#she’d come to pick up her little girl with her boots and jeans splattered with chicken blood

[cygnus-is-tired]

So I’ve been lurking in the gravity falls tags for a bit and seen quite a few vampire Fiddleford aus. Which is wonderful don’t get me wrong, but most of them lean into the more classic victorian aesthetic. I however, wanted to lean more in a southern direction, I drew on some classic cowboyish designs as ways for him to hide his… affliction

Cowboy hat to shade his eyes and cover his ears (sorta)

Bandana to shield his teeth from view

Boots and messy jeans (because every farmer/ worker I know is always covered in various muck and viscera) to cover any blood he may accidentally leave on him

Vest because it looks neat

[kyberphilosopher]

Cerise

Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died They were all my friends and just died.

Word Count: 5736 Warnings: Crime, Weapons, Mentioned Murder of a R/pist, Crude humor.

Jason’s friend and roommate, another Gotham villain, is ordered to return to Task Force X.

ce·rise/səˈrēs,səˈrēz/ [noun] a bright or deep red color.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Let’s open up our story on a colorful note: Fuck Amanda Waller. 

Nobody likes her. You don’t like her. Jason doesn’t like her. None of the characters in this story like her. Arguably, none of the characters in your present universe like her, either. There’s a reason why people call her “The Wall”. It’s because that’s what it’s like talking to her. And that’s what it would be like trying to deny the request she’d passed on to you in her letter. 

It weighed on your mind briefly as you walk up the stairs of your apartment building. By the third flight, the weight’s pretty much disappeared. Sure, there’s anger at Waller for violating your agreement, but it’s so useless being annoyed with her that it washes away fast. So by the fourth flight, the whole thing is settled in your head to completion. You’ll go back to your Suicide Squad- or a Suicide Squad, considering most people Waller selects are idiots. Then you’ll do the job, and walk away bing, bang, boom. 

You tip your head politely as if in salute to the older woman, Mallorca, who occupies the apartment across from you. She returns a warm smile that raises her prominent and wrinkled jowls, igniting the fire in her warm brown eyes. “You need me to do your laundry again?” 

Of course an angel such as Mallorca would make such an offer. It’s not a bad offer, either. Your dark, silver lined chest plate is splattered with blood all over the front. It’s nobodies blood that doesn’t deserve it, as per your agreement with Waller. Just some perverted little prick who thought with his dick instead of his brain with the wrong girl. She looked frightened, and you saved her, and since the prick had just hit 18 (a fact you learned after rummaging around his wallet after), you had permission to bash his brain in. Hence the blood splattered vigilante armor. 

The first time Mallorca had seen such a sight, she had no reaction whatsoever. You weren’t sure what else you were expecting from an old woman living in a back alley apartment building, but it certainly wasn’t that. She offered no shock to your red masked, blood stained roommate either. Mallorca is simply an otherworldly being. And is that cocaine you see on the collar of her shirt?

“I got it,” you throw in return, rounding the corner so she’s at your back, and nearing the climb up the next and last flight of stairs. “Hey, is Jason home?” But when you turn around fully, Mallorca shows no intention of responding and has disappeared down your previous staircase. You clasp your hands against the sides of your thighs, “Oh, okay.”

You make your way up the final steps and stick a hand in a secret back pocket to fish around for your keys. You wince when you begin the rigorous task of tugging the lanyard free from the depths, which unfortunately fell near to your back hole. Then you slip the key into the lock and twist. 

Inside your apartment is near emptiness. There’s a couch, a rug, some windows, a TV, and to your immediate right is a small kitchen beside a hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. You see the large plant you’d stuck in the corner is wilted and tinged brown, and the TV is playing some movie with the sound muted. No sign of your roommate, however. 

You toss your helmet and keys onto the couch. Then you make your way to the kitchen to search the fridge for a snack (that you know is not there) or perhaps some water. You bend down to peek an eye in, only to stand back up and close the thing. Then you pass over to the counter, and reach up to now peek an eye in the overhead cabinet. 

“You’re home early.”

You let out a short-but cathartic- scream, jumping as you turn around. You relax quickly. It’s only Jason, and your face changes from shocked and panicked to simply annoyed. 

The man at the other side of the room pulls his infamous red helmet from atop his face. Underneath is a classically masculine, handsome face with eyes that blend between green and blue. Black hair falls free in messy strands, accented by the one white tuft that you’ve claimed reminds you of a skunk. You tilt your head lazily in defeat. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Jason shrugs in his red hoodie and jeans, walking across the room to set the helmet on the coffee table. “Four. Any particular reason you’re home so early?” he flops himself onto the couch and kicks his feet up, crossing them tastefully next to the Red Hood helmet. 

You turn back around to continue the task of grabbing a cup from the top cabinet. “It’s been five, and I apologize for assuming I could do what I wanted in my own home.”

“If you have to ask me to stop sneaking up on you five times, you’re probably a really bad vigilante.”

“Fuck,” you mutter as you fill the cup with tap water. “That’s true.”

You turn around to face Jason. His eyes are already on you, illuminated by the blue glow from the television. They linger purely on your form for a moment, then they dip down to narrow at your armor. “Were you the one who killed that guy on the back of main?”

You furrow your brows and look up with pursed lips in thought. “Are you talking about the main diner or the main records shop?”

“Main diner on main street.”

“No, that was Azrael. This was by the records shop.” You raise the glass to your lips.

Jason snaps his fingers. “Oh, that guy. The kid?”

You nod and take another sip of the water. “He just turned eighteen, so you know. Free game. So, what do you want for dinner? Pick something good. I’m going back to the squad so I won’t be here for a few weeks.”

Jason’s brows furrow for a split second, then he perks up attentively. “You’re going back to the task force?” he repeats, though it sounds defeated and disbelieving. Distraught- is that the word you’re looking for?

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I got the letter-” you set the cup of water down and reach a hand into your pocket. Then you pull the crumpled envelope free of its confines and toss it onto the counter, “-today.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrow again. This time the movement is quick and curved and almost offended. “So, that’s it then?”

