[GL] Someone Once Told Me the Grass is Much er on the Other Side-Chapter 138: Sophmore Year Arc: Three

"ITS BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMASSSS!" Adama sung throughout the house as she skipped about, her bass tone adding in vibrations into the house.

The teenage Alpha continued to skip about decorating, the only one in the house since her sires were at the office and mother at the restaurant.

She grabbed a fake wreath and tossed it onto the banister, fake pine needles sprouting from the plastic framework as it landed. She took a step back, tilting her head at the sight, before shrugging and moving on. Good enough for her.

Her socked feet padded up the creaky staircase, avoiding the third step, not out of superstition, but because it groaned like a dying whale underfoot.

The attic door loomed ahead, its old wood grain stained with years of neglect. She hooked her fingers under the latch, pulling it down with a rusty squeal, and a puff of dust fluttered out in lazy swirls.

The Christmas tree stood propped in the corner, its synthetic branches pressed flat from months of confinement, the scent of stale cardboard thick in the air.

She dragged it out by its trunk, fingertips brushing against brittle pine needles that prickled like half-hearted threats.

The stairs bit into her knees as she descended backward, the tree’s awkward bulk wedged between her ribs and the railing. Each step sent its wire branches scraping against peeling wallpaper, leaving behind faint green smears like drunken signatures.

"Hiyah!" She threw the tree to the corner and began to dig through the boxes to start decorating it.

The first ornament she pulled out was a misshapen lump of clay, her kindergarten attempt at a reindeer, complete with lopsided antlers and a single googly eye that had long since lost its stick.

She pressed it to her nose, inhaling the ghost of fingerprint-smudged glue and powdered paint.

The other ornaments came tumbling out in clinking heaps, glass baubles rolled across hardwood like runaway planets, their metallic finishes reflecting distorted slices of ceiling light.

Somewhere beneath the tangle of hooks and garland, she unearthed a felt Santa whose beard had been chewed by moths into a lopsided grin.

Adama navigated through the ornament graveyard with socked toes spread wide, avoiding shattered candy cane shards with the precision of a bomb squad technician. A rogue jingle bell rolled into the heating vent with a final, hollow plink.

Once she was done with the tree, she went to the couch to get her laptop. The goal: look up ginger bread cookie recipes.

"Whoo whoo, gonna try and bake. Whoo whoo, gonna try and bake," she repeated.

Adama tossed herself onto the couch with the gracelessness of a teenager who’d never known joint pain, her laptop bouncing slightly on the cushions as she flipped it open with one hand. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

The screen blinked awake, casting a blue sheen across the darkening living room, winter sunlight already retreating behind the neighbor’s roofline, leaving streaks of orange clinging to the walls like melted sherbet.

The laptop set on the island of the kitchen while Adama was making the shapes of the ginger bread.

She kneaded the dough, fingers pressing deep into the sticky mass, flour dusting her wrists like powdered sugar snow. The warmth of the dough seeped into her palms, alive and yielding. A cinnamon-laced breath escaped her nostrils as she rolled it out, the pin squeaking against the counter in protest.

"Hmm hmm," she grunted to herself.

The cookie cutter plunged into the dough with a satisfying thump, cleaving through spiced layers to create a stiff little man with outstretched arms.

Adama peeled away the excess, revealing the gingerbread soldier lying prone on flour-dusted marble. She repeated the motion: plunge, twist, peel, until the counter became a battlefield of doughy casualties awaiting their fiery fate.

"HAHAHAHA!" She laughed wickedly as she banged her hands on the counter.

The oven door yawned open, exhaling a wave of stored heat that curled against Adama’s cheeks as she slid the tray inside. The gingerbread men lay in neat rows, their doughy faces smooth and blank, arms raised in eternal surrender.

She watched through the smudged glass as heat distortion made their edges waver, bellies puffing slightly as if taking their first breath.

By this time, it was getting late and she had already taken her shower. She skipped down the stairs in her boxers and a tank top to the family computer to put on some Christmas music.

Ding!

"Cookies!" She ran to the kitchen, her socks sliding on the floor as she made it to the oven. She took the cookies out, waving them.

The scent of molasses and burnt sugar curled through the kitchen, clinging to her tank top as she bent over the tray. Golden-brown edges glistened under the overhead light, a few rogue raisins studding their torsos like shrapnel wounds.

"Hehe," she placed the sheet on the counter top let them cool and as she did, the front door open revealing Samantha and Salmona walking through along with Lacy.

"Sireees!" She ran to her sires, hugging both Samantha and Salmona at once while Lacy was next. The Omega laughed.

"Whats that smell?" Lacy asked, putting her purse and keys down in her usual spot.

Adama broke the embrace with her parents and spun on her heel, arms spread wide toward the kitchen. "I made cookies!"

Lacy inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring at the scent of molasses and browned butter curling through the air.

Her fingers twitched toward the counter where the gingerbread men stood at attention, their sugar glaze still wet enough to catch the fading daylight.

"Since I’m going overseas, figured itd be good to learn how to cook and bake," Adama exclaimed.

"Yeah, but theyre gonna feed you," Samantha said, taking a bite.

Crunch!

"Yeah...but still, it’ll be good to know," Adama said.

Salmona nodded her head with her cheeks fat from the cookies, three of them.

"Man, I can’t believe Aurora isn’t going to be here for Christmas," Adama complained as she slouched on her couch with her feet propped up.

Salmona was eating another ginger bread as she stood laid slouched over the wrap around couch.

"Yeppers, she’s growing on up. Since Jasona is leaving the country like YEW, they’ll spending the holidays together."

"What holidays? There’s only Christmas," Adama whined. "And is my clit big?"

"Dude, we don’t know," Samantha said. "And don’t talk about your clit when your mother is here."

"What! Mom is up stairs taking a shower!"

"LALALALALALA!" Aurora song in the shower.

"What about your clit, Adama?"

"I want you to see if its big," Adama said.

Adama hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her boxers before salmona could finish her sentence, yanking them down past her hips in one fluid motion.

The fabric caught momentarily on the curve of her left knee before pooling around her ankles like a fallen flag. Cold air prickled against newly exposed skin, both from the winter draft sneaking through the old window frames and the abruptness of the reveal itself.

Her sires looked at her groin. "Your clit is fine." Salmona said.

"Yeah. Its a good size," Samantha confirmed reading her cell phone.

Lacy’s bare feet made no sound on the steps, she’d perfected the art of silent descent years ago, back when midnight snacks required stealth to avoid waking newborns. The wooden stairs held their breath beneath her weight.

At the base of the staircase, she blinked, once, twice—at the scene before her. Adama’s boxers lay discarded near the coffee table like a discarded snakeskin, one sock still clinging stubbornly to her left foot.

The omega’s nostrils flared at the mingled scents of gingerbread and something distinctly adolescent hanging in the heated air.

"ADAMA, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? YALL?"

"She wanted us to see her clit. To see if it was big enouch," Salmona explained.

Lacy’s fingers found the bridge of her nose, pressing hard enough to leave temporary crescents in her skin. The tendons in her neck stood at attention as her jaw worked silently, calculating the appropriate reaction to finding her teenage daughter pantsless in the living room while gingerbread cooled in the kitchen.

Adama’s bare toes curled against the hardwood, suddenly aware of the draft creeping up her thighs. She bent at the waist with the exaggerated care of someone trying not to spill a full glass, fingertips brushing the discarded boxers where they lay in a crumpled halo around her ankles.

Snap!

The elastic waistband snapped back against her hips with a quiet thwip.

Adama flopped back onto the couch cushions, bare legs splayed like a starfish’s limbs, one sock still clinging precariously to her toes.

Salmona’s fingers left powdery trails on the upholstery as she reached for her fifth gingerbread man, the cookie’s head already bitten clean off in one decisive chomp.

The microwave door opened with a pneumatic sigh, its interior light revealing fossilized cheese splatters from some forgotten midnight snack raid but this was the night for them to just all relax.