself forward in one desperate leap straight toward Holly.
“WHOA—!”
Holly barely caught her in time, fumbling as she clutched the tiny body to her chest. The momentum nearly knocked her backward into the display case, but she steadied herself at the last second.
The rabbit buried herself against her, trembling from fear and exhaustion.
You stared for half a second—then immediately stepped forward, placing yourself between them and the rushing bakery workers. “Wait—hold up,” you said firmly, raising both hands. “Don’t chase that rabbit.”
The entire kitchen… stopped.
Bakery workers skidded to a stop one by one, panting heavily and covered in flour. Powdered sugar drifted through the air like snow while several trays sat crookedly across the counters from the chase.
While Holly looked down at the rabbit in stunned recognition. The rabbit looked back up at her with wide hopeful eyes, tiny paws clutching tightly at the front of her outfit.
“…dear…?” she whispered.
Then, quickly, she looked up at everyone else. “Wait—wait! She’s harmless!” she said, pulling the rabbit closer protectively. “Please, she’s okay—non fa niente, I promise!”
The rabbit pressed even tighter into her, as if afraid someone might take her away. While the bakery staff collectively stood there in stunned, flour-covered silence.
For a few seconds, no one moved.
The rabbit clung desperately to Holly’s outfit. Her tiny rabbit body trembled against Holly’s arms while her nose twitched rapidly, floppy ears flattened halfway back from lingering fear.
Then Holly’s hand gently stroked between the rabbit’s floppy ears. She slowly relaxed, pressing herself closer with a soft little nuzzle against the fabric of Holly’s cardigan.
Holly’s face softened completely.
“Oh… you poor thing,” she murmured. “You followed me all the way here…?”
Across the kitchen, one bakery worker slowly pointed at the rabbit in disbelief. “You gotta be kidding me… That tiny THING caused all this?” he asked breathlessly, powdered sugar covering his apron from head to toe.
“She stole a cannoli!” another worker cried dramatically from near the pastry racks.
The rabbit immediately lowered her head guiltily.
Holly blinked once. Then twice.
“…Honestly,” she admitted, adjusting the rabbit in her arms, “that sounds exactly like something she would do… she was probably just hungry…”
A few exhausted workers let out tired laughs at that. One baker still sitting on the floor groaned, “I almost died for a rabbit with a sweet tooth.”
At the front counter, the female cashier finally stepped forward holding the woman’s forgotten coffee cup and the bakery box of cannolis. “Uh… your order?” she offered uncertainly.
You took it with a small nod.
Meanwhile, Holly didn’t look away from the rabbit. The little rabbit looked back up at her with big hopeful eyes, as if terrified she might be left behind again.
The realization settled in slowly, deeply.
This rabbit had crossed an entire rainy neighborhood, survived a night alone outside, followed her through an entire mail route, and caused a complete bakery destruction… just to stay close to her.
A soft, overwhelmed laugh escaped her.
“Oh… Cannoli…” she said gently.
She opened the bakery box, taking one out and offering it carefully.
“I guess you’ve already picked your human, huh?”
You glanced down at her, amused. “‘Cannoli’?”
She shot you a quick, playful glare. “It’s perfect, okay? And she loves cannolis—so it fits.”
In her arms, the rabbit happily nibbled the treat, looking up at Holly with soft, shining eyes.
“Cannoli”. Huh… She likes the sound of that name.
[…]
A few days later, morning sunlight filtered softly through the bedroom curtains, casting a warm glow across the quiet room.
You were still deeply asleep beneath the blankets, one arm hanging lazily off the side of the bed, completely unaware of the world. Downstairs, faint sounds of dishes clinking in the kitchen mixed with distant birdsong drifting in through an open window.
Then—
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP
Tiny paws raced up the staircase.
A blur of soft fur and sky-blue harness burst into the bedroom as Cannoli sprinted across the wooden floor, her little envelope tag bouncing with every step, after bouncing out of her cozy fabric bed downstairs. Her floppy ears flapped wildly behind her as she locked onto her target.
The bed.
More specifically—you.
Apparently deciding that you had rested long enough, and without hesitation, she gathered all her tiny strength and launched herself forward.
BOING
“HUAAH—!”
You jolted upright instantly as she landed squarely on your stomach, the impact knocking the air right out of you. The blankets tangled around your legs as Cannoli scrambled across your chest, trying (A/N: and failing-) to keep her balance.
“What—WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” you gasped, completely disoriented.
Cannoli stood proudly in the middle of the bed as she stared at you excitedly, her nose twitching wildly, looking at you like this was a perfectly reasonable way to start the morning.
Right then, the bedroom door opened.
Holly stepped in, already dressed and fully awake, holding a small bowl of sweet mashed carrots. She paused in the doorway, trying (A/N: and failing-) not to laugh at the scene in front of her.
“Oh good—” she snorted softly, leaning against the frame. “She woke you up, amore.”
“Woke me up?!” you shot back, clutching your chest. “I think my soul left my body!”
Cannoli’s attention snapped instantly to the bowl.
Carrots.
Her entire body perked up.
Forgetting about you entirely, and without a second thought, she bounded across the bed toward Holly so quickly that she tripped over a pillow halfway there and rolled into the comforter in a fluffy little tumble.
Holly burst out laughing.
“Yep—” she said fondly, crouching beside the bed as she set the bowl down for Cannoli. “Definitely our rabbit.”
Cannoli immediately forgot everything else, happily digging into her breakfast like she had not just nearly caused a heart attack five seconds earlier.
You, meanwhile, sat there recovering, still holding your chest as you slowly turned your head toward Holly.
“Great,” you muttered, side-eyeing her as you reached up to rest your hand against her cheek, gently brushing your thumb along her skin. “Now I’ve got two alarms to deal with…”
Holly only giggled, leaning into your touch before pressing a soft “good morning” kiss to your lips.
“You love it though, amore…” she murmured, smiling against your lips.
You sighed, though the corner of your mouth twitched.
A Clumsy Rabbit | wife!Holly Giggles x husband!reader
[Part 1] | Part 2
Ft. Iyana, Bailey (Iyana’s dog), Cannoli (Holly’s rabbit)
Summary: You and Holly volunteers to help Iyana clean out the animal shelter, where one particularly clumsy rabbit keeps bumping into things and knocking over food bowls…instantly reminding Holly of herself.
A/N: romance (1st , 14th) prompts from @urfriendlywriter
TW: male reader, plus-size!OC, age gap (reader is 35, Holly is 59), fluff, angst, humor/crack, comfort
The morning sun spilled softly across the small animal shelter, warming the pale beige and light blue exterior and casting gentle shadows along the short walkway lined with neatly trimmed bushes. Inside, the reception area felt just as welcoming—quiet, organized, and full of life in its own way. Papers were stacked carefully on the front desk, and a bulletin board nearby displayed smiling photos of adopted pets alongside handwritten notes and upcoming events.
You and Holly had come by the shelter after one of her friends, Iyana, called asking for some extra help with volunteering for the day.
Holly stepped in first, already bright with energy despite the early hour, hurrying forward a little too quickly as the bakery box of cannolis with the coffee cup of espresso on top tilted dangerously in her hands. Her gray slip-resistant sneakers, scuffed and faintly dusty, squeaked against the clean floor as she moved, the worn knees of her dark denim jeans creasing with each hurried step. A faded khaki utility vest bounced lightly against her sides, its overstuffed pockets jingling with treats, gloves, and a tiny first aid kit, while the sleeves of her forest-green long-sleeve shirt sat unevenly pushed up to her elbows.
A pair of mismatched work gloves peeked from her back pocket as she adjusted her grip, her soft, curvy frame shifting with the motion. The light-green baseball cap on her head sat slightly askew, barely containing her mousy brown hair—its loose, voluminous waves tipped in a lemon-meringue hue with faint gray streaks—falling messily around her face from a middle part. A few strands clung near her rosy cheeks, dusted with freckles that deepened as she flushed from the rush.
