#last time i had honey buns for dinner so this is at least an improvement

[hope-ur-ok]

I have spent all day feeling like shit, so I've decided to give into my cravings and eat bagels with cream cheese for dinner

[howdoyousleep3]

Since I’m stuck at home this weekend (and can’t see the person that could maybe be my Valentine, it’s a whole thing 🤷‍♀️😬) because snowed all day today and tomorrow the wind chill is gonna be -35, I was wondering if any of your Daddies and their Boys were going to do something for Valentines Day? 💕

Ahhhhh Heather I’m so sorry your Maybe Valentines Day plans fell through. It’s supposed to be so fucking cold here over the next few days. Awful, I hate it, I can’t wait for Spring! I bet the boys and their Daddies definitely do something, hmmm let’s see...

Daddy Steve and Baby Bucky: These boys go all out. They love this day. And holy shit Valentines Day that falls on a weekend?? Lord have mercy, the quality time had. Steve can’t decide on the kinds of flowers to have delivered to Bucky on Friday while he’s at work, he just has all four delivered. Bucky FaceTimes him from the kitchen with watery eyes and squeaks because words are so hard, and all Steve can do is laugh and coo into the phone.

Bucky bakes some of Steve’s favorite oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, puts them in a pretty red tin, wraps a bow around it. Steve is so tickled about them he picks Bucky up off the floor with the force of his hug, sets him right on the counter and has them immediately share one between the two of them.

Steve cooks dinner for Bucky on Saturday, something Italian, has an appetizer of finger foods that he slowly feeds Bucky as he cooks, keeps his wine glass full of his favorite red wine. Poor Buck gets so wound up so quickly Steve almost feels bad for telling Bucky he needs to wait, purring into his ear that he needs to be a good boy and let Daddy cook for him, provide for him.

It’s awful hard to say no to Buck when he gives his Daddy those eyes, asks so sweetly in a soft little voice if he can at least suck Daddy off, but Steve sticks to his guns.

They barely make it through the dinner, Bucky slowly finding his way from the seat next to Steve to his Daddy’s lap, small bites of food and sips of wine becoming less and less frequent between kisses. Steve makes them eat their portions though, makes them enjoy and savor the food he worked so hard to cook for the two of them. By the time Steve slips Bucky his last bite of food, gives him a sip of wine to wash it down, Bucky is vibrating where he sits.

“Go get ready for Daddy while he cleans up a bit…”

Bucky has been ready, has been sitting through the evening with a pretty silver plug with a pink heart at the base nestled between his cheeks, has been squeezing around it wishing it was his Daddy all throughout dinner. He’s more than ready to get fucked through their mattress, doesn’t want to wait, strips himself of his clothes and presents face-down on the bed, wiggles as he waits for Steve.

“Oh, sugar…”

Daddy’s tone, arousal and surprise, pools at the base of Bucky’s neck like warm honey.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy…”

Daddy James and Stevie Baby: Did you all know that James is one of the most romantic people Steve has ever met? Oh, because he most definitely is. James goes all out spoiling his boy on Valentines Day. Steve wakes up to gentle kisses on his cheeks, his eyelids, his lips, wakes up to a bedside table full of white roses. Steve touches them and marvels at how soft they are, thinking of the unmentioned parallels between said softness and his Daddy.

“Got a few surprises for you today. You wake up when you wanna and give me a call. How does that sound?”

It sounds marvelous. Steve takes his time waking up, falls back asleep after giving his Daddy a few indecently wet kisses as he leaves for work. He runs his fingers across his roses again, calls his Daddy from bed.

“I made an open appointment for you at that spa you like. Get what you’d like, the works. Grab some coffee on the way, yeah?”

Steve…floats to his appointment. He floats on this pillowy soft cloud of being blessedly spoiled and loved, on having a Daddy like James, a perfect Daddy. All throughout his massage, his facial, his waxing, he thinks about his Daddy and what it’s like being loved in such a way, how improved his life has been made with James in his life. He thinks about how grateful he is to have found someone who loves him in exactly the way he wants to be loved, who not only puts up with, but embraces how difficult Steve can be sometimes.

By the time he’s standing in the lobby, three hours later, he almost feels like he’s experienced something cathartic.

“Yeah? You sound relaxed. That’s nice, baby. They treat you good?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Oh, listen to that. Ain’t that sweet. You ready for your next surprise?”

It’s shopping. Daddy gives him suggestions on a few shops, tells him he’s picked out a few things at each place that he might enjoy, but that he’s free to go anywhere he’d like. Steve almost wonders if he’ll need an escort, leaving this place and feeling free of all stress and cotton-candy-like, sent off to go buy things for himself. He goes to all of the places Daddy has things set aside for him, tries on all the articles of clothing: shirts, jeans, suits, jockstraps, panties.

He buys almost everything he tries on, adds in a few items for James himself, feels genuine arousal when all of the people who assist him tell him that his partner had already taken care of the bill. By the time he has four bags in each hand and is wandering into the elevator to Daddy’s office, he’s feeling sweet in the head and all over.

“Hey, doll,” Daddy purrs upon seeing him, his face lighting up in the same way that Steve is sure his own is brightening up as well. All Steve can whisper out is a coo of a, “Daddy…”, placing his bags on the couch, meeting James halfway and tipping his chin as Daddy reaches for it. Kissing Daddy makes the pleasure he is already feeling ratchet up, makes the sensation of arousal heavy in each of his limbs.

“Baby…sweetheart, what’sa matter?”