“What’s wrong, Jason?” you smirk. “Did you finally fall in love with your roommate turned friend? I always knew this day would come.”

“Uh, no?”

“Suit yourself.”

You turn back around and begin rinsing the cup out. Jason watches your back, something in his chest sinking. You weren’t his best friend. Besides living together, you weren’t really all that close. You were living a life a lot like his, running around at night as some antihero vigilante. The only difference was that you’d crossed paths with Waller and had managed to make it out of her system alive. Most antihero vigilante’s weren’t so lucky. Most of them died. But now you’re telling Jason right to his face that you’re going back. That you think you’ll only be gone a few weeks when it could just be forever. Sprayed with dark blood all over... what if it was yours?

“Actually,” Jason leans forward. His legs drop from the table and spread open, elbows resting against his knees with a hunched back. “Why don’t you pick dinner tonight?”

The glass clinks against the metal of the sink as you set it inside. Jason almost always picks dinner. Most of the time he chooses burgers or Chinese. Your apartments stove isn’t working, so eating from home really just means a BLT sandwich for the both of you. 

“Are you offering because you’re hoping I’ll choose that new steakhouse?” you smile.

“I’ll get you anything you want,” the man replies. “It’s on me.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Jason meets you on the roof of the building about an hour and a half later. You wanted to go with him, since you’d say his behavior is different from usual, but he was very adamant about you staying in. Jason even encouraged you to go ahead and pick your favorite movie to watch while he’s gone. 

When you told him you’d decided on the steakhouse option, you meant it ironically. Between the two of you, money could be described as ‘tight’. Going to a new place like that would mean saving for a while. Furthermore, you hadn’t even given him your order before Red Hood was gone. 

To his credit, looking at him now, you wouldn’t change a thing. The first bite of the food is phenomenal. The second bite is just perfect. Jason must have mind reading powers to be so aware of your taste in food- you’d thought he never noticed. 

He gets a steak, as predicted. Jason loves steak. 

Gotham looks most like itself at night, a view shared between the two of you. Two sets of legs dangle over the side of your building, both of which are clad in heavy boots and armored knees. Jason had decided to go out as his alter ego- a fact he thought he could keep from you by putting his hoodie under his leather jacket. 

“I saw you put your helmet by the door,” you tell him. “I know what’s under that sweatshirt.”

“No you didn’t,” is all he says back. 

The wind tickles the back of your neck. It ripples through the air in lazy waves, making Jason’s hair ruffle. The white skunk streak disappears and reappears between the darker-than-midnight-sky strands. Behind Jason, the moon is full and lonely. Its only company is the two of you. 

“Oh my god,” you stuff your mouth. “This is so good.”

“Hm,” Jason hums in agreement, stabbing his steak once again with a fork in his black to-go box. It’s the next movement of his shoulder that catches your eye. 

“Jason, is that cocaine, or powder donut dust?” 

Jason glances over at you. 

Your eyes linger on the white splotch of something in the wrinkles of red fabric. “Because I asked you not to eat them since there’s only two left.”

Your face slowly falls to one of horror as Jason stays still. With a face of steel, he finally says, “It’s cocaine then.”

“Then?”

“Look what I got you.”

Jason sets his box to the ledge beside him and leans down. 

“Worst subject change ever.” You take an angry bite of your meal in an attempt to both silence yourself and to make you feel better. Unfortunately as you pull away from the bite, crumbs attach themselves to your chest plate and stick to your fingers. “Crap. Jason, your dumb food is getting shit all over my stuff!”

When you look over, Jason’s orbs are already on you. His eyes pierce yours, almost unintentionally daring them to look away. The skunk strands glow this close. He holds two things in his hands. The first is a small, brown pot you could balance in the palm of your hand, filled with miniature yellow and red flowers. Scarlet tulips, golden sunflowers, and blonde alstroemerias. In the other hand is a Blu-ray copy of your favorite film. 

“Oh,” is all you can muster out. 

When was the last time the two of you had actually exchanged gifts? You weren’t lovers, or best friends. You were just friends. It had to have been last Christmas, when you had gotten him a TV subscription for South Park and a pair of socks. Jason had gifted you a new bedframe that he later helped you put together. 

A big smile reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks sore. “I haven’t been able to find this anywhere,” you say, taking the movie from his fingers. Your voice comes out pure and genuine. “Thank you.” Your smile grows even larger when you cup the pot of flowers with both hands. 

“All of the flower shops were closed,” Jason explains. “Those are plastic. They won’t die anytime soon.”

At that moment, you swear you could’ve kissed him. He’s looking at you like this is all nothing, like he didn’t just drop big money on dinner and flowers for you. Jason knew what food you wanted before you did. He knew your favorite movie when you can’t even remember saying a thing about it. When had any other man or woman been so thoughtful? So romantic? So caring?

You glance down to the film in your lap. “I didn’t think you payed attention this well.”

Jason’s brow quirks upwards. Something flashes in his eyes as he adjusts his position, seven stories up from the ground. “What kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t?” he asks. Something tells you there’s a shyness blooming in that broad chest of his. Jason’s eyes flit downward to the blood on you, before his head dips back upwards to lock a stare with you once more. “You smell nice,” he states.

You look up at him simply. You know your eyes are filled with pure adoration, and that it’s showing all over your face, but you don’t care. Your red hooded, drug pedaling, bat wrangling, gun toting equal roommate is your favorite person in all of Gotham at this exact moment. 

Behind Jason, a small bird flits overhead with a flash of crimson. “Hey, look,” you pat Jason’s shoulder. His eyes follow yours until they land on the floor of the roof behind you. “I think it’s a robin.”

“I know that bird,” Jason scowls. “That’s the son of the bitch that keeps waking me up in the morning.”

“Hm?”

You watch as Jason swings his legs over the side and pushes himself from the ledge. One hand reaches into the back of his pants while the other searches his leather jacket pocket for something. After a few seconds, he produces both a clip of ammo and a gun, which connect with a click. 