Her oversized rose-tinted glasses slid slightly down her nose before she nudged them back into place, her sea-blue eyes bright and lively despite the near spill. A pearl necklace rested against her collar, occasionally catching against the fabric of her shirt as she moved. Faint lines framed her eyes and mouth when she smiled, and her arms—marked with small scars, bruises, and the occasional carefully placed bandage—shifted as she hurried forward cheerily yet excitedly.
“Iyana! Buongiorno, buongiorno!” she called out cheerfully, her voice carrying warmly through the room—bright and bubbly, her words tumbling slightly over each other with an affectionate Italian lilt.
At the front desk, Iyana paused mid-motion. Her fingers had been moving with quiet precision across labeled files, but at the sound of Holly’s voice, she turned her head and smiled—soft, knowing, and immediate. Carefully rising from her chair, she reached for her white cane that was hooked neatly onto her vest, before moving around the desk with practiced ease, her steps steady and familiar in the space. Her oatmeal-colored henley hung slightly loose against her frame, the worn cotton sleeves pushed just past her elbows beneath a sage-green utility vest lined with deep, easy-access pockets. Her dark charcoal cargo pants fit comfortably with a relaxed structure, the reinforced knees and roomy pockets practical for long days, while a small pouch at her waistband held sanitizer, a folded cloth, and a few emergency treats. Off-white rubber clogs softened her steps against the floor, and her gloved hands—nitrile, snug, and ready—moved with quiet assurance, an extra pair tucked neatly into her vest. A gold clover bracelet rested lightly at her wrist, matched with small bow-shaped earrings. Her brown skin carried a natural warmth, and her figure was softly curvy beneath the layered clothing. Her long black hair, threaded with subtle gray streaks, was pulled over her right shoulder into a loose, voluminous segmented braid, secured at the end with a soft band. Her dark grey-blue eyes, slightly faded in focus, were framed by faint lines that deepened gently when she smiled Bailey, resting calmly beside her moments before, lifted her head and wagged her tail.
“Holly, I’m real glad you made it in, honey…” Iyana said, her voice soft and steady, touched with a gentle Southern warmth that made her words feel calm and reassuring. Holly set the box and espresso down in a slightly clumsy rush before wrapping her in a gentle, excited hug.
Iyana returned the hug just as gently, though her expression shifted into mild disbelief. “But now… somethin’ tells me you might’ve fluttered in here a little earlier than you needed to, hm?”
Behind them, you let out a tired yawn, stretching your arms as the early wake-up finally caught up with you. “She woke me up at six o’clock,” you muttered, pulling out your phone and squinting at the screen. “And we got here at… 7:20.”
Iyana’s eyes widened slightly, her head turning toward your voice in surprise before angling back toward Holly. There was a pause—then a quiet, deadpan delivery.
“Holly… now you know I said 8:30, sweetheart.”
Holly, completely unbothered, simply rolled her eyes with a bright grin, already crouching down to give Bailey her full attention. “Aww, Iyana, I could never say no to you—mai, mai! Especially if there are cute little animals, are you kidding me? I would run here barefoot if I had to!” she cooed, rubbing Bailey’s stomach enthusiastically.
Bailey responded with a happy bark, her tail thumping against the floor as she leaned into Holly’s affection.
Holly glanced back up, still smiling. “Sooo—what do we do first?”
With a small sigh that carried more fondness than frustration, Iyana made her way back behind the desk. Her hands moved slowly but confidently across the surface, brushing past familiar objects until they landed on a wooden clipboard. She lifted it and extended it toward you.
“Here you go… everything we need to keep this place runnin’ smooth while the owner’s away.”
You took the clipboard, scanning the long list of “To-Do” chores before reading it aloud. The tasks ranged from cleaning and disinfecting enclosures to feeding, grooming, and monitoring the animals—everything needed to keep the shelter running smoothly for the day.
When you finished, you nodded, already mentally preparing yourself. “Okay… this won’t be too bad. I’ll do the cleaning part.”
“I’ll reorganize the pet supplies!” Holly chimed in immediately, standing up a bit too fast and nearly bumping the desk before catching herself with a small, sheepish laugh.
“And I’ll go on ahead and check in on each of ‘em…” Iyana added calmly, resting her hand briefly on Bailey’s head as the dog sat attentively by her side.
[…]
A little while later, each of you split off to handle your tasks. The soft shuffle of movement, the occasional bark, and the faint clinking of animal supplies filled the air.
In the storage room, Holly was already deep into her work—or at least, her version of it.
The medium-sized room was neatly arranged with shelves lined with pet food, folded blankets, toys, and cleaning supplies, all carefully organized for easy access. Holly, however, was in the middle of it all, juggling armfuls of items with her usual cheerful determination and signature lack of coordination. A bag of kibble was tucked awkwardly under one arm, a stack of folded blankets threatened to slip from the other, and a squeaky toy dangled precariously from her fingers.
Near the door, her bakery box sat half-open on the floor, a couple of cannolis already been eaten, along with her espresso coffee cup placed beside it.
Unbeknownst to her, a small presence watched from the corner.
Nestled between the lower shelves, a tiny rabbit remained perfectly still, its glossy dark eyes fixed on Holly. Its creamy beige and caramel-swirled fur blended softly with the warm tones of the room, and its little nose twitched as it observed… until something else caught its attention.
The cannolis.
Its nose twitched faster.
Carefully—very carefully—it began to hop toward the box, each movement cautious and deliberate.
…Or at least, that was the intention.
Just as Holly reached up for a bag of cat food—
CLATTER
Holly jumped slightly, nearly dropping everything in her arms. Behind her, a stack of food bowls had scattered across the floor. The rabbit, startled by its own misstep, had already darted back into hiding.
“Huh… that’s a little strange, no?…” Holly murmured, blinking as she turned around.
She set her supplies down and knelt, beginning to restack the bowls, her brows knitting together in confusion.
‘I don’t remember touching those…’ she thought. ‘And they were, like, way over there—ma che cosa…?’
As she focused on fixing the mess, the rabbit peeked out again. Its eyes moved between Holly and the open box, and soon, the temptation was too strong to resist.
Slowly, she crept forward again.
Closer… closer…
CLUNK CLONK
The rabbit bumped straight into a broom leaning against the wall, sending it clattering loudly onto the floor.
Holly flinched again, her shoulders tensing as she turned sharply toward the noise. The rabbit, now thoroughly spooked, leaped straight into an empty mop bucket beside the bakery box, disappearing inside.
“What in the world—?!” Holly whispered, completely baffled now.
First the bowls… now the broom?
She stared at the fallen broom for a moment before her attention shifted—just in time to catch a tiny, fluffy tail disappearing into the bucket.
Her eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity.
‘Wait, wait—un secondo…’
Slowly, she reached over and opened the bakery box fully, picking up a cannoli and holding it gently in her palm. Then, with surprising patience, she scooted closer to the bucket and waited.
A moment passed.
Then, cautiously, two long floppy ears appeared… followed by a small, curious face. The rabbit’s nose twitched rapidly as the sweet scent reached it.
Holly’s expression softened instantly, her sea-blue eyes lighting with quiet delight. She stayed perfectly still, not wanting to scare it.
‘Awww…’ she whispered in her thoughts. ‘What a sweet little bunny…’
Drawn in by the smell, the rabbit slowly climbed out of the bucket and began hopping toward the cannoli. But just as it got close—it tripped.
Completely.
Holly gasped softly. “Oh—oh dear, careful!”
Without hesitation, she reached out—slightly clumsy but careful—and gently helped the little rabbit back onto its feet.
“Are you okay, caro? You didn’t hurt yourself, no?”
The rabbit gave a small nod, then immediately looked back at the cannoli.
Holly couldn’t help but smile.
“Ahh, so that’s what all that noise was about…” she said, a soft giggle escaping her. “Just for a little taste of my cannolis, hmm?”
She handed it over, and the rabbit eagerly accepted, nibbling happily. Crumbs dusted its tiny mouth as it ate, clearly pleased.
Holly watched it with amused affection, then reached for another cannoli and offered it. This time, the rabbit didn’t hesitate at all—it hopped right onto Holly’s lap, settling in comfortably as she continued eating.
“Well, look at you… comfy already, eh?” Holly chuckled softly.
As the rabbit nibbled, Holly gently stroked its velvety back, slow and soothing, helping it relax even more. After a moment, Holly adjusted her glasses from atop her head onto her nose and leaned in slightly, examining her new little friend.
“Hmmm…” she squinted thoughtfully. Then her face brightened. ”Ohh! Sei una ragazza—you’re a little lady!”
Her expression softened again.
“What are you doing in here, hmm? You’re supposed to be in the medical area with the others, sì?”
At that, the rabbit paused. Her floppy ears drooped slightly as she looked away, her small body tensing just a bit.
Holly’s smile faded into gentle concern.
“Are you… a little scared of the checkups, caro?”
The rabbit hesitated, then slowly nodded.
“Oh… tesoro…” Holly murmured, her heart clearly melting.
Carefully, she gathered the little rabbit into her arms, cradling her like a baby. “Awww… it’s okay, little bunny, shhh…” she soothed softly. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. It’s just to make sure you’re nice and healthy and strong, capito? And my friend Iyana? Oh, she’s wonderful—so gentle, like this, you won’t even notice!”
Still, the rabbit remained nervous, burying her face into Holly’s chest.
Holly frowned slightly, thinking… until her face lit up with an idea.
“Hey,” she said gently, looking down at her. “Okay, listen, listen—I have an idea! I’ll take you to the medical area, and I stay with you the whole time, sì? I don’t go anywhere. And then…” she smiled playfully, “Maybe—maybe—I give you more cannolis after, hmm?”
That did it.
The rabbit perked up instantly, her entire demeanor shifting. She hopped out of Holly’s arms, practically glowing with excitement—
—and immediately began bouncing around a little too energetically.
Items rattled. A small stack of pet supplies wobbled.
Holly burst into laughter, both amused and concerned as she reached out to catch her.
“Oh—! Okay, okay, okay—piano, piano!” she giggled, trying to gently corral the tiny clumsy whirlwind. “Careful, careful! Don’t hurt yourself, tesoro, not so fast!”
This rabbit kinda reminds her of herself…
[…]
In the medical area, Iyana moved with practiced precision from one patient to the next. Her hands worked as her eyes could not—listening, feeling, understanding. She pressed her stethoscope lightly against a dog’s chest, listening to its breathing while her other hand rested along its side, sensing the subtle rhythm of its tail. With cats, her fingers glided delicately through their fur, checking for irregularities, pausing at ears and paws with careful attention.
When it came to smaller animals, her touch grew even more refined. Rabbits were handled with cupped, protective hands, her fingertips reading the fragile language of their bones and heartbeat. Birds were examined with light, confident movements, wings gently extended and feathers assessed for damage. Even reptiles received steady, controlled handling as she gauged their muscle tension and temperature through touch alone.
Nearby, Bailey remained a quiet anchor, sitting attentively beside the waiting animals. Her calm presence seemed to settle even the most nervous among them.
Just as Iyana finished examining the last dog, the door opened softly.
“Hey, Iyana!” Holly’s cheerful voice filled the room as she stepped in, carefully cradling the small rabbit in her arms. “Look, look—I found this adorable little clumsy rabbit hiding in the storage room while I was getting supplies.”
Iyana paused, her posture stilling for a moment before she turned toward Holly’s voice. A faint sigh escaped her, laced with tired amusement.
“Mm… not again,” she murmured. “Sounds like you found our little runaway, Holly. That one’s always tryin’ to hop her way outta checkups when her turn comes around.”
There was a small, knowing smile in her tone as she gestured toward the padded exam table.
“Anyway… I’ve just about finished up with the rest of the bunch. She’s the last one waitin’, so go on and bring her over here for me, nice and easy.”
At the mention of the exam table, the rabbit immediately tensed. She pressed herself closer into Holly’s chest, her small body trembling slightly.
Holly noticed right away.
“Oh, dear…” she murmured softly, gently stroking between the rabbit’s floppy ears. Her touch was slow and reassuring, and little by little, the tension eased just enough.
Looking up at Iyana, Holly spoke gently, but with quiet determination. “Actually, um… can I stay with her while you do the checkup? She gets a little scared, I think… and I don’t want her to run off again, so maybe—if I stay—she feels safer, sì?”
For a moment, Iyana seemed surprised. Then her expression softened, warmth settling into her features as she nodded.
“Of course, honey...”
Holly smiled and stepped closer to the table, carefully placing the rabbit down onto the padded surface. She stayed right beside her, one hand resting lightly against the rabbit’s back.
Iyana approached, her movements slow and deliberate. Her hands found the rabbit with ease, beginning their careful examination—running along her back, sides, and legs, pausing occasionally as she murmured a thoughtful “mmh-hm.”
The rabbit flinched at first, her small body reacting to each unfamiliar touch.
Holly saw it immediately.
She leaned down, bringing her face closer, her voice dropping into a soft whisper meant only for the little rabbit.
“It’s okay… shhh, I’m right here, tesoro… I’m not going anywhere…”
Her fingers continued their gentle strokes, steady and comforting.
The effect was almost immediate.
The rabbit’s flinching slowed… then stopped. Her breathing evened out as she took a small, steady breath, her body gradually relaxing under Iyana’s careful hands.
Reassured now, she remained still—comforted by Holly’s presence, no longer trying to run.
[…]
After a little while later, the rabbit’s checkup was finally done as Iyana carefully released the rabbit’s tiny paws after examining each one with slow, deliberate movements, making sure there were no cuts, swelling, or sore spots. Her hands lingered just a second longer, as if double-checking through touch alone, before she finally nodded.
A soft smile formed on her face. “Alright now… she’s lookin’ just fine. Strong, steady, and healthy. And she did such a good job.”
Holly beamed at that, her sea-blue eyes warm with pride as she looked down at the small bundle resting comfortably against her chest. The rabbit, now completely relaxed, leaned into her, no longer tense or afraid.
“Well, of course she did,” Holly murmured affectionately, gently stroking along her velvety back.
With her free hand, she reached into the half-open bakery box and picked up another cannoli. “You did it, cara mia—” she said softly, offering it forward, “and this is for being such a brave little bunny.”
The rabbit perked up instantly, happily nibbling the treat with visible delight. Any lingering fear had completely melted away, replaced with comfort—and a growing fondness for cannolis.
Everything felt calm and peaceful.
Until—
CLATTER
The sudden crash shattered the quiet.
Holly and Iyana both flinched, their heads snapping toward the sound. Even the rabbit startled, immediately burrowing into Holly’s chest for safety, while Bailey lifted her head alertly.
Then your voice rang out from the dog kennel room—loud, horrified, and deeply disgusted.
“UGH! EW! EW, EW, EW! Why is it WARM?!”
There was a brief pause.
Then all heads turned.
A moment later, you emerged from the kennel room looking absolutely miserable. You were decked out for cleaning duty—thick blue rubber gloves stretched past your wrists, a stained waterproof apron tied tightly around your waist, a loose face mask hanging around your neck, and safety glasses fogged from your own breath.
In one hand, you held a long-handled pooper scooper. In the other, a battered bucket lined with a trash bag.
And unfortunately… there was no missing it.
There was a smear of dog poop streaked across your apron.
Holly blinked.
Then her eyes widened.
She immediately covered her mouth with both hands, trying (A/N: and very unsuccessfully-) to hold back laughter.
“Amore—what happened?! What’s wrong—” she started, but the second she saw the dog-poop stain clearly, her voice cut off into muffled snickering.
You froze mid-scrub, your movements turning stiff as you slowly turned your head to glare at her.
“I heard that,” you said flatly, grimacing as you aggressively tried to scrub at the stain. “Don’t you dare say anything—or even giggle, Holly…”
“Whattt? I’m nottt—I didn’t say anything!” Holly replied innocently, shrugging her shoulders in exaggerated denial. A tiny giggle slipped out anyway.
Iyana, standing nearby, tilted her head slightly, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “What’s—”
Holly quickly leaned in, whispering just loud enough for her to hear, her voice trembling with contained laughter.
“He—he got dog poop on his apron—!”
There was a brief pause.
Iyana’s composure cracked almost instantly. Her eyes widened slightly as she pressed her lips together, shoulders twitching as she fought to keep from laughing out loud.
But Bailey and the rabbit?
Yeah, they weren’t subtle…at all.
Bailey let out a playful, breathy “ruff-huff!” that sounded suspiciously like laughter, her tail thumping rapidly against the floor. Meanwhile, the rabbit made a tiny snorting squeak and bounced in a quick, clumsy circle of excitement—nearly toppling over before Holly caught her just in time.
You stared at them.
Silently.
Unimpressed.
Your expression flattened into pure, exhausted disbelief.
Then, with a long, annoyed sigh, you turned and began storming off toward the restroom, still scrubbing at the stain with sharp, frustrated movements.
“I’m gonna throw up,” you muttered miserably, shuddering from head to toe as you disappeared down the hall.
[…]
After doing all of the chores in the checklist s d your little… “dog-poop stain” problem, Holly had to take the rabbit back into her cage in the rabbit ward. The air carried the gentle scent of fresh hay, pine bedding, and leafy greens. Soft light filtered in as a ceiling fan hummed overhead, stirring bits of loose fur that drifted lazily through the space. Rows of clean enclosures lined the walls, each one cozy with blankets, chew toys, and little hideouts.
Holly stepped in slowly, cradling the small rabbit against her chest. The rabbit rested there calmly, her tiny body rising and falling with soft, steady breaths, a faint contentment in her expression. Her little paws moved absentmindedly, lightly kicking against Holly’s sleeve.
Holly crouched carefully in front of the open enclosure, though “carefully” for her still came with a hint of wobble.
“Easy, easy, tesoro… piano, piano… it’s okay…” she murmured gently.
As she began lowering the rabbit down, her elbow accidentally knocked against the water bottle.
CLINK
The sharp sound startled them both.
The rabbit’s eyes flew open, her body tensing as she suddenly wriggled in panic. Holly gasped, thrown off balance as she stumbled sideways.
“Whoa—hey, hey! It’s okay, dear! Just the water bottle, see? Not a monster—no monsters here, I promise!” she blurted, clutching the squirming little body closer before she could leap away.
For a moment, it was a clumsy flurry—rustling hay, frantic little kicks, and Holly trying her best to steady both of them at once.
But eventually, she managed.
With a soft exhale, Holly gently placed the rabbit down into the enclosure. The bedding shifted under her tiny feet as she settled, still a little shaken.
Holly stayed close, reaching through the wire door to gently rub under her chin. With her other hand, she offered one last cannoli, her voice soft and soothing.
“I know…” she whispered, a small, tender smile forming despite the moment.
The rabbit leaned forward, nibbling at the treat before pressing her nose against Holly’s fingers. Her whiskers twitched with a quiet, sad little sniff, her floppy ears drooping slightly.
Holly’s expression softened into a gentle frown.
“I’m sorry, tesoro… I have to go now… but I’m gonna miss you so much, okay?”
The rabbit remained at the front of the enclosure, as if unwilling to let the moment end. Holly carefully reached in one last time, rubbing behind her soft floppy ears, memorizing the feel of her velvety fur.
Then, slowly—reluctantly—she pulled her hand back.
She rose to her feet, though not without nearly catching her sneaker on a stray bag of hay. She stumbled slightly, catching herself with a small huff before giving a tiny wave.
“Goodbye, cara mia…”
The rabbit stayed there, watching.
As Holly walked toward the door, she kept glancing back over her shoulder, her steps slow with hesitation. Behind her, the little rabbit remained at the edge of her enclosure, nose twitching rapidly, eyes fixed on her until she disappeared down the hallway.
[…]
Night settled quietly over your house, the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the windows like a soft lullaby. Upstairs, the bedroom glowed in a warm, dim light from the bedside lamp, casting gentle shadows across the walls.
After putting the kids to bed in their rooms, Holly sat tucked beneath the blankets, her knees drawn close, a pillow hugged tightly against her chest. The soft pastel-yellow lounge shirt she wore draped loosely over her frame, the relaxed neckline slipping off one shoulder as she shifted, revealing the faint, worn-in graphic of a smiling espresso cup stretched gently across the fabric. A lightweight cream cardigan hung open over it, sliding unevenly along her arms—one sleeve pushed higher than the other—as if she had absentmindedly adjusted it hours ago and never fixed it. Beneath the blankets, her heather-gray lounge pants bunched slightly at the knees, the crooked drawstring peeking out where it had been loosely tied, while one lavender slipper dangled half-off her foot, revealing mismatched fuzzy socks—one pink, one mint—soft and worn at the bottoms. Her pearl necklace rested against her collarbone, and her oversized rose-tinted glasses, slightly smudged, sat properly on her nose, though a few loose strands of her already-tousled hair kept falling into her face.
The room was calm, peaceful—but her expression wasn’t.
Every time she closed her eyes, her mind kept drifting back to the rabbit.
The way her tiny nose twitched. The clumsy yet nervous little hops. The softness of her fur. And most of all… the way she had stayed at the front of the enclosure, waiting, watching, as Holly walked away.
Holly’s grip tightened around the pillow as she slowly sighed.
“I hope you’re okay, tesoro…” she murmured softly into the quiet.
From the bathroom, the sound of running water stopped. A moment later, the door creaked open, and a cloud of steam drifted into the room. You stepped out, freshly showered, a towel draped over your shoulders as you rubbed it through your damp hair. Another towel was wrapped hastily—and slightly crookedly—around your waist.
You still looked faintly traumatized.
“I still can’t believe that happened,” you muttered, grimacing as you rubbed at your arm again, as if the “dog-poop” memory alone needed scrubbing off.
You shuffled into the room, bare feet dragging lightly against the floor—then paused as you noticed your wife on the bed, as she stared blankly toward the rain-streaked window instead of sleeping.
Holly wasn’t moving.
Wasn’t cheerily smiling.
Wasn’t… Holly.
Your brows furrowed slightly.
“Hey,” you said gently, your voice soft as you crossed the room.
You sat beside her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder while the other brushed a loose strand of hair from her face.
“You’ve been quiet ever since we got home,” you murmured. “Is it the rabbit?”
That was all it took.
Her expression crumpled just slightly, and you immediately understood.
Your face softened with sympathy as your hand began to rub slow, comforting circles along her arm. For a moment, neither of you spoke as you simply watched her in silence. The rain continued its quiet tapping, the bedroom fan humming softly overhead.
Then, after a beat of silence, a small idea popped up into your head as a small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.
“Hey,” you said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “How about… on Saturday, we go back to the shelter to visit her?”
Holly blinked as she immediately turn her head toward you, surprised—but before she could respond, you added, your voice warm and certain: “We can even adopt her.”
The shift in her face was instant.
The sadness in her face cracked apart, replaced first by disbelief—then by something softer, brighter. Hope.
“Really, Amore…?” she asked quietly, as if afraid you might be lying.
You chuckled softly. “Yeah, really.”
That was all she needed.
A shaky, emotional laugh escaped her as she suddenly lunged forward, wrapping her arms around you. The movement was fast—too fast though—as she nearly tangled herself in the blankets and tipped sideways off the bed.
“Holly—!” you yelped, quickly catching her before she could fall.
You both laughed as you steadied her, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she cupped your face in her hands, pressing soft, rapid kisses across your brow, your nose, the corners of your eyes—her relief spilling out in every gesture, while straddling on your lap.
“Thank you—thank you—grazie, amore, grazie!” she breathed, her voice trembling with happy tears.
She settled against you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, holding you tightly.
You chuckled, slightly breathless. “Holly, hold on—! I’m still in a towel!”
Will's been watching you on the screen since you were both little. To say he had a crush would be putting it lightly. He watched everything you starred in, even if it was a genre he absolutely hated. His eyes would just be on you the whole time, him practically kicking his feet with giddy glee.
His mom used to make fun of him for his little crush, squeezing his cheeks and telling him how cute it was. And yet, every birthday without fail, he'd end up getting merch with you on it.
He's definitely saved edits and fancams of you on his phone. Not even saved on just the app itself, I mean downloaded to his phone's gallery.
Safe to say, he's been obsessed with you for years.
So, when the Thorns get a TV ad spot, and end up at the same studio you work at? Ohhh, he's going to throw up he's so excited.
He glimpses you during the lunch break, sitting off at a table by yourself, going over some lines in a recent script.
Jett totally teases him at first for staring at you like some kind of stalker, before going over to talk to you herself, while Will reluctantly follows behind.
You, of course, know the Thorns well. You've been watching their games since you were young, catching glimpses on the TV between rehearsals and recordings and vocal practice.
You and Jett exchange pleasantries and autographs. It takes you a second to notice the goat visibly shaking with both nerves and excitement behind her.
He opens his mouth to introduce himself and he... bleats. A full on goat bleat.
Instantly slaps his hands over his mouth and spins around, face burning red. He's panicking so hard.
Then he hears you laugh. Your laugh is so pretty... It actually relaxes him a little.
He turns back around, trying to laugh himself off, and actually introduces himself to you. You say you already know who he is, because he's famous, which he didn't even think about. He had never even thought of the idea that you might know him.
He knows he has a very limited window of time to ask you out. The Thorns are only going to be on set a week before they have an away game. And, yet, he procrastinates the whole time, too scared of being rejected by you.
It takes Daryl and Hannah hyping him up over text for him to come up to you after a shooting day and finally, finally ask if you'd like to have lunch with him. Totally casual. His voice breaks as he asks, making himself cringe.
You go to Whiskers, of course. You immediately see the photo of baby Will on the wall and point to it, but he grabs you by the shoulders and quickly steers you elsewhere.
Carol is not helping the situation; "Oh, you're that little star that Will's loved forever!!-" "THANK YOU CAROL CAN WE GET THE CHECK NOW PLEASE"
You think it's cute how hard he's trying, but you also gently remind him that you're not exactly like the persona you display on TV, and you hope that that's not a deal breaker for him.
He softens immediately, smiling at you. "Nah, of course not. You're your own person, I totally get that. You deserve your own life, I'm just happy you're letting me be apart of it..."
Okay, that totally doesn't make you tear up on the spot.
He asks a lot of questions about what it was like on set behind certain shows and movies, about what you did to prepare for roles, what your favorite role was, what you want to do in the future. He's just genuinely very interested in you and your career, and he wants to be supportive without coming off as a creepy fan.
The first time you come over to his apartment (yes, he finally has an apartment now and isn't living in some garage anymore), he panics over how sparse it is.
You blush and laugh at all the merch he has of you, which he quickly tries to hide right before your very eyes. You just reassure him you think it's sweet, and that it's okay if he keeps it up.
You even give him some premium and limited edition merch you have laying around, which he nearly cries over before tackling you in a hug of thanks.
If you're attending a game, he always points and winks to the stands where you are every time he scores. A little "that's for you, baby!", too.
He is far from media trained still, so of course, the two of you being together is all over the internet. He loves looking through the ship name tag that his fans created, and is always reposting fanart and fan edits of the two of you together, always with some cheesy caption like a single heart emoji or "my bae <3".
Even if you're not sporty, he'll teach you roarball! In exchange, you have to give him some acting lessons. (Because, let's be honest, he was a little stilted during that Thorns promo).
When you come to watch him practice, he makes a game of it. "Okay, if I make this one, you have to give me a hug! And if I make this one, you have to give me a kiss!!" He makes every shot. Even if he doesn't, he pouts so hard that you give in anyway.
where: spiderman saves reader aka their first interaction
⋆˚࿔ spiderman!matt && oblivious!reader
the air was heavy and cold on the rooftop, the kind that bites at unprotected skin. a masked figure, wearing a homemade red and blue suit, crouched on a billboard ledge, ready to call it a night.
he was about to swing home when he saw you.
you were walking home, eyes glued to the glowing screen of your phone, music drowning out your surroundings—completely unaware of the screech of tires coming your way.
the sharp squeal of rubber against concrete hit him first. his head snapped towards the street, spider-sense buzzing like static in his skull.
before he even realized it, he'd already thrown himself from the ledge, free-falling until the last possible second.
the familiar thwip cut through the air, the web-line catching tension as he swooped down. his arm hooked around your waist, pulling you up with him, your phone clattering on the pavement below.
"fuck—" your breath caught in your throat as another body collided with yours, the shock of it knocking the air out of your lungs. your trembling hands found his shoulder—instinctively holding on.
you looked up, heart beating out of your chest, and you saw him. the masked man. read and blue fabric, lenses reflecting the city lights—spiderman.
below you, the car has finally stopped halfway across the street, the tires smoking. the driver stumbled out, wide-eyed and shaking, shouting apologies that neither of you could really hear over the pounding in your ears.
spider-man gently lowered you back on the ground, the tension in his arm easing once your feet touched the pavement. "you okay?" he asked, his voice low but steady behind the mask.
you could only nod as a response, still trying to catch your breath.
a few seconds passed before he turned toward where your phone fell a few feet away. spider-man picked it up with his web with a another quick thwip, pulling it cleanly into his hand.
he handed it out to you with a small tilt of his head, "next time, look both ways, yeah?"
you barely managed a quiet "thank you—" but he was already gone. just a fading blur of red and blue against the skyline, disappearing into the night.
you stood there for a moment, phone tightly clutched against your chest, still trying to believe that spider-man had just saved your life.
notes: english is not my first language but i did my best yall 😭 there's no continuation planned for this but feel free to use this spiderman!matt au if you'd like (tag meee) 🫶 my writing style's heavily influenced by c.ai (its where i learned to write honestly 😭)
I was wondering… If the gmilf ocs (the one who doesn’t have any pets), what kind of pet would they have if they had one?
I got a few ideas…
Jamie: Cavalier King Charles Spaniel Her name is Honey. She is a small, soft-bodied dog with long, silky fur in a warm chestnut and white pattern with big, round dark eyes that always seem a little sleepy and loving, and long feathery doggy ears that bounce gently when she waddles around between tables. She would basically be the unofficial mascot of the diner—curled up in a booth, following Jamie around the kitchen (getting lightly scolded), and adored by all the regulars who sneak her bits of bacon when Jamie isn’t looking.
Carissa: Oriental Shorthair Cat Her name is Canela. She is a sleek, slender cat with a lightly muscular build and a warm cinnamon-brown coat, with oversized pointed ears, an elegant triangular face, and striking almond-shaped green eyes that always look alert and a little mischievous, paired with a long, whip-like tail that flicks expressively whenever she hears the coffee machine hiss. She would perch on countertops (when she’s not supposed to), weave between customers’ legs like she owns the place, and curl up near the warm coffee machines, basically acting like the café’s unofficial supervisor while Carissa runs the job.
Deidra: Cane Corso Her name is Vixen. She is a large, muscular dog with a sleek charcoal-black coat and cropped doggy ears, with piercing amber eyes that feel intense but loyal, and a powerful stance softened by the way she leans into Deidra like a giant lapdog when relaxed. She’s that “intimidating-at-first-glance, but a total sweetheart underneath” type—walking beside Deidra like security, but backstage she’s sprawled out while the music blasts, completely unfazed. The fans would lowkey be just as obsessed with her as they are with Deidra.
Binti: Domestic Shorthair Cat Her name is Vinyl. She is a mixed stray cat, slightly ragged but charming, anyway— She is a medium-sized cat with a sleek but slightly rough coat of smoky black and charcoal-black patches, with subtle hints of brown, one cat ear slightly nicked from her stray days, bright golden-green eyes full of attitude and curiosity, and a long tail that flicks rhythmically like she’s keeping time with whatever song is playing in the shop. She would wander in one day, hang around for the music, and just… never leave. Now she lounges near the speakers, “judging” customers, and only approaches the ones with good taste—something Binti swears is intentional.
Bessie: Border Collie Her name is Buttercup. She is a medium-sized, athletic but slightly scruffy dog with a thick black-and-white coat that’s always a little dusty from the farm fields, bright brown eyes that constantly track Bessie’s movements, and perked doggy ears—one standing tall while the other flops slightly. She works as a sheepdog (of course—), and would follow Bessie everywhere—helping herd animals (sometimes a little too enthusiastically: because of the chickens—), barking when the gates are left open, and acting like her second brain when Bessie forgets things. She’s the kind of dog that keeps the farm running… even if she occasionally causes a little chaos herself.
Tiffany: Poodle Her name is Velvet. She is a tall, elegant poodle with a rich, deep black coat groomed into a rounded, fluffy silhouette that mirrors Tiffany’s own cloud-like hair, with dense, springy curls that are immaculately shaped, long graceful legs, intelligent dark eyes that seem to watch everything going on in the hair salon like she’s part of the staff, and a tail shaped into a perfectly rounded puff at the tip, dense and springy like a soft pom-pom, with a neatly trimmed and tapered base while the end blooms into a plush cloud. She would absolutely be the salon’s quiet diva—lounging near Tiffany’s station, watching hair-transformations happen, and getting just as many compliments as the clients walking out.
Margaret: British Shorthair Cat Her name is Minerva. Or “Minnie” for short when she is being soft…which is rare. She is a plush, stocky cat with dense, velvety blue-gray fur that looks almost perfectly groomed at all times, a round face with slightly chubby cheeks, amber eyes that always seem to be quietly judging everyone in the room, and a thick tail she wraps neatly around herself when sitting like a proper little observer. She would mirror Margaret in a lot of ways—quiet, observant, a bit intimidating at first—but deeply loyal in her own subtle way. She’s the kind of cat who won’t beg for attention, but will silently appear beside Margaret during late-night chart reviews or TV binge-watches, just existing as calm, grounding company.
Brenna: Poodle Her name is Dior. She is a tall, elegant poodle with a slim, refined build and long legs, covered in luxuriously dense, fluffy fur that blends white with soft creamy undertones, her coat immaculately groomed into a high-fashion show cut with a sculpted curly topknot that cascades like styled hair, full rounded “bracelets” on her legs, her plush, perfectly shaped tail pom that sways with deliberate grace, with striking deep blue, half-lidded eyes give that feels both glamorous and commanding, and a sharply defined dark muzzle. She works as a show champion line (6 times-) and part-time model, and would be the center of attention wherever she goes, effortlessly drawing admiration and quiet envy with every poised step she takes.
Larissa: Ragdoll cat Her name is Miso. She is medium-to-large, plush cat with a soft, cloud-like coat in a muted cream base with delicate gray-blue points on her ears, face, paws, and tail, her fur slightly tousled as if she’s always just come in from a breeze, paired with deep, glassy blue eyes that seem to quietly study everything around her with the attentiveness as Larissa behind her camera. She’s the kind of cat who follows Larissa on slow mornings, sits beside her when she edits photos, and quietly watches the world with her—occasionally stealing the spotlight by being just a little too photogenic to ignore.
Jacquelyn: Russian Blue cat Her name is Skye. She is a sleek, medium-sized cat with dense, velvety blue-gray fur, with a refined, elegant build, long graceful legs, and a narrow face accented by almond-shaped green eyes that always seem calm, observant, and quietly intelligent. She’s the kind of companion who doesn’t demand attention but is always nearby—resting on the arm of a chair, silently keeping Jacquelyn company while she unwinds, or greeting her at the door after long trips with a soft, quiet presence that feels grounding.
Dayana: Sphynx cat Her name is Mancha. She is a sleek, hairless cat with warm grayish-pink skin mottled with darker ink-like patches that resemble spilled paint, large bat-like ears that twitch at every subtle sound, sharp lemon-green eyes that stare with an almost unsettling intelligence, and a long, thin tail that curls like a brushstroke when she’s perched beside Dayana’s canvases. She’s the kind of cat that sits silently watching her paint for hours, occasionally stepping right onto a canvas like she’s part of the process—and Dayana wouldn’t even be mad about it.
Sandra: American Pit Bull Terrier Her name is Wrench. She is a muscular, medium-sized dog with a stocky build and a broad chest, featuring a short, sleek coat in a smoky gray-blue color with a white patch across her chest, small scars along her muzzle hinting at a rough past, and sharp amber-brown eyes that look intimidating at first but soften completely around Sandra. She was rescued by Sandra from a rural roadside fighting ring that had been shut down by authorities, and would basically live at her auto shop—lounging under cars, keeping watch near the entrance, and silently judging anyone Sandra doesn’t like. But the second Sandra sits down or calls her over, she turns into the biggest, softest baby.
Usha: Cane Corso Her name is Muffin. She is a large, powerfully built dog with a broad chest, thick muscular legs, and an imposing stance, her rich chocolate-brown coat, paired with a massive square-shaped head, a strong jawline, and cropped ears that stand upright, while her deep, warm brown eyes soften her entire presence with a surprisingly gentle, almost puppy-like expression despite her intimidating size. She works as a Police K9, and would basically operate as Usha’s silent enforcer—intimidating, precise, and always one step ahead, yet the only one allowed to see her soften without question.
Holly: Holland Lop rabbit Her name is Cannoli. She is a small, round-bodied rabbit with plush, velvety fur in a creamy beige and soft caramel swirl pattern (like a pastry filling), her long floppy ears hanging gently at the sides of her face, paired with big glossy dark eyes full of curiosity, tiny twitching whiskers, and a little cotton-puff tail that bounces whenever she hops—often in slightly clumsy, unpredictable zig-zags that oddly mirror Holly’s own movements. She would get under Holly’s feet all the time—leading to a lot of “whoops—sorry baby!” moments—but also be her little comfort companion after long mail-delivery days, curled up beside her while she reads or cooks.
Shaniqua: Ragdoll Cat Her name is Lullaby. She is a medium-to-large, plush-coated cat with soft, semi-long fur in a creamy beige tone with darker mocha-colored points on her ears, face, paws, and tail, with half-lidded, dreamy blue eyes that always make her look like she just woke up, and a slightly floppy, relaxed posture as she drapes herself over cushions, counters, or Shaniqua’s lap like melted butter. She is known for stretching out in the sunniest spot she can find, dozing for hours, and calmly blinking at customers—basically Shaniqua’s sleepy little soulmate.
And the ones who have pets:
Charolette: Domestic Longhair Cat Her name is Toodles. She is a fluffy, medium-sized tuxedo cat with a luxuriously soft coat of deep black fur contrasted by a crisp white chest, paws, and a little white “mustache” marking on her cat face, with bright golden-green eyes, and a long, plume-like tail she wraps neatly around herself when resting among flower displays. She would spend her days lounging in sunbeams, curling up in empty baskets, and quietly observing customers—occasionally accepting gentle pets from children while Charlotte chats about roses or lilies nearby.
Iyana: Golden Retriever Her name is Bailey. She is a medium-large dog with a well-groomed, flowing honey-gold coat that’s soft and slightly feathered along her legs, chest, and tail, with warm, expressive brown eyes, a sturdy yet gentle build, and a calm, steady presence in the way she carries herself, always moving with quiet purpose at Iyana’s side. She works as a service dog, and was professionally trained. She’s basically Iyana’s partner. She helps guide her through busy vet-clinic spaces, gently alerts her to obstacles, and even assists in subtle ways during examinations by staying calm and grounding both Iyana and nervous animals nearby.
Sara: Chihuahua Her name is Lola. She is a tiny, elegant dog with a delicate deer-shaped face, large expressive dark eyes, and a smooth light tan coat that almost glows under stage lights, with slightly darker shading along her doggy ears and back, her tall, alert doggy ears always perked as if she’s listening to every note Sara sings, while her slim little doggy body carries a surprisingly confident, almost prancing walk, and her tail curls gently over her back, flicking with attitude whenever she’s excited or feeling protective, especially around strangers who get too close to Sara. She would often be found curled up backstage or tucked safely in Sara’s arms, quietly watching every performance like her most devoted little fan.
Tessa: Teacup Pomeranian Her name is Snowflake. She is a tiny, fluffy dog with an exceptionally full, cloud-like coat of pure snow-white fur that’s been meticulously groomed into a rounded, polished shape, with bright, alert dark eyes that sparkle with constant mischief, a small pointed muzzle, and a plumed tail that curls perfectly over her back like a soft feathered fan. She is known around the skating rink—either being adored by younger skaters or zooming around causing mild chaos while Tessa pretends to be stern but secretly adores every second of it.
Seraphina: Yorkshire Terrier Her name is Biscuit. She is a tiny, impeccably groomed dog with long, silky, floor-length fur in a rich steel-blue and warm golden tan blend, parted neatly down the center of her doggy back, her small face framed by soft, feathery strands and bright, alert dark eyes. She is the only “employee” allowed to interrupt meetings—curled in Seraphina’s lap while she makes ruthless business decisions, occasionally getting baby-talk in a completely different tone than how she speaks to everyone else.
Helena: Albino Ball Python Her name is Mireya. She is a smooth, thick-bodied snake with creamy white scales overlaid by soft golden-yellow blotches; her eyes are a striking ruby-red, slightly reflective, and her movements are slow, deliberate, and unnervingly silent, coiling with quiet precision around Helena’s arm or neck like a living scarf. She only wraps around Helena when she’s calm—but tightens slightly when Helena’s anxiety spikes, almost like a grounding pressure.
Lila: Barn Owl Her name is Sonnet. She is a graceful owl with a heart-shaped, pale ivory face framed by a soft halo of tawny-gold feathers, her large, dark eyes appearing almost black in dim light and filled with a calm, knowing stillness; her wings are long and elegant with a blend of warm caramel, ash-brown, and speckled gray patterns that echo aged parchment, and when she moves, she does so in near-complete silence, gliding like a whisper through the air before settling delicately on Lila’s shoulder or atop a bookshelf, her talons gentle but precise. She tends to appear most when Lila is observing others or quietly helping someone—almost like an extension of her awareness. And instead of hooting often, she communicates with soft clicks or subtle head tilts.
Kamari: Labrador Retriever, Domestic Shorthair cat Their names are Max and Luna. Max is a sturdy, slightly chunky dog (black lab mix) with a glossy coat; softened by a faint patch of white on his chest; with warm, deep brown eyes that always seem observant and emotionally in tune; floppy ears that bounce when he walks, paired with a broad snout and a slightly droopy, lovable expression; and a thick tail that wags slowly but powerfully. He would quietly follow Kamari from room to room, always staying close by her side, offering a calm and steady presence as she works late into the night. Luna is a sleek cat (gray tabby) with soft, smoky stripes and a silvery undercoat; with sharp, intelligent green eyes that seem constantly alert, giving her an investigative, almost judgmental stare; a slender but slightly rounded body, and a long, graceful tail that flicks with precision. She would carefully observe everything around her, often perching nearby and watching Kamari with sharp, knowing eyes as if analyzing every move she makes.
Madilynn: Tabby cats Their names are Nietzsche and Hegel. Nietzsche is a lean but slightly plush brown mackerel cat with sharply defined dark stripes running like ink strokes across a warm caramel coat, his fur sleek yet dense, with a lighter cream underbelly; his eyes are amber-gold, always alert and observant, giving him an almost calculating expression, while his ears are slightly angled back in a permanent look of mild skepticism, and his tail flicks slowly as if he’s constantly judging the room in thoughtful silence. Hegel is a fuller-bodied silver classic cat with swirling charcoal patterns that resemble soft marble across her pale gray coat, her fur plush and almost cloud-like, with a rounder face and soft green eyes that carry a calm, balanced, and quietly attentive expression; her movements are graceful but unhurried, often settling beside Nietzsche or Madilynn as if grounding the space with her presence, her thick tail curling neatly around her paws.
˖ ࣪ . 🗞️ 📋 ࿐♡ SUPERMAN!CHRIS WRITING ABOUT DOCTOR!READER IN HIS NEWSPAPER . . .
𓂅 no warnings, just bickering and tension!
written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)
the city’s still recovering from last night’s explosion. the smoke, the chaos, the endless stretch of emergency shifts. you’re exhausted, still in wrinkled scrubs, running on your third cup of coffee when you finally spot the newspaper sitting on the counter of the hospital cafeteria. you pick it up, reading the headline. it’s written by chris.
you skim through it. he wrote about the explosion, about superman saving lives, about the hospital staff working through the night, all the usual stuff an average newspaper article would have. until your eyes land on one particular line.
“no capes were required for the heroes inside metropolis general, though one who runs on caffeine and sarcasm did seem particularly committed to proving that she was in charge.”
you nearly choke on your coffee.
no name, no direct mention, but he knows you know. and you know it’s about you, you don’t even have to question that. and the fact that he put that in print for the entire city to read? absolutely not.
so, fueled by irritation, you grab your keys and storm out the hospital with at least 5 minutes left of your break. the daily planet office isn’t far, just a walk down the block. you push the door open and step inside, still in scrubs, coffee in hand, and determination burning in your eyes.
the newsroom buzzes around you. phones ringing, keyboards clacking, but you only see him. chris, sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, posture hunched, looking far too relaxed for someone about to be murdered.
you trudge up to his desk without warning and slam the newspaper down in front of him.
“really?”
he glances up, a look of nervousness and knowing in his eyes, his expression timid but you can see it transforming into something more cocky. still, his voice wobbles lightly. “oh..uh…good morning to you too?”
“‘no capes were required for the heroes inside metropolis general, though one who runs on caffeine and sarcasm did seem particularly committed to proving that she was in charge?’” you quote the line. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
he leans back in his chair, pushing his black glasses up before his arms cross behind his head. “i didn’t think you’d actually read it.” he says, tone infuriatingly casual, “it means you were impressive. and maybe a little bossy.”
“bossy?” you echo, your voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“inspirationally bossy,” he corrects. “i thought you’d appreciate the exposure.”
“exposure?” you hiss. “i don’t need your newspaper making me sound like some caffeine-addicted control freak—”
he cuts in, clearing his throat awkwardly. “you were running on caffeine.”
“that’s not the point, chris.”
“then what is?” he asks, tilting his head, eyes glinting.
“you made me sound—”
“accurate?”
“—ridiculous.”
he laughs softly, that low sound that shouldn’t make your pulse skip but absolutely does. “come on, doc. if the shoe fits…”
you glare at him, trying to ignore how close he’s sitting now, the faint smudge of ink on his fingers, the way his voice softens when he says, “besides, i meant it as a compliment.”
“oh yeah? what part was the compliment?”
“the part where you didn’t need a cape to be a hero,” he says, quieter now, the teasing fading into something that feels dangerously sincere.
and suddenly, your anger falters.
he leans forward, elbows on his desk, looking at you like he’s memorizing the shape of your annoyance. “admit it,” he murmurs, “you kind of liked the article. i mean, you came all the way here just to yell at me, i didn’t realize my writing had that kind of effect on you.”
“you’re impossible.”
he smiles brightly, the way he always does. “and yet, here you are.”
you grab the paper, roll it up, and smack him lightly on the shoulder before turning to leave. but he calls after you, voice warm with laughter.
“hey, if you’re going to storm in here again, at least bring me a coffee next time.”
Summary: you’re gonna find out what it’s like marrying your charismatic famous fashion designer wife.
TW: GN!reader, plus-size!OC, age gap (reader is 35, Shea is 59), fluff, romantic
• Marrying her means your house never looks accidental—even the “mess” has intention. A jacket draped over a chair? She places it there on purpose. The colors always match. Somehow.
• She’ll swear she’s “not that fashion-obsessed,” while changing outfits three times just to go check the mail. You’ve learned by now not to question it, because it’s just part of who she is. So instead, you just wait by the door, knowing she’ll come out when she’s finally satisfied.
• There is always espresso. Always. The smell lives in the walls at this point. Late nights usually look like soft jazz playing while she sketches, completely lost in her own world, and you just sit there watching her, kind of in awe of it.
• She’s strict in a quiet way. Never raising her voice or snaps, but when she says “no,” it’s final. Especially if it involves bad fabric or ugly stitching.
• You cannot rush her. Ever. Rushing her triggers stress that could make her faint (literally-). So you’ve learned to be very patient. Everything happens on “Shea Time”.
• She doesn’t even ask—just steps in, gives your outfit a quick tug here, smooths a fold there, and hums a quiet “hm” like she’s inspecting her own work. Somehow, in seconds, you’re standing there looking ten times better and she’s already walking away like it was nothing.
• Getting compliments from her feels rare—but when she gives one, it sticks with you. "This suits you, Angel," she says, and you'll think about it all day.
• She's secretly soft, like... REALLY soft, especially with you. Especially late at night when her voice drops low. She leans into you then, her guard completely down. It's like the world isn't watching at all.
• Mittens has a wardrobe that’s honestly better than most people’s, and that’s not up for debate. Taking her fashion seriously isn’t optional—it’s expected.
• She hates being interrupted while designing in her office, but if you bring her espresso and sit quietly nearby, she’ll let you stay. That’s her version of “I want you here.”
• Shopping with her is not quick. It’s a whole experience. She can spend an hour inspecting a single piece of fabric like it personally offended her.
• She doesn’t tolerate nonsense at all. Rude people? They’re immediately out, no questions asked. And when it comes to fashion, anything cheap is completely off the table. You quickly learn exactly what she will and won’t accept.
• She might seem carefree, like she’s just going with the flow, but she actually notices everything. Every little detail, every look you give, even the slightest shift in your mood—it never slips past her.
• She supports you in a really “refined” way—it’s never loud or over the top, just her fixing your collar and quietly saying, “you’ll do well, Angel,” and somehow, you actually do.
• Arguments never really last long between you two. She gets overwhelmed pretty quickly, but she softens just as fast. She just needs calm to come back to herself. And when that happens, you don’t push—you just lower your voice, give her space if she needs it, or gently pull her close, reminding her she’s okay and that you’re not going anywhere.
• She’s absolutely going to dress you for every event. At this point, you don’t even pick your own outfits anymore—she does. Whether you agreed to it or not, you’re basically her muse now.
• Quiet mornings don't exist with her—she hates early mornings. So, do not wake her unless you're ready for consequences. She needs her beauty sleep, and you'll learn that the hard way if you try.
• She keeps little fabric scraps in her pockets like tiny treasures, sometimes handing you one absentmindedly that feels weirdly meaningful.
• Loving her means understanding that fashion isn’t just her job—it’s how she sees the world. And if she ever designs something just for you? Yeah… that’s love.
• She will absolutely judge people in silence—not mean, just a slow blink and a tiny tilt of her head. Then comes the quiet sip of her espresso. You know exactly what that means.
• She’s deep in fashion-designing, and she disappears a little. Hours pass by unnoticed. The world completely fades away for her. But the second she looks up and sees you still there, waiting patiently? Her whole expression softens instantly.
• She hums when she’s thinking—soft, jazzy little tunes slipping under her breath as she sketches. It’s become your favorite background sound.
• She absolutely hates when people try to water down her ideas, and you’ve seen that side of her come out real quick. Her tone gets sharp, her eyes narrow just a little, and suddenly the room feels way more serious. It’s a little scary, yeah—but honestly, it’s also kind of impressive.
• She loves dressing you up more than she lets on. Sometimes it starts as “just a quick adjustment, angel,” and somehow you end up styled head to toe in a full look.
• Lazy days still take effort. She’s in a silk robe with matching slippers, and her hair is still perfectly done. She doesn’t do “sloppy,” only “effortless.”
• She looks at you in this quiet, effortless way—half-lidded, calm, almost unreadable—but there’s this soft warmth underneath it that she only ever shows to you.
• If you’re stressed, she won’t overwhelm you with words. she’ll just sit beside you, rest her chin on your shoulder, fix something small (your sleeve, your hair), and stay close.
• She keeps everything—old sketches, fabric scraps, even her very first designs. She has little pieces of her journey tucked away everywhere, like memories she can hold onto.
• You learn her warning signs: like pausing, placing her hand on her temple, and slightly swaying—yep, get her seated now before she faints.
• She’s actually pretty competitive, just not in an obvious way. When it comes to fashion, she always seems calm and unbothered, but the moment someone tries to outdo her, she’s already ten steps ahead without even trying. It’s like she sees everything coming before it happens.
• She doesn’t like being compared to other designers, so you don’t. EVER. She’s in her own lane, doing her own thing, and she knows exactly who she is. Nobody’s competing with her because she’s not competing with anyone.
• Date nights with her never feel normal. Somehow, every single time you go out together, it ends up looking like something straight out of a magazine. She doesn’t even put in extra effort or make a big deal out of it…it just happens.
• She’s really into makeover shows and ends up critiquing every transformation like she’s one of the judges.
• When she laughs—REALLY laughs—it’s rare, bright, and a little unguarded. Those are your favorite moments.
• Her older quadruple sisters who sometimes visit to their youngest sister, will humble her. No matter how successful or confident she is, they keep her grounded in a way no one else can. You always get a front-row seat to it, and honestly, it’s kind of entertaining. It’s also the only time she gets a little pouty about anything.
• She acts like she’s not really sentimental, but she keeps every little thing you give her. Carefully. Privately.
• Sometimes she’ll be designing in complete silence, just focused and in her own world. Then out of nowhere, she looks up at you and goes, “Don’t move.” And just like that, you’re her inspiration.
• She’s not the type to say “I love you” all the time. That’s just not her style. Instead, she shows it in the little things—the details, the effort, the way she keeps choosing you over and over again without making a big deal out of it.
• People recognize her before they recognize you, and you’ve kind of gotten used to hearing “wait—are you her spouse?” at least once a week.
• People always assume she’s the star of the relationship. But honestly, the way she looks at you makes it pretty obvious you’re her favorite person.
• She plays around with the rules in her fashion label, but when it comes to standards—especially how people treat you—she doesn’t budge. Nobody disrespects you twice. Not with her around.
• Sometimes you catch interviews of her and can’t help but think, as you mutter to yourself, “Wow, that’s my wife?”
• She doesn’t say anything when she’s tired. She just leans into you, dropping all the performance and persona, and lets herself simply be.
Bonus:
• Sometimes Brenna comes to visit Shea, and it instantly turns into a whole little spectacle. They’ve been best friends since forever, and even though Brenna was a supermodel and Shea was a fashion designer, they were still the kind of pair who slipped right back into old habits the second they were together. Shea acts like she’s not delighted, you pretend not to notice the soft look in her eyes, and Brenna notices the espresso on the table, the fabrics spread out around the room, and the fact that Shea is already adjusting her hem before she’s even fully seated. They bicker, gossip, and act way too smug, but somehow they still end up looking better, eating better, and leaving the room like they own it.
This is for the ones who can’t see Usha’s because of content label (AHEM, pricks), hopefully (…?) I’ll be able to make an another story for “Usha x reader” users someday or in the future.