He can’t answer. How is he supposed to answer? His feelings are too large and he’s too far gone to step back and produce words. He responds with whines, with pitiful noises he presses into Daddy’s neck, his jaw, his lips. He’s more than grateful when thick arms hold him up, hold him close.

“Steve, are you okay? Good noises?” The worry in James’ voice tell him he needs to respond, needs to communicate with Daddy.

“So good. So good, Daddy.”

“Oh, pup. Sweet boy, c’mere…”

It isn’t how he expects to spend Valentine’s Day but it’s everything the two of them need. Steve wants to be close to his Daddy, wants to touch him and never let go. He spends the rest of Daddy’s workday at Daddy’s feet, cheek pressed against his thigh, hand in Steve’s hair. From time to time he gets pulled up into Daddy’s lap, gets showered in kisses and praise that prolong his time in that sweet sugary place. Daddy calls him a sweet boy, tells Steve he’s a sweet puppy, that Daddy loves him, that Daddy is so lucky.

Daddy almost has to carry him out of the office, zips up Steve’s jacket, hands him a few bags, gives him a kiss on his forehead.

“Why don’t we go home and you can show me all the pretty things you bought with Daddy’s money today, yeah? Maybe we can do something with that hard pretty prick’a yours…”

3DWD and Bucky Bunny: The Daddy loves his holidays and damn him if he’s not going to take full advantage of one dedicated to his bunny love.

Bucky loves chocolate. Steve gets him two boxes of chocolates, one milk and one dark, and also gets him a box of chocolate-covered strawberries. They’re sitting on the counter alongside flowers and balloons when Bucky traipses downstairs when he wakes up. Bucky’s giggles add ten years to Steve’s life, swear to god. But Steve’s reaction upon opening up Bucky’s present to him is even better, how excited he gets when he opens up the entire Fast and Furious DVD boxed set.

It’s the little things, isn’t it?

These two have more of a relaxed Valentine’s Day together. No doubt Steve wants to watch the Fast and Furious movies, all in order, “…obviously skipping Tokyo Drift. What even was that, Bun?”. Popcorn and chocolates and Bucky eating his strawberries, they spend the day making out and snuggling as they make their way through each of the movies.

They only stop to take a break so Daddy can start on dinner, which most definitely consists of steak, something from Steve’s butcher shop, something that is only the best. He takes his time with it, Bucky catching Steve talking to the meat in the kitchen, trying to verbally sweeten it up. He makes a feast for Bucky, complete with potatoes and brussel sprouts and asparagus and wine and that yummy little butter pat right over the steak.

Their bellies are full and their hearts are happy and their bodies are warm and they can’t help but get a little frisky at the dining room table, giggles and open-mouthed kisses and sighs.

“You tryin’ to give your Daddy dessert before dessert, bun?”

“Mmm, you got dessert planned, big man?”

Steve does indeed. He bundles Bucky up in a big blanket, one of Daddy’s hoodies, shuffles him outside to the fire pit. He gets a fire going easily, holds up a bag of marshmallows with child-like excitement that Bucky matches with a giggle and an applause.

“S’mores!”

They’re sticky and gooey and they eat half of their fill from each other’s hands and from messy kisses. Daddy thinks he can out-sweet Buck but there’s no way in hell he can compete with his bunny’s sweet tooth and he calls it at three.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers against his Daddy’s cheek where they lay snuggled under a blanket in front of the fire, underneath the stars. Steve rumbles, purrs, wraps his arms a tad tighter around Bucky as he breathes, “Love you too, Buck. Love you so much.”

With full bellies and happy hearts, it’s easy for these two to make it an early night. But don’t be fooled—they wake up early the next morning still feeling very much in love and ready to physically prove that.

Senator Rogers and Intern Bucky: The filth, lord the filth. Bucky is so worried in the days leading up to Valentines Day because he’s so uncertain as to what is acceptable and what isn’t for this day and for them. But then he gets a box delivered to his home Thursday while he’s on campus, comes home to find it on his bed. He opens it up, gasps when he sees what’s inside, picks up his phone.

“What is this? Did you…?”

“Well, that’s no way to talk to your Daddy when he’s just bought you a nice pair’a panties for Valentine’s Day, now is it?”

They’re silky and high-waisted and a breathtaking dark green shade that Bucky just knows will make him look delectable. He holds them in his hands, fabric slipping between his fingers, and gets so hard so fast he whimpers. These are no doubt ladies panties and Bucky is no doubt hot for it.

“Put ‘em on. Show Daddy what you look like in ‘em.”

And this is how Bucky spends Valentine’s Day weekend, riling up his Daddy with increasingly filthy pictures of him in the pair of panties Steve bought for him, ignoring a few calls to make his Daddy angry, giggling when he gets threatening texts in response. He riles his Daddy up so much so that Steve sends a car for Bucky to pick him up and take him to the Senator’s house on Sunday afternoon.

“Wear them, fuckin’ have them on under your jeans. Gonna stuff’em in your mouth as I have my way with you, gonna pull ‘em up and over your ass when’m done with it. You don’t even know, Buck…”

💕🥰 Eeee thank you for this Heather! I loved thinking about all of the Daddies. I hope you enjoy and I hope you’re having a sweet day, bb. 💕🥰

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Skeletons in the Closet (baon)

Summary: This is Red's punishment for dealing with amateurs.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic, Humor

Note: I'm so busy with work this week, but I got the idea for this and had to go with it.  I don’t have the focus for actual plot lines, and sometimes I just amuse myself. Heads up for upcoming kustard next to our normal spicyhoney.

Again, this is set before 'Any Other Tuesday'.

'Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

“this is a stupid fucking idea, you know,” were the first words out of Sans’s mouth as they stepped out of the shortcut. The living room was still, the lamps off, but there was enough light coming through the shades to make it easy to see. The room was neat as a pin, even the remotes were lined up on the coffee table and Red wondered, not for the first time, how the hell a neatnik like his bro and a slob like Stretch were compatible.

Years of living with him had probably given Edge a complex or a fetish or something, poor kid. It could have been worse, he guessed; at least he didn’t come down with a freaky thing for dirty socks.

“what’s stupid is that you can’t come up with a better battery for these things,” Red retorted, but there was no heat to it. The amount of fucks Red had to give today was sitting on empty and that was a fact. “changing ‘em out all the time is a bitch and a half.”

Red crawled underneath the end table, using the flashlight on the phone to guide him as he poked at the joints. One of them held a tiny audio device and he couldn’t remember which one.

“you wanted ‘em tiny and portable," Sans said lazily. "can’t have everything, sweet cheeks. what i don’t get is why you needed two different types.”

“gotta have ones for stretch to find and ditch, so he doesn’t keep looking for the other ones.” Ah, there it was. Very carefully, he pulled out the device. It was the size and shape of carpenter nail, unobtrusive. Just as carefully, he replaced it with the new one and scooted back out. “you didn’t need to come.”

Sans snorted at that, shuffling after him as he replaced one in a picture frame. “yeah, kinda did, or i would have to come up with a spy device to spy on you installing spy devices. i like to keep my inception to one level.”

“don’t trust me?”

“you’d never respect me if i did.”

“who says i respect you now?” Red asked idly, swapping out one on Edge’s toy shelf. It seemed a little wobbly but Red shrugged mentally and moved on.

Sans scratched at his cheekbone with an upraised middle finger. “you have a pretty healthy respect for my blowjob skills.”

“i’ll give you that.”

“besides, if i tag along, i can make sure you leave ‘em in the living room and kitchen only. i know you’re a paranoid motherfucker, but that’s the furthest line i’m willing to cross. that and sound only.”

“video would be useful as fuck, you know.”

“a video feed would make them too large and a fuckton easier to track. plus, you don’t need it, j. edgar hoover.”

That was true. He didn’t, not really. If he were honest, he didn’t even use the audio devices that much. It wasn’t like he was tuning in to his daily podcast of the ‘Life and Times of the Honey Bun and the Bro’. Just every once in a while, a quick little check in to hear their voices, confirm everything was on the up and up.

Of course, if Sans would stop being a little bitch and let him put one in the bedroom, he’d be able to check nightly on their snoring but eh, he’d take what he could get.

Red opened the closet door, pushing aside coats and what looked like a raccoon costume, nope, he didn’t want to know about that. This one needed careful positioning or there was too much interference for him to hear clearly. Right on the edge of the door molding was best, and Red carefully exchanged the little device with nimble fingertips.

The sound of a key in front door made him freeze, but having Sans barrel into his back was worse. His weight pushed them both down into the shoes even as Sans scrambled for the door handle. It was barely closed when the front door opened, and he could hear Edge and Stretch’s voices, muffled through the wood.

The closet was pretty full; shoes and coats and fucking raccoon suits, and the addition of two skeletons, even short ones, made it pretty cramped. There was no good way to move and get where Sans wasn’t touching him enough to teleport out, and certainly not a way to do it quietly. Not that it mattered; they weren’t going anywhere fast. Teleporting had a very distinctive sound and since only three of them could do it, only one of whom had a legit reason to be in this house, it wasn’t like anyone would need to use a lifeline to figure out who was escaping the closet. Red was pretty good at silent shortcuts but Sans never had a reason to develop the knack. And it wasn’t like Red was going to ditch out and leave Sans here on his own, anyway.

Although the temptation was there. This is why he worked alone, fucking amateurs.

“why the fuck did you do that?” Red whispered furiously. “i could’ve come up with a reason to be in the house! the closet, not so much!”

“i panicked!” Sans retorted, “and would edge really have believed whatever bullshit excuse you gave him?”

“course not, i taught him better than that! but he would have pretended to and that’s all that matters!” As carefully as he could, Red turned over, both of them sitting atop an uncomfortable pile of shoes and boots. He considered their options.

They could just walk out. Hand over some bullshit excuse even though they were way over the line of pretending to suspend disbelief. Problem was, the odds that Edge would think it was hilarious was pretty even steven with him being pissed off beyond the point of rational thought, and Red wasn’t really feeling the whole ‘verge of fratricide’ today. Plus, it might get Edge and Stretch thinking too hard about what they were really doing here, and Red wanted to avoid that, if he could.

There was nothing for it, they’d have to wait it out.

Probably wouldn’t take too long. They were home early, sure, but his bro had a routine. He’d go upstairs and get changed out of his fancy work duds and then it was off to the kitchen where he’d start whipping up something tasty for dinner. Hell, if he and Sans timed it right, they could stop back and invite themselves over for some grub. His bro always made extra and he’d invited them over for breakfast, not that it meant anything, fuck, no, and—

Oh.

Well, shit.

From the sound that just filtered through the door, it seemed like Edge and Stretch were doing some improv off the written script.

“oh! ooh, oooh, babe, yeah..that's good...ah...”

Their eye lights were the only thing illuminating the closet. It was enough for Red to see Sans stuffing his sleeve into his mouth, stifling laughter.

“knock it off!” Red hissed. The chance of Edge being pissed off if he caught them just got much better odds, and there was that added kicker of Stretch being pissed, too. Stretch was a soft touch, saw too much of himself in Red where it didn’t really exist and sometimes that meant he’d let things slip that he probably shouldn’t. It was a good flaw for him to have and Red didn’t want to risk it by pissing him off too much.

Sans only shook his head, his entire body shaking as he tried to hold in laughter. Luckily, the faint rattle of his bones was muffled into his hoodie.

Not that anyone would hear that over Stretch. Damn but he was a loud fucker, in the literalist of terms.

Red slouched down, tugging up his jacket over his auditory canals, but it didn’t help much. All he could do was listen while those two committed horrible, raunchy crimes against nature and probably various furniture. Keerist, the next time Red came over, he was bringing a folding chair; he didn’t care how good Edge was at deep cleaning.

He forced his mind to skip over any puns on how Stretch was getting deep cleaned, his brother was giving him the whole white glove test…stop it!

Across from him, Sans shifted uncomfortably, not that there was any comfort to be found with his bro’s shoe hoarding tendencies. Red glanced over to find him trying unsuccessfully to hide the soft blue glow at his crotch.

What the fuck…? Red gestured furiously at him and Sans shrugged, unrepentant, and whispered, “hey, neither of them are my brother.” His grin widened wickedly. “got stamina, doesn’t he. shame it ain’t a family trait.”

His grin didn’t lessen one bit as Red drew a threatening finger across his throat; honestly, this was what happened when you let someone sleep over after the fucking, all your threats turned from blades to jello and jiggled their way to fail.

Besides, if he dusted Sans now, it would wreck all these nice shoes. Probably wasn’t enough polish in the world to fix ‘em. Yeah.

It was an effort not to jerk away when bony fingers found his ankles, drifting up underneath his shorts to his femurs. Uh, no, several mentally loud, possibly shrill, levels of no. Red tried to squirm away as much as he could, but there wasn’t far to go and the shoes were piled around them precariously, like a booty trap.

To his horror, his magic was settling in his own pelvis. His mind knew it was his brother out there trying to set a world record on Stretch’s ass, but to his boner, he was getting felt up by someone he was fucking on the regular while someone else in the near vicinity was having a very loud, very vigorously good time.

“don’t,” Red gritted out. immediately Sans stopped, pulling his hands away. Red tried to ignore the ongoing argument between his various body parts over whether or not that was a good thing.

Sans waggled his fingers in the air, “no prob. i’m all about consent, babe. but you could use a better safe word.”

Before he could give his assessment of that, which mostly consisted of a lot of middle fingers, the noise outside rose into a energetic climax.

Whatever bullshit they were whispering soppily to each other didn’t last long. They stirred way before Red was expecting it, he was figuring on a decent amount of yabbing about being their sun, moon, sky, and French fry bullshit. Stretch must not be one for the afterglow and Red hated his mind for accepting that as a possibly useful data point.

“I should go make dinner.” Red would have given an HP point to never have heard that slurred, sated quality in his bro’s voice.

“how about a shower before you touch anything we might eat?”

“That’s unusually fussy of you, considering where you like to put your mouth.” Ugh, the emergence of his brother’s sense of humor was always deeply disturbing.

“think so? if you come upstairs, i’d be willing to put it to the test.”

Red waited, listening to footsteps and the creak of stairs until a door closed upstairs. Then he grabbed hold of Sans’s arm and dragged them both the fuck out of dodge.

Out on the sidewalk, far out of view of the house, Sans stretched in the sunlight, groaning as his spine popped. “that’s better. good to be out of the closet with you.”

It was said so lightly, it shouldn’t have sent alarm bells tripping up Red’s nonexistent nerves. “you—“

“dunno about you, but i could use a nap. something to do with your bed, anyway. meet me there, if you’re interested.” Sans smirked and vanished.

Before Red could follow him, and it was a toss up whether it was for a beating or to fuck him stupider, his phone chimed. Distracted, he looked down and his soul tightened when he saw it was from ‘Idiot #2’.

His fingers didn’t shake at all as he unlocked his phone.

enjoy the show? :D

fuck you. Red sent back, not bothering with anything better. His phone vibrated again.

nah, already had my daily dose in my preferred flavor. i like it sweet and you’re pretty salty. wanted to say i’ll give until tomorrow to come get any of your shitty spy gadgets out of my house. if i find even one, i’m telling him.

Red sighed internally. deal.

That meant Sans had until tomorrow to build him something new. Eh, well. Sans appreciated a challenge.

But first, it turned out that Red had at least one fuck to give and Sans was waiting for it.

-finis-

[golddaggers]

chemistry // part two

pairings: teacher!dylan o'brien x student!reader.

warnings: besides cursing? none.

a/n: look finally decided to realease chapter number two? hahaha :) plus, I’d like to announce that I will be uploading every Saturday. well, the ones I can because university is a bitch. nonetheless, proceed to your reading.

word count: 2,6k+

part one

For some weird reason I was yet to figure out, because it was a lot unlike me, I woke up in an incredible good mood. Which could totally be related to the fact that today was the first sunny morning after weeks enduring grey skies, rain, thick coats and freezing temperatures. Not that I hated all of that, except I did; it made me feel depressed. Plus my hair looked awful.

Yawning tiredly, I stretched out, sitting on my bed. While doing so, my eyes fell to Karen’s sleeping figure all curled up like a ball underneath three sets of sheets on a mattress carefully placed on my carpeted floor. She had decided to stay over the night because we still needed to go over some flash cards to our Algebra exam, that happened to be today, after my mother’s delicious dinner. I wouldn’t be the one to blame her, Louisa Smith was definitely a good cook, which means her belly was probably too full for her to find the strength to leave.

A small laugh slipped past my lips as I got back to my feet, muscles still numb for the amount of hours I stayed in the same position. Either way, I was refreshed to have had, at least once and in a long while, a decent night of sleep; also, the recently made coffee scent alongside the, very likely, scrambled eggs, homemade buns and everything a hungry person could dream about got my stomach complaining, setting my destination to the kitchen room.

The lovely forty year old woman I called mum was humming happily to a song whilst, by smell, squeezing oranges to make my favourite juice. I understood she used cooking as a self defense mechanism to keep herself together; we were still struggling with our father’s departure. It was complicated to even bring up in conversations, so, eventually, we just sort of stopped. I was pretty sure she would get over it. She was the strongest person I had ever known, of course she would.

“Good morning.” I mumbled, hugging her tightly, feeling her tummy shake as the woman laughed. “And this smells great, by the way.”

“Good morning too, sweetheart. What got you up so early?” My mum quizzed, directing me one of her best soothing smiles. “Are you nervous about the test?”

“Yes, obviously.” Rolling my eyes, a tiny smirk curled my lips as I took place at the table. “But it’s not why I’m up. I actually have no idea, but I have this feeling today is going to be great.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, baby girl.”

“I am too, mum, these past weeks haven’t been easy, exactly…”

“Yes, I am aware of that, but you know what? We’re in a much better place now.”

“I think so too.” Supporting my elbows on the table, I watched my mother’s tired traits. “I want you to be happy too, ma.”

“I’m going to be fine!” The older woman looked away, prohibiting me from spotting her probably glassy eyes. “Now eat, before-”

A pale seventeen year old walked inside wearing a ridiculous bright red nightshirt and a sleeping mask controlling the brown mess that her hair was. She smiled kindly to both of us.

“Mrs. Smith, if you were going to say ‘eat before the eating monster arrive’, that would have been a great advice.”

The three of us shared a laugh before reuniting at the already set kitchen table, everything in place so we could eat together; Karen stole to her plate two muffins, three little breads, a couple of bacon’s slices and eggs, obviously. My mum and I just gazed at her, trying to hold our chuckles back. For someone so small, my friend definitely had a huge appetite.

Once the fun moment was over, we conducted a rather great breakfast, discussing light matters and gossiping like three old friends would do. To be honest, while we chatted, I was in awe to see that my mother was indeed improving; you could tell she had no masks on this time. No pretending nor disguising to be okay. It was purely and merely her.

Yes, this surely was a sign that a great day was ahead of me.

About twenty minutes later, Karen and I went upstairs to get ourselves ready to go to school. Because it was still a lot early, each one of us took our time to enjoy a warm bath, to pick a nice outfit, fix our hairs, etc, etc. Standard girl stuff, I guess.

“So,” The brown haired girl questioned, brushing her hair and locking it up in a tight pony tail. “You haven’t mentioned your date with Mr. McHottie a single time. Aren’t you going to go?”

“It’s not a date!” I whined, putting on a colourful sundress that fell to the mid of my thighs. Her green eyes glanced at me in disbelief, a smug grin taking over her heart shaped face. “It’s not! This is a class. Strictly professional.”

“Yeah… I just don’t buy it.” Scoffing, she stood and straightened her grey skirt, which matched perfectly her white buttoned blouse, the blue cardigan and also her heels. “You wouldn’t be dressing so nicely if the inner you didn’t think this is more than a casual lecture.”

“You are crazy, Karen.” Shaking my head, I slipped in my normal tennis shoes and put on a jeans jacket, grabbing my already fixed backpack that was placed near my closet’s door. “Can I just be in a good mood for once? Not everything has to be about men, you know.”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, I’m just mentioning I’m happy. That’s all. And that it has nothing to do with Mr. O'Brien.”

“Fine, if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push it.” Karen sighed, collecting her bag as well. “But, seriously, who are you denying this for? Me or you?”

The girl left without giving me time to even come up with a proper answer. Of course she had point; Karen knew very well I had had a crush on him a while back, in the tenth grade. But it was over, I was just kid. Furthermore, I highly doubted Mr. O'Brien would even think about the possibility of being with student; he was way too professional for that to happen. Like, friends, I guess, but dating? Not in million years.

A final exhale escaped as I made my way downstairs; I sure as hell needn’t to convince anyone, nor myself, that nothing was happening, because, well, nothing was happening. He was just being nice. That’s all.

“What took you so long, darling?” My mother questioned as soon as I took my place on the front seat, putting my bag on my lap as I fastened my seat belt. “You look pale too.”

“I’m fine, I swear.” Gazing through the corner of my eye to the back row, I saw Karen shake her head, frowning at my response. “By the way, I might be running late today.”

“Why so?”

“Uh, my chemistry teacher, Mr. O'Brien, offered to help me catch up on the subject. He said I have been off lately.”

“Isn’t Mr. O'Brien the hot one?”

My cheeks quickly reached a scarlet tone as my eyes grew wide to her last sentence. Since when does my mother notice if people are hot or not? I was clearly shocked, yet, Williams broke the tension with a laugh, getting mum to do the same.

“Mum!”

“Just commenting, silly girl. You should see your face.” She stopped under a red sign, looking at me tenderly. “If he says so, I’m okay. Just don’t be so late, alright?”

“Got it.”

Connecting the white earbuds to my phone, I opened the Spotify app and swiftly drowned myself on Sofia Karlberg’s version of the song ‘Toxic’, wishing nothing but to distract myself of all the things that could lead me into thinking of my encounter later with a certain chemistry teacher.

As it turns out, the whole putting out of my mind my own human personification of a Greek God was incredibly hard. I mean, I tried, I really did, but his sinful honey eyes kept haunting me the entire course of my classes. Seriously, why couldn’t him be like my AP Calculus teacher: bald, pudgy and not at all attractive? It would make things a lot easier for me.

Biting my bottom lip to contain a frustrated sigh, I glared at Mrs. Ziemann, trying to focus on her interesting lecture about the end of World War I. She excitedly explained how wrecked both Italy and Germany were once it was over, especially the latter, with the cruel Treaty of Versailles. Oh, well, at least paying attention to that could allow me to forget I was only five minutes away from my meeting.

As the woman finished her presentation, I wrote down a few topics to look upon later when studying the subject, which I needed to do, because this good looking lady was known for her killer exams. On a side note? I may have cried myself after a couple of them.

“And this wraps up our class today.” She smiled solemnly, her pretty blue eyes locked on the back of the class where the lacrosse team was based. “Oh, wait, before you all go, I would like to inform I want, for next week, a paper on the tragic events at the end of World War I.”

This time I didn’t hold back a sigh, taking notes on my journal to do this assignment soon, for next week I also had, oh darn, a chemistry exam. Fate must really think my life is a big fat joke. That’s ought to be it.

I swiftly packed my stuff, placing a handle on my right shoulder and moving away from the class, only to find Karen leant against a wall outside, trying to look casual while chewing gum. Oh, yes, I had to solve this too.

“Please tell me you forgot about our little misunderstanding from earlier today.”

“I didn’t.” Her eyebrows were knitted together, her mouth forming a straight line. “But I’m willing to move past it if you promise to tell me the details of your “class” with Mr.McHottie.”

“You are such a gossiper!” I laughed, stopping at my locker to get my Chemistry book volume two. “I have been trying all day long to not think about it.”

“Let me guess: useless.”

“Damn right it was.”

“Well, he won’t bite you, at least.” The green eyed girl patted my back, a smirk plastered on her face. “Not unless you want to, I guess.”

“You are such a mean whore.” We both chuckled, our next stop being in front of Mr. O'Brien’s office, me knocking at the door twice. “And this is where I leave you, K.”

“Tell me the details!” She whispered, winking at me playfully. “I mean it!”

“Get out! Now!”

Williams raised her thumbs up to me, winking one last time then disappearing in the halls just before the brown haired man, also known as Greek God, also known as my chemistry teacher, opened the door. I certainly wasn’t ready to see him so loose, if that’s the correct term.

His hair was more disheveled than usual, the scruff still framing the beautiful pink lips, his white casual shirt had a button open, revealing an adorable puddle of chest hair, and his red tie was lying over his desk from what I could see. O'Brien directed me a comforting smirk, placing his rather large hand on my back, pulling me to get inside the room. One small comment so we can proceed: did he have a heater on or was it me that just suddenly grew warmer under his touch?

Gripping tighter on my hard covered book, I went forward to take seat on one of the first row’s places whilst he stayed behind to close the door. Okay, first minutes, still not weird. Maybe just a little bit. Why am I so tense?

“Are you okay, Smith?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I’m just a little bit nervous…”

“You don’t have to be.” He smirked tenderly, pulling a chair to sit in front of me. “It’s just you and me, plus I won’t do anything to you.”

“Uh, people already think you-”

“Well, I seriously don’t mind what people think. You’re amazing, you know?” His eyes connected with mine for a while until he gazed down at his feet. “I meant as a student. That’s why I picked you to tutor.”

“Thank you, Mr. O'Brien, you are a wonderful teacher as well. I love your lectures so much!”

“That’s relieving, it would be pretty bad if my favourite student didn’t like them.” A small laugh slipped and, suddenly, all the nervousness was gone. “Should we start?”

“Yes, definitely.”

The following hour was simply incredible!

If him teaching to a whole class was good, having him as a mentor was even better. It was like he didn’t have to hold back nor maintain a straight face all the time. Plus the jokes? Damn, I could never have imagined he had such a great sense of humour. I mean, the man had gift on finding the right words to make me laugh like there was no tomorrow.

By the end of our time, I had not only gotten more confident on physical chemistry, but also met a side of my teacher I didn’t know previously. Mr. O'Brien, or Dylan, as he asked me to call him, was a sweet, caring guy. If the fifteen year old version of me had known this, she would be dead and buried now. God, I was a lame kid.

“It was nice being being with today.” He mumbled, nudging my shoulder with his and wearing the best smile in the whole wide world. “I’m glad we’ll be doing this for a few more weeks.”

“I’m glad too.” The watch on my wrist told me it was over six pm, which strictly meant my mum would be all over the place once I got home. “I should get going.”

“Wait, I-I…”

“Yes?”

“Oh, fuck it.”

Not thinking twice, he cupped my cheeks, pressing his perfectly shaped lips against mine in a sweet, tender kiss. At first I was surprised, however, as his tongue slowly licked stripe at my bottom lip, I melted away, surrendering to his touch. It was definitely nothing I could have ever dreamt about. The way his hands found the crook of my waist, how we moved in perfect sync… Everything felt like this was meant to be.

When air became necessary, we merely glued our foreheads together, gazes boring into one another. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t ideal, but, hell, I enjoyed this.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, we shouldn’t-”

I didn’t want to hear the rest, he wouldn’t pop my bubble so soon, therefore, I kissed him again, this time with much more passion and hunger. So strong we were left a heaving mess afterwards.

“You’re an amazing kisser too.” O'Brien whispered, making me giggle. “I mean it.”

“You are one crazy person, O'Brien.”

“I told you should call me Dylan.”

“As you wish, Mr. O'Brien.” Playfully winking at him, I stole another peck, earning a small smile from him. “This is crazy… I mean, someone could have seen us! Oh, fuck, what if one of the cleaning ladies saw us? You could lose your job! Shit!”

“Relax, nobody saw us.” His thumbs massaged my cheekbones, trying to sooth me. “But you can’t tell this to anyone, okay? Not even Miss Williams. Even though I don’t regret one bit, I could really lose my job if this comes out.”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone, it will be our little secret.”

“Deal.”

I hid my face on the crook of his neck, breathing in the intoxicating musk of his cologne. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening to me; I mean, it was too surreal. If it was a rumour about Briannah, I would have believed more, because, well, she did want to do it, but me? Nah, it was messed up. Nonetheless, it wasn’t less real. I was indeed within his arms. And, in that particular moment, I decided to not care about the consequences any longer.

[poeticandvaguelysweet]

Prompt #204 - Charlie, Elliot and Gingerbread

PROMPT: we have a family tradition of making and decorating gingerbread together

15 days until Christmas. December 10th. 

I think this is the first time in a little while where I haven’t written a depressing chapter for Charlie and Elliot. This one filled me with so much joy to write. I hope you like it. 

AO3 - C&E Index

CHARLIE, ELLIOT AND GINGERBREAD

Traditions had become an important part of their household. Owen valued them as teaching their daughters valuable life lessons in familial compassion and patience. He and Claire had once drifted from their respective parents and siblings. The last thing Owen wanted was for his daughters to grow up and do the same. They put a big emphasis on family time, especially around the holidays.

Charlie was a year old when Owen started making gingerbread with her. She sat in a highchair in his mother’s new kitchen in San Diego, smashing cookie cutters on her plastic tray while Claire ran out for last minute Christmas shopping. Owen, since then, took on his mother’s recipe and spent a few days before Christmas with Charlie baking.

It got easier as the years went on, especially once the girl could actually help and not make a complete mess. Sometimes Claire joined them, other times, she didn’t. It wasn’t until Elliot was two that it became a compulsory family task. It also stopped being a single gingerbread house and became a village of four oddly decorated homes. The girls were chaos, still a little haphazard with their hands as Owen gave Charlie the pieces of her house to construct herself. She was ten, her fine motor skills were improving but she couldn’t for the life of her keep four walls and a roof stuck together with quick-drying royal icing.

This year, she refused all help.

Owen usually leant over her shoulders, instructing her to hold her hands tight against two walls as he piped them together. Claire wrangled Elliot, their toddler desperate to cover herself with sugar as her hands turned sticky and ended up with more candy in her belly than on her house. It was a nightmare and Owen loved it.

‘You sure you don’t want any help?’ Owen asked, laugh on his tongue as he looked over at Charlie on the other side of the kitchen island.

Giving her father a loud mhm-hmm, Charlie nodded. ‘I can do it, Daddy!’ Her smile was contagious, self-assured tone promising the fact that her house was lopsided and about to crumble was all in her plans. ‘It’s a house for The Raptors.’ He was taken aback. They didn’t want to tell her about Jurassic World, hell, they thought they managed to avoid that story altogether but when the ten year anniversary rolled around Owen and Claire realised it was inescapable. Charlie was old enough to recognise her mother’s name on the news, so were her classmates. They told her everything, as much as they thought their ten-year-old could handle — which was quite a bit considering her life history. And when Charlotte Mae Dearing-Grady had questions; they answered as truthfully as they could. ‘They’re not very good at keepin’ things nice. So, it’s a little destroyed.’ On that comment, the icing thick roof caved in, each piece falling in on each other. ‘Perfect!’ She gleamed, ignoring the puzzled look on her mother’s face.

This wasn’t the Charlie they knew but then again, it probably was; the messy perfectionist.

Claire, although not the most talented of chefs, had a good hand when it came to art. Owen looked forward to handing her the pieces of her house and watching as his wife decorated them in icing before constructing it — always with his help. She laced icing in easy curlicues, twisting and turning in intricate patterns that always seemed effortless. Her pieces were always the shining star of their small collection and the look on her face when it was done, perfect and admired, was all worth the frustration of sticky, impatient and sugar-filled little girls.

‘I think they would love that. But, you sure you don’t want it standin’ up?’

Charlie shook her head and slipped off her stool. ‘I’m missin’ somethin’.’ She told them, frowning softly in thought.

Her mother called after her, watching Charlie’s red hair, in a messy bun disappear around the corner as her anxiety rose. ‘Don’t touch anything, baby, your hands are sticky!’ Charlie didn’t respond, just left them with the sound of her feet on the stairs.

Claire rolled her eyes, knowing they would never find the mess in time if Charlie did happen to leave a smearing of icing on the wall or dropped jelly beans in her room. At least, they didn’t have to worry about Ellie and a choking hazard anymore. Owen kissed his wife’s cheek, grinning from ear to ear happy for the time together as she turned back to her toddler wobbling on the stool beside her.

‘Ellie!’ Claire shrieked, four-year-old holding a whole side of her gingerbread house in her mouth. In the three minutes Charlie distracted them, Ellie had managed to nibble her way through a quarter of her Christmas treat. ‘Honey, this isn’t for eating now.’ Claire tried to scold, reaching for the now square piece of drooled on gingerbread in Elliot’s hand.

The girl shook her head. ‘No, Mama, I’m eating it.’ She told her, fair and square grinning with her small baby teeth.

‘Well, there’s an answer for the ages.’ Owen teased, wrapping his arm around Claire’s waist as he centred her to him. ‘I like that their personalities change from year to year. Last year Charlie cried because hers wasn’t as pretty as yours. Elliot cried because we moved the candy out of her reach — her house was covered. The year before …’ he trailed off. Max. ‘I mean, everyone really wasn’t feeling their best and we just ended up leaving gingerbread pieces for mom and dad while we were away. We bought gingerbread that year.’ A shock horror. ‘And all the Christmases after that, Ellie was too little to properly join in. Sure, she’s still eatin’ it before we’re finished but she’s here and she’s gonna remember it.’ He kissed the top of her head.

‘Is it bad that I just want to redo them all once they’ve gone to sleep?’ Claire confessed, eyes on the time knowing they had a few more hours before the girls would start to close their eyes.

Owen nodded, his laugh loud, her head tucked under his chin. ‘You already did that to the ornament placement on the tree. You can’t do it to their gingerbread village too. Plus, I like that yours is the best. Goes to show the hierarchy of the house.’

‘I mean if this is the hierarchy of the Grady family home.’ She gestured to the little cookie houses. ‘Elliot is my second in command.’ Claire hummed, assessing his creation to that of their youngest child. Charlie was no contender, her gingerbread lay in broken stacks, covered in icing and candy that had been previously placed meticulously. Owen wasn’t as good at decorating as he was at baking enough gingerbread for the four of them — and then some. There were always extras in case the girls got hungry or their gingerbread couldn’t hold the weight of all their candy pickings. If the spare pieces survived the craft, Owen cut them together to construct something bigger just so he could show off. He was all construction. The decoration didn’t matter.  

Owen shrugged, ‘I didn’t need gingerbread to tell me your baby comes before I do in the social order of this house.’ He teased, squeezing her gently as he pressed another kiss to her hair.

Charlie was back in an instant, slipping back onto her stool and squeezing more icing on her crumbled house without a word. Her parents watched her squish four plastic dinosaurs into the mound before the girl looked up at them with a cheek-splitting grin. ‘Blue, Charlie, Delta and Echo.’ She told the baffled faces in front of her, small finger pointing at different colour and announcing their name. With Claire and Owen’s explanation of their past also came Charlie’s fascination with dinosaurs. They weren’t too sure how to handle it but knew plastic toys weren’t going to hurt her. For the most part, Jurassic World had been a thrilling adventure that her parents, once upon a time, had loved. ‘But, I wasn’t named after Charlie, was I?’ The girl asked, face coiled towards her nose. Owen and Claire shook their heads. They had been over this before. ‘I was named after a person?’ They nodded. Then again, his raptor was named for the person too, in part, Charlie was named for the Velociraptor named for the real Charlie. At the time, Owen wasn’t prepared to explain that to the woman who had just given birth. She knew the story and was happy to name her child in memoriam. For a person. ‘Ellie is eating her house, that’s not allowed.’ Charlie pouted, her attention drawn to her sister. ‘You said we couldn’t!’ Her gaze was directed back to her father who only shrugged.

‘I mean, you can, but what will Nana and Granddad get to eat tomorrow?’

‘Yours?’ Charlie offered with a sarcastic quick of her lip.

Claire cleared her throat, hand on her husband’s shoulder. ‘You know what? I think everyone is finished. Do you want to watch a movie before bed?’ The sun had set, their little bellies full of dinner — and Ellie’s filling with gingerbread. Claire was happy to fill them with distractions until their eyes started to drift closed.

They were already halfway there when Charlie settled on Elf already curled up beside her father as the man hit play and set the remote aside. Elliot was curled in Claire’s lap like the baby she used to be, eyes already closed. They smelt of ginger and syrup, all things sugary and sweet as Claire took in a deep breath, her nose pressed to Elliot’s head before she pressed her cheek to Owen’s shoulder.

She thought they would fall asleep during the movie, was convinced that plan would work as she rubbed soothing circles across Elliot’s back, the little girl almost snoring in her arms. They got forty-five minutes into the film before Charlie crawled off her father’s lap and moved to lie under the Christmas tree, another ten and Elliot was right beside her.

They left them. The girls were more than capable of quiet play in their rooms without supervision, they would be fine looking up through the branches of their tree in the very same room as their parents remained interested in the movie. And if Claire could find an excuse to cuddle her husband beyond when they were sleeping, she was going to take it.  

It was when Owen let out a snore that Claire called the end of their night. She pulled away from him, but not before hesitating a minute longer. They would be in bed soon, wrapped in each other, girls asleep in their individual rooms but Claire couldn’t help but savour the warmth of her husband when she had it. ‘C’mon.’ She stood, voice commanding but quite in the sleepy room. ‘One,’ she brushed a hand across Charlie’s head, ‘two,’ Claire pulled Elliot back into her arms. ‘Three.’ She clapped her hands, holding her smallest child, Ellie’s arms wrapped around her neck as she turned to Owen. ‘Time for bed. You too, Papa Bear.’ She reached a spare hand out for him as he pulled himself off the couch, and shuffled into line behind Charlie before he picked the girl up and carried her the rest of the way to her room, her head tucked against his shoulder.

They went to bed without a fight, tucked under the covers and kissed goodnight. Under the roof of their gingerbread house, they dreamt of the lights twinkling in the tree and the presents that surrounded them following their morning of sweets.