“Ah!” you yelp, placing both the flowers and movie on the brick before copying your friends actions and standing on the roof. Jason hasn’t shot yet, but the gun in his hand is aimed right at the little birdie. He’s got a clean shot. His face remains neutral and unmoving as you take your place beside him. 

It’s a full minute, and the robin is still alive and intact. He nibbles on a little crumb of bread. “He looks happy,” you think out loud. The air of Gotham goes quiet up on that roof, despite the distant sirens, music, and people throughout the city. “Are you gonna shoot?”

Jason’s finger lingers over the trigger. Even the slightest of a squeeze would set the weapon off at this point. The balls of your feet move to and froe, anticipating the bang you’re so familiar with. But then Jason lowers the gun completely, and the robin flies away at the movement. “Nah. He’ll feel the pain I dish out in the morning.”

“Don’t be sad,” you nudge Jason. “He’ll be back at six AM tomorrow to wake you up.” You turn to return to your beckoning food on the ledge. “Thanks for all this, anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” you hear Jason respond. “Hey Y/N?”

Jason watches you spin until you’re completely facing him. He can see the blood again. How it’s completely standing out against the darkness of your outfit. You look powerful, yeah. And you look like the antihero you’re labeled as. But all Jason sees is a corpse of a... of a friend. “Yeah?”

“You’re sure about this Waller thing?”

“Yeah?” you reply, as if it were obvious. The stain on you is so haunting it’s easy to think otherwise. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. It’ll only be a few weeks. I’ll be back before you know it. Then I can show you this sick ass movie.”

Then you go back to walking towards the ledge to retake your seat. But Jason remains standing. He watches as you, the person he thinks of naked so often, get comfortable, your back facing him. And, despite your word, Jason has the sinking feeling that some Suicide Squad mission isn’t the only place Amanda Waller will send you to. 

This time, Amanda Waller will send you to your grave.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was supposed to be out on August 16th, for Jason’s birthday. But the concept came to me too late and I spent too long on it. Anyway, here’s some symbolism for ya.

Tulips symbolize unconditional love. Sunflowers symbolize adoration. Alstroemeria’s symbolize devotion. The reader describes the plant in their apartment as turning brown, suggesting it may share a similar fate as the reader as plants go brown when about to die. Robin’s symbolize optimism, a trait the reader displays towards the idea of returning to the Suicide Squad. Robin was also a former identity of Red Hood. Both of which could be why Jason decides to spare the bird. 

I’ll go back and proof read this in the morning.

[gansey-just-gansey]

The Princess and the Half Bloods part seven

They drove to Leo’s house first. When they pulled up, the garage door was open, showing an old car and a pair of legs sticking out from underneath it. Percy rolled the window down.

“Hey Ms. Valdez. Is Leo even awake yet?” Percy called out.

“Yes, I just saw him eating.” A woman emerged from the depths of the car, t-shirt and jeans splattered with oil and grease. “Leo!” she yelled. “Percy y una chica estan aqui! Ven aqui!”

“Yo se, Mama. I heard them pull up,” Leo said, appearing in the doorway to the house. “Estamos ir a la casa de Jason. Don’t wait up, okay?”

“Toma tu tarea, por favor. I don’t want you to fall behind, mijo.”

“Si, Mama,” he sighed, shoving his backpack into the backseat ahead of him. “Let’s get out of here before she starts looking up what schoolwork I’m missing and makes me play catch up on that, too.” Percy pulled out of the driveway with a wave at Ms. Valdez.

“Do you have homework you need to get done?” Annabeth asked.

“Yeah, but it’s not important. We practice pretty much the whole day so I won’t even have time to do it, were I inclined to.”

“I promised Chiron I would keep you guys on track with school. You can’t fail and get grounded and miss a night at The Big House.”

“Well Saturdays are off limits, we definitely have to keep up with our practices,” Percy interjected. “And Sundays are usually working on developing songs.”

“When do you typically do homework then?”

Percy and Leo shared a look in the rearview mirror. “Whenever I have the spare time,” Percy said with a shrug.

“I see. So you just don’t, right?” she asked, exasperated.

“Not usually, no,” he admitted.

Annabeth sighed. “Piper, Hazel, and Frank meet up with me on Tuesdays so we can work on our homework together. I’ll help with anything you need. We usually go to a coffee shop but all seven of us would take up a lot of room. I’ll have to talk to Piper about letting us use her house instead.”

“If we have to study, a tricked out mansion isn’t a bad place to do it in,” Leo said, perking up.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “So how long does practice last?”

“You’ll be getting home pretty late, if that’s okay with you. The garage has been soundproofed after a lot of complaints from Jason’s neighbors, so we can practice well into the night without having to worry about keeping anyone up,” Percy explained.

“That’s fine with me, I don’t think my dad is expecting me back for dinner anyway.”

They pulled up to the Grace house, parking behind the van on the street. Jason came out to meet them as they got out.

“Hey guys, girl,” he said, nodding to Annabeth.

“Unlock the van, I need to make sure my baby remains unscathed,” Leo called, pulling on the back door of the vehicle.

“Your girlfriend is just fine, Leo,” Jason said, but pulled out his keys and unlocked the doors anyway. Leo started checking over his drum set. “Everything is all set up for practice, just gotta get the drums in there.”

“Cool,” Percy said. He went around to the trunk of his car and grabbed his guitar. “We’re going to do a playthrough of all our songs and covers for Annabeth today.”

“Sounds like a plan. Mom is out for the day, possibly the night. Either way, I doubt we’ll see her.” It was only a little bitter. Annabeth wondered at the relationship there, but didn’t feel it would be appropriate for her to ask.

She followed Percy and Jason into the garage, leaving Leo to struggle with the drum set on his own after he insisted she let him carry it himself. The other two started checking that their guitars were tuned while they waited. Annabeth booted up her laptop and started setting up a YouTube channel for them. She created a new email for the band and used it to make the account.

Piper texted her while Leo was finishing putting up the drums: Are you awake? The band was a hit, obviously.

Yeah, she sent back. I’m at their practice right now. Setting up social media for them before they start at the bar.

The reply came almost immediately. Without me???? Annabeth chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Percy inquired.

“Piper. Hey, is it cool if she comes and helps me set up all this social media for you guys? She’s like, a PR goddess.”

“Yes. Yeah, of course. She’s totally welcome here,” Jason stuttered out.

Annabeth texted Piper the address with no explanation and put down her phone in favor of the computer. She didn’t have to wait long before her phone was buzzing with another text from Piper.

I’m here but no one else is? I’ve been ringing the doorbell for like five minutes.

“Oops, shit,” Annabeth muttered as she got up from the beanbag she had taken over when she came in.

The boys all looked up from their instruments. “Something wrong?” Percy asked.

“Piper,” she said as she opened the door that exited to the front yard. “Hey, we’re back here. Sorry, it’s soundproofed.”

“There you are,” Piper said. “I was beginning to think they had kidnapped and murdered you.”

“Not yet. I think they were just about to start, yeah?” It turned into a question at the end as she looked toward the band.

“Yeah. We’re going to start with our covers. Ready?” Percy asked the others. They murmured their assent and it was quiet for a minute until they started playing. The first song they played was After Midnight again. Percy winked at her just before he started singing.

Most of their covers were songs that Annabeth knew, Blink 182 and Sum 41 and the entirety of the Green Day album that Percy said had inspired him to start playing. There were a few she didn’t recognize, some from a band called Waterparks that Annabeth vowed to listen to when she had the free time because The Half Bloods played them so perfectly, and some from Taking Back Sunday, New Found Glory, and other bands she’d never even heard of. She was glad for their long list of covers that they could pull songs from to play during their sets so they didn’t play the same songs every weekend. They could play a couple original songs and a bunch of covers each time and people wouldn’t get bored.

Annabeth watched them play, making a note in her phone of each song. When they took breaks for water and just giving their arms a rest, Piper and Annabeth busied themselves with setting up an account on every major social media platform for them. She added them all to a group chat and sent the login info for all the accounts. Piper took a picture of them while they were playing and set it as their profile picture.

“Until we can get a professional in, it’ll do,” she said, nodding to herself.

They took a longer break once they’d exhausted their list of covers. It was already near dinner time, so they all piled into Jason’s van and went through the Wendy’s drive through. The boys refused to let the girls pay and split the bill three ways as a thanks for the work they were doing.

“So we were talking,” Percy said once they were back in the garage and eating, “and we were thinking that we’re going to use the extra ten percent you wouldn’t take for things for the band. Like the photoshoot you were talking about and like recording time and stuff.”

“That’s actually a very good idea,” Annabeth approved. She probably should’ve thought about that herself.

“Would you mind taking care of that money? I’d probably lose it or accidentally spend it.”

“I can put it in a separate account that’s only for band stuff. I’ll probably be the one booking everything anyway so I might as well. I’ll go make the bank account this week.”

“You’re a godsend,” Jason said with his mouth full of fries. Piper laughed and he tried to quickly swallow it all but only choked. She laughed harder as Leo pounded on his back.

“Okay, enough fucking around. Let’s get playing our originals,” Percy said, grabbing his guitar. Annabeth settled deeper into the beanbag she had claimed. Her part of the job was over for the day and she could truly enjoy watching the band play their originals with no distractions.

They played their whole CD through, followed by a couple others that they hadn’t had an opportunity to record. Percy and Jason were perfect, their voices harmonizing beautifully. Leo was a beast, slamming out the beats with no more than a thirty second break between songs.

Things slowed and relaxed as they started playing parts of unfinished songs and suggesting changes and additions. Jason nailed down a bridge for one song and Leo played around with a solo until it was up to his standards, then pushed it a little farther, a little faster. Percy strummed and hummed mostly to himself in one of the corners, trying to find words to fit his little riff. Annabeth watched, enraptured, as they worked their magic. Piper spent most of the time setting up little details like bios on the social media accounts and circling the boys to take more pictures for Instagram. She handed her phone over to Annabeth so she could pick out which pictures were good enough to post. She sent the ones she liked to herself so she could post them.

Eventually Piper had to leave because her dad was supposed to fly home early tomorrow to spend the week with her before setting off for another film next weekend. After she left, Annabeth put up the pictures on Insta and Facebook, then turned off her phone and leaned her head back. The music that The Half Bloods played wasn’t exactly lullaby material, but the party the night before had really taken it out of her and she’d been on the whole day since she woke up. She drifted off.

She woke to Percy gently shaking her. “Hey, it’s time to go. We’re finished for the night.”

The bean bag was not the most comfortable thing she’d ever slept on, leaving her with a stiff neck and heavy arms. She blinked blearily and stood, grabbing for her bag, but Percy already had it packed and slung over his shoulder. She smiled sleepily at him, and Percy responded with a brilliant one of his own, grabbing her hand to guide her clumsy limbs to the car.

“Could you carry my shit, too?” Leo called after them. “I’m not holding your hand, though.”

“Get your shit in the car and let’s go,” Percy said, flipping him off. Leo grumbled to himself about how he was tired too but got in the car after Percy had deposited her safely in the passenger seat.

As they drove Leo home, Annabeth pulled out her phone to check notifications on the band accounts. They already had three followers: Piper, Hazel, and Frank. Piper must’ve texted the others.

There was another post in addition to the pictures of the band playing that she didn’t remember making. She clicked on it, worried that she had accidentally posted something that wasn’t meant for the official account.

“Late night band practice. Catch us live @thebighouse every Friday and Saturday starting this weekend!” the caption read. It was a picture of Annabeth, curled up on the bean bag, asleep. Percy crouched next to her with a smirk, one hand making the peace sign and the other taking the picture.

Annabeth smiled to herself and watched the houses fly by as Percy sped away.

[evietheninja]

It’s on site, Bitch.

Side story to a fan fic my friends and I are writing. They wanted a fight, they got one lmao. 

New Message!

Pikachu 2.0: Yo, what do you guys think of this?

Evie glances down at her phone, reading the message out loud to the guys accompanying her in the living room. Attached to the message is a poster for an event happening tonight. "2000s night huh?" Kiri asks sitting on the couch. "Sounds MANLY!" He practically yells, excitement in his voice. "When was the last time we all went out anyway?" He asks, looking over at Bakugo and Evie who are sitting on the floor. "It's been some time, that's for sure." Evie says, closing the picture and typing out a reply.

Glowstick: Sounds like fun!

PoisonIvyWHO?: CAN WE GET READY TOGETHER LIKE WE USED TO??

BigTittieGothGF: YESSS

Evie laughs as she looks over to the boys who are staring down at their screens as the messages come through. "What the fuck babe, you kicking us out?" Bakugo asks, a smirk across his face. "No, dumbass. I may be getting ready at someone elses place." She says looking back down at her phone.

PoisonIvyWHO?: Evie's?

BigTittieGothGF: YEah! Evie, you okay with that?

BakuBITCH: Really? We JUST got this fucking place and you're already kicking us out?

DaddyShark: That's not very manly of you guys.

Glowstick: Kiri.. We're not men..

Kiri laughs. "Why the fuck are you texting me that I'M RIGHT HERE." Evie and Bakugo laugh. "You fucking texted us instead of SAYING IT." She says, leaning on Bakugo as she laughed.

PoisonIvyWho: I'll be there in 20.

BigTittieGothGF: Too bad, Bakugo. We're already going. Get whatever ur wearing and GO TO DENKI'S

Pikachu2.0: Yeah... Cal already told me you guys were getting kicked. Sorry lmaoo

Bakugo rolls his eyes. "Well FUCK Kiri, I guess we're getting kicked out of our own place." He says, standing up. "Let's go pick what we're gonna wear and get out of here before the girls get here. I'm not trying to fight with Cal when she gets here, and lord knows Nina will tell me some shit and they're gonna piss me the hell off before the night even starts." Bakugo finishes, holding out a hand to help Evie up. She laughs, making a loud HUMPH as she gets up. "Babe, seriously suck it up stop being such a baby." She says, laughing.

"Shut the hell up, dumbass. I'll fight your ass too." He says, pulling her in for a kiss. "UGH GET A ROOOOOMMMMM" Kiri says, tossing a ketchup packet at them. "Oh my GOD Suki when did we adopt a CHILD?" Evie laughed pulling away from Bakugo. She picks the ketchup packet up and throws it back, casuing Kiri to swat at it. It hits the wall, splattering. "BRO WHAT THE FUCK" Bakugo yells, walking over to Kiri and grabbing him. "BRO SHE FUCKIN THREW AT ME WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?" Kiri yelled back, attempting to put Bakugo in a headlock.

Evie takes her phone and snaps a picture, sending it to the group chat.

Glowstick: Alright, who had two weeks?

PoisonIvyWho?: ME BEECH RUN ME MY MONEEEEYYY

Glowstick: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

BigTittieGothGF: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

Pikachu2.0: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

BigTittieGothGF: Here's Shota's piece.

BigTittieGothGF: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

PoisongIvyWHO: HELL YEAH IM GETTIN FUUUCKED TONIGHT!!

Pikachu2.0: You bet your ass you are. ;)

Glowstick: BROOOO

Evie laughed, watching the boys continue to wrestle. "Damn a little less clothing and I'd be questioning if I was just a cover up." She says, walking over to the hall towards her and Bakugo's room. Eventually, she heard the boys stop and she assumed one of them looked at their phone, because next thing she knew the boys were at the doorway, glaring at her.

"What?" Evie said, looking between the boys. "You fucking bet on us?" Bakugo says, his hands sparking lightly. "Hey, calm down. I wasn’t the ONLY one who bet. Even fucking Aizawa was in on it! You can't put that on me alone." She says, keeping her distance. "What were the lengths of time?" Kiri asks, genuinely curious. "Uh, Cal said 2 weeks, Ni said a week, Aizawa said an hour, Denki said 3 days." She says. "And YOU?" Bakugo asks. "Me? I gave you guys the benefit of the doubt and said a month. But nooooo." She says laughing. "ANYWAY. You two need to get the hell out.” She says, pushing the boys out of the room. “Wait, dumbass! I kind of need clothes to wear.” Bakugo says, pushing past her to get into the closet inside their room. Kiri laughs and walks over to his room to get some clothes to change into. 

Bakugo packed a WHOLE ASS BAG of clothes, a few shirts and a couple pairs of jeans because he wanted to make sure he looked really good. Kiri did just about the same, a whole backpack with clothes inside. What the fuck? Are they spending the night? Why the fuck. Evie laughed lightly as they made their way to the door. They may be men, but god DAMN they take forever to get ready. 

“Alright, we’ll be at Denki’s. Text me if you need anything.” Bakugo says, planting  quick peck on Evie’s lips before leaving. “:Yeah yeah, have fun I’ll let you know when we leave.” She says as she opens the door. “Wha- why the fuck are you guys taking backpacks? I thought you guys were going just to change not spend the week there.” Nina’s voice echos through the hall after seeing the boys. “FUUUCK I thought we’d be gone by the time you guys got here.” Bakugo complains, nodding at Cal and Nina as they enter the apartment. “Shut the hell up, boom boom boy.” Cal says walking past him. He tugs at her sprout on her head, causing her to yelp. “Stop it, asshole! i’ll get Frank on your ass.” She warns, rubbing her sprout as he lets go. 

“Who the fuck is Frank:?” He asks, Kirishima laughing next to him. “None of your business,  leave! You take any longer and we’ll be fucking late.” Nina says, closing the door as they walk in. “I thought we’d never get rid of them.” They joke as they smile and hug Evie. Cal jumps onto them, laughing and giggling as they regain themselves. 

The next hour and a half consists of the trio getting dressed, comparing outfits and making sure they looked really good for the night ahead. Cal is wearing a green lace bralette, with gloves to match. Shes got a tight black skirt, with thigh high stockings with guarders with heels. Her hair is down and tame, the black skirt and green top complimenting her every feature. Nina is wearing a black and white cheetah print tube top, with leather shorts, thigh high platform boots with her chains rearranged in a choker fashion, with a loop in the middle for an attachable leash, her mullet slick back. Evie is wearing a green long sleeve crop top that ties around her stomach, with a deep v cut, ripped skinny jeans and thigh high heel boots. Her hair is half up, the other half tamed beautifully to compliment the outfit. She puts on her favorite black choker with a silver heart in the middle. She only wears it when she wants Bakugo to replace it with his hand, which she was sure he would do later. 

The group looks at each others outfits, gushing on how ridiculously good they looked. After a very long photo shoot, the group locks up the apartment and heads out. They meet up at the club, excited to get the night started. They are (not surprisingly) the first  ones to make it. They stand around, waiting to hear from their significant other’s and Kirishima. Denki, Bakugo and Kirishima show up next, Denki walking up dressed from head to toe in black, a silver chain on his belt loops and black and silver jewelry complimenting his outfit. Kirishima has on red cargo shorts, a white t shirt on with a windbreaker jacket that says “Riot” in red letters on the back. Bakugo is in black jeans with an orange tee shirt, with orange converse to match and a black blazer. He, for once, slicked his hair back and hot DAMN he looked good to Evie. Cal and Evie couldn’t help but gawk over their men as Aizawa finally made his way to the group. Aizawa is dressed in a grey v neck t-shirt, skinny jeans, a loose fitting leather jacket with his scarf covering his neck as it always does. His hair is half up in a bun on the back of his head. He probably looks the most comfortable than every one in the group. 

They gather in their group, Denki pulling Cal closer as he looks her up and down. Bakugo smirks as he watches Evie approach him, eyeing her figure. “You... you are SO lucky we didn’t get ready at the same place.” He growls as he throws an arm over her. “We would’ve never made it to this damn club.” He finishes, hearing Denki and Kirishima laugh in agreement. “I wouldn’t have heard the end of it.” Kiri says under his breath. They laugh and enter the club.

After a few drinks, dedicating drinks to their accomplishments ranging from graduating college and getting their own places, to them just being happy they were all finally getting to hang out. Feeling the light buzz, Evie urges Bakugo to go out and dance with her. He complains, although in actuality, she knew he loved to dance with her, able to show the girl he was with. 

Cal and Denki were laughing and talking amongst themselves for a bit before finally heading out to the dance floor. Lets be honest, they were only a few drinks away from starting their dance battles, and everyone for once was ready for it. 

Aizawa and Nina stood close together, Nina dancing to the music while Aizawa watched, almost entranced by her movements. God, the way he looked at her, the way he undressed her with his eyes. Anyone who’d watched them grew jealous of the love they had for each other. Every so often, he would pull them in and says something that would physically cause Nina to shudder. It always entertained Evie. She’d always laugh watching the way just words would make Nina squirm. 

Evie looked up at Bakugo, urging him again. He laughed and nodded over to Kiri, inviting him to dance with them. Many people questioned the relationship they shared, were they all in some kind of relationship? Was it just as simple as Bakugo and Evie were just comfortable with Kiri? Pretty much. Nither Evie nor Bakugo saw Kiri in that way, and Kiri just really loved to dance. 

The trio makes their way to the dance floor as the music bumped through the speakers. Evie let the music take over, feeling Bakugo behind her, molding to her body with ease. Kiri does the same, only in front. Nina had stopped dancing for a sec to watch her friends dance, and smirked at the three. They knew Bakugo wouldn’t hold his composure long, and would claim Evie in about a song or two. 

The song Goodies bumped through the speakers, with it being Evie’s favorite song, she danced harder feeling the boys match her tempo. Every so often, because Bakugo couldn’t make his mind up about how comfortable he was with Evie facing either towards or away from him, he would turn her. She laughed, feeling the drinks work their way into her system, giving her a good feeling. 

The song Me&U begins to bump through the speakers. Evie starts to sing the lyrics, the front of her body facing Kiri. Kiri begins to sing as well, looking Evie in the eyes while doing so. Bakugo takes notice, and whips her around, glaring at Kiri from over Evie. She laughs, noticing Kiri pick up his hands in apology and decides that’s the time for him to go find another dance partner. Evie grabs Bakugo by his cheeks, forcing him to look at her as they grind. For a while, it feels like they’re the only two in the room. 

Sweat drips, their bodies bumping to the sound of the base. Evie smiles up at Bakugo and kisses him. Then, she jumps, feeling a cold, wet feeling run down her back. She whips around, seeing Ururaka looking her up and down smirking. “Oops, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.” She says smugly in a monotone voice over the music. Ururaka then turns her attention to Bakugo, her smile turning sweet. “Hey, Kachan, how are you?” She says, taking a step closer to him almost pushing Evie out of the way. Evie looks to her left, seeing Nina already making their way to her with Cal close behind, a worried Denki behind them and Aizawa looking from the distance. “Don’t fucking call me that, one. And two we’re in the middle of something, so if you could, you know, fuck off that’d be great.” Bakugo says, bumping her shoulder and returning to Evie. 

“Oh, you’d rather be with that? HA, okay.” Ururaka says, scoffing as she looks at the couple. “Listen here you broke ass bit-” Cal starts, ready to lunge at her. Nina stops her for a second, looking Ururaka up and down before speaking. “Is there a problem?” they ask. “Oh, can’t fight your own fights?” Ururaka says, turning her attention back to Evie. “Oh, I can fucking fight alright.” Evie says, rolling up her sleeves and removing her earrings. “Hold these baby please.” She says, handing them to Bakugo who takes them and places them in his pocket, taking a step back to watch Evie do what she did best. “Oh you got the wrong bitch” Nina says, cracking their knuckles. 

Ururaka pushes Evie. She stumbles lightly, and recovers quickly. Ururaka looks at her in confusion. She’s...not floating. Evie looks over to a golden eyed, floating haired Aizawa, who’d activated his quirk, disabling Ururaka’s. Evie smirked, returning her attention to Ururaka who was already on the floor due to Nina using her chains to restrain her, and Cal straight out kicking her on the ground. She laughed, bending down as Cal got in another kick. No one around noticed, nor cared about what was happening to Ururaka. 

“Oh honey, you should’ve known better.” Evie says in the sweetest way possible as she stands and gets her kick in. Nina unrestrains her and they step over her, turning to return to Aizawa when Ururaka gets up, grabs Nina by the shoulder and throws a punch. Before the punch even makes contact, Cal jumps on her, throwing punches as Ururaka turns her attention to her. Somehow, she manages to get a hold of Cal’s sprout on her head, making her even more mad. Evie grabs Ururaka by the hair, pulling her off of Cal and punching her a couple times before Bakugo steps in. He grabs Evie, stopping her from injuring her anymore. “It’s not worth it, babe.” He says, attempting to calm her down. 

“She isnt worth it!” Ururaka screams, getting up because this girl STILL hadn't had enough. Nina uses her chains to grab Ururaka, throwing her to the ground and planting a platformed boot on her chest. They lean in real close, speaking loud enough for her to hear. “Listen here, bitch. YOU, are a piece of shit, and if we EVER see you trying it again, it’s on site.” They say before getting up. Cal walks up, kicking her down as she tries to sit up. “Oh, the 99 cent store called, they want their dress back.” Cal says, spitting on her before leaving as well. Evie calms herself enough for Bakugo to let her go, and they turn back once more before laughing and walking off. 

Before any kind of authorities are called, the group leaves the club, making their way to their favorite after club place, a 24/7 boba tea place just down the street from the club, They order drinks, and all make another toast to a great night. “I’ve really been wanting to do that shit since the situation.” Cal says, beaming. “Same” Nina says, clinking cups and laughing. Bakugo walks over to the table, with drinks in one hand and his phone in the other. The fact they’d forgotten Kiri was fucking hilarious to him. Kiri slams through the door, asking about what’d happened. He was SO upset he’d missed it. 

[hiraeth-doux]

Untouchable (4/?)

Summary: A fresh-out-of-the-NAVY widower Owen Grady knows everything about the war. His own child? Not so much. He settles in his home town with his 5-year-old daughter in hopes of piecing their shattered lives back together. And then they meet Claire Dearing…

Okay, bad news - this fic might be a bit longer than I planned. I’m trying to fix the last part now and make it less generic and boring (it’ll still be generic and boring though), and it kind of requires a few additional scenes, so we’ll see. Be warned! And thanks for your love, guys :) I hope you’re having fun so far!

Feedback is always much appreciated :)

AO3  | Fanfiction.net 

The day was cold and sunny, the sky bright-blue over their heads when Owen turned his car off the highway and headed south toward the lazy hills rolling in the distance, standing in stark contrast to the flat landscape, and a handful of low structures scattered before them – a small ranch surrounded by dark shapes of the still-bare trees.

Claire’s friend from college, as she had explained to Owen, was running a training program there and kept a couple of his own horses in the stables. He was not working on Sundays, but they were to mention his name to whoever was around today to get a tour and some horseback time for Harper. The girl was giddy with delight, her face pressed to the cool glass, peering out with anxious anticipation at the vast expanse of empty fields on either side of the road.

She’d been up since dawn, Owen told Claire when they picked her up half an hour ago, bouncing off the walls for hours even though she knew they were not leaving before 11 and asking him one question after another despite the fact that he knew about as much as she did. It had been so long since the last time she was this enthusiastic about anything Owen was scared to joke about it up for fear of jinxing it and chasing it away, but he sort of guessed Claire knew it already, his daughter’s excitement palpable and quite infectious, too, filling the space and the pauses between them.

Filled with odd, buzzing energy, Owen kept darting quick sideways looks at Claire, sitting in the passenger seat next to him, her coat unbuttoned and her scarf loosened in the warmth of his car. But their eye contact was fleeting, her attention focused primarily on his daughter, and after a while he started to question whether the small moment in his kitchen happened at all. It was rather tempting to chalk it up to his wishful thinking, or a case of temporary insanity, and for a moment, Owen wanted desperately to jump at the opportunity to do just that. Except it was pretty damn hard to erase the memory of her face so close to his he could feel the warmth of her skin, and the light touch of her mouth to his.

However, if it bothered Claire at all, he could see no sign of it, and by the time they reached their destination, Owen decided to go along with the whole ‘ignoring the elephant in the room’ plan and act like nothing had changed, if that was what she was doing. Not that anything did, he reminded himself. Certainly not that pang of guilt that would jolt through him whenever he’d catch himself wanting more from his life than he already had.

There was no need to make anything unnecessarily awkward. Well, more awkward than it already was.

Owen whistled quietly under his breath when he turned off the paved road and onto the gravel one, splattered with patches of snow, leading toward the main entrance.  

The whole complex was neat and impressive – freshly painted barns and stables, busy on the weekend even despite the chilly weather, and a farmhouse in the back that, according to Claire, housed an office, a vet station, and living quarters for the live-in grooms and guests staying overnight.

In the distance, five bay and black horses roamed lazily around the pasture, ankle-deep in the melting snow, while to the left from them, a teenage girl trotted on a white mare around one of the equestrian arenas, her eyes narrowed against the glare of the afternoon sun. Owen and Harper walked over to it to watch her do basic jumps and practice a fancy-looking prance while Claire talked to a young man in practical knee-high boots and thick jacket covered with dust about their arrangements.

The air smelled faintly of soil, hay, and manure – not an unpleasant combination, albeit an unfamiliar one, that stirred something akin genetic memory in him. A recollection sewn into his DNA. Harper promptly climbed onto the fence, clutching the wood railing tightly with her hands, mesmerized by the dance of the white horse whose mane rippled like waves of the sea in the wind.

“Whatcha think, kiddo?” Owen asked her.

“Can I have one?” She whispered without tearing her gaze away from the girl and the mare.

“Not so fast,” he huffed good-naturedly, and then pried her off the fence when he saw Claire waving at them, motioning for them to come over. “Let’s see what else they’ve got, how ‘bout that?”

From her perch on Owen’s hip, Harper was more than eager to pet a few animals as the three of them took a walk around the farm, stroking their noses and long, soft manes, giggling when they’d snort and sniff at her, probably looking for a treat. However, for her own first experience, she chose a stocky dun pony named Chester with long grey bangs hanging over his eyes, somewhat cautious around the bigger beasts that looked gigantic up close.

“You know this means the world to her, don’t you?” Owen asked Claire as they watched a young groom lead the pony around another outdoor arena with Harper on his back, her hands clasped rightly around the saddle and reigns, her face pinched in concentration.

Leaning against the fence, Claire smiled softly without turning to him, her eyes following the girl. “It’s fun for me, too. The most exciting thing that happened in my life in the past 10 years was battling my mild addiction to painkillers, so this,” she gestured vaguely around them, “is not a bad change of scenery.”

Almost on instinct, Owen looked down at her jeans-clad legs. “Which one was it? Left or right?” He asked.

“Left.”

He nodded. “Does it still hurt?”

She glanced at him quickly and offered him a half-shrug. “Sometimes. If I overwork it.” Then added, “It’s not that bad now. For several years I couldn’t even fly because I had a titanium implant there that would send metal detectors at the airport into a cardiac arrest. That was… interesting.”

“So, you were basically a cyborg?” Owen clarified, also propping his forearms on the fence next to her, making the old wood creak.

Claire laughed, her eyes crinkling, and shook her head. “Where were you, Mr. Grady, when I needed that kind of pep talk?”

“Hm, when was it, 13-14 years ago?” His forehead creased. “Yup, I was shamelessly hitting on my French Lip prof.”

“You?” She eyed him with disbelief. “You took French Lit class?”

“Hey,” he nudged her with his elbow, all righteous indignation, “I have multitudes, too.” A pause. “Besides, it sorta wasn’t a choice. I mean, I thought it would be an easy credit.”

“Was it?” Claire inquired, still chocking on muffled snorts.

He laughed and admitted, “The toughest shit you can imagine.”

Before them, the groom explained something to Harper, showing her how to position her grip on the reigns and what to do with her feet and legs, and then he ran over to the opposite side of the arena, waving at the girl to stir the pony toward him. Slowly, Harper squeezed Chester’s sides, tugging at the reigns until he moved where she wanted him to go, her delight so radiant it threatened to lure early spring out of its hiding.

“She really does like it,” Claire noted, watching the girl navigate her way around the arena, the pony playful beneath her and eager to follow her commands. “I’ll never forgive myself if she ditches my classes for this,” she added half-jokingly.

“Doubt it.” Owen said quietly, his gaze shifting from his daughter to the woman beside him.

She was squinting just a little against the wind, her freckles pale after the long months of little to no sun exposure, her lips parted ever so slightly, curved at the corners without Claire’s knowing it. His heart did a flip, then climbed all the way up to his throat and plunged down into his stomach as an invisible hand squeezed his lungs, rendering him breathless and dizzy and so goddamn terrified he thought he’d black out. Which, admittedly, would make a nice exit.

“Um, you’ve got…” He started.

“Mm?” Claire turned to him just as he reached to brush a strand of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek and making her skin burn. His face was barely half an inch away from hers – when did this happen? – while their exhales were puffing out in small white clouds that they pushed between each other. His eyes darkened and he swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat as his index finger slipped under her chin, his gaze shifting down to her mouth—

“Daddy!” They jerked away from one another at the sound of Harper’s voice, Claire’s cheeks hot and her breathing shallow. “Look, I’m doing it all by myself!” She waved at him, making her second circle without any assistance from the groom.

Owen smiled and nodded, telling her to keep it up. When Claire moved a step away from him, he chose to pretend he didn’t notice.

On the way back to town, they stopped for a late lunch – or early dinner – at the 50’s-styled diner just outside of the city limits, bustling with other patrons on their way back home after the weekend away. The three of them took a booth by the window closer to the back, and between the slurps of her milkshake and shoving French fries into her mouth, Harper recounted everything she’d seen and done this afternoon, alternating this flow with occasional reminder to Owen that having her own pony would be ‘so awesome’.

“How about you keep your room clean for one week, and then we’ll talk?” Owen suggested, eyebrows raised. Harper’s face fell in defiance instantly, and Claire dove behind her mug of hot chocolate to hide her stifled laughter.

He listened with half an ear, nodding at all the right moments, his own burger hardly touched, as he tried to decide what bothered him more – the fact that Claire would barely look at him or that he had no idea what to say if she did do it. Screwing up twice in two days was somewhat excessive even for him, and something told him that looking the other way twice in row was not an option. Alas, she was focused entirely on his daughter instead, absently tearing pieces off her own turkey sandwich and reminding Harper to breathe as she spoke.

When they dropped Claire off at her house, she slipped out of the car after waving a halfhearted goodbye to Owen and pulled the back door open. “So, you had fun?” She asked Harper, her head tilted quizzically.

“Thank you!” The girl pulled her into a tight hug. “The bestest present ever,” she whispered into Claire’s hair, and Claire squeezed her back, brushing a quick kiss to the top of Harper’s head.

“You’re welcome.”

“Don’t move,” Owen instructed his daughter when Claire started toward her door and hopped out into the cold evening, following her up the narrow path. “Claire.”

She paused, her hand already on the doorknob, her expression puzzled. For a brief moment, her gaze flickered toward the car. “Did I forget something?”

“No…” He hopped up her porch steps two at a time. “I don’t think so.” Winded more from accelerated heartbeat than a 5-second jog, he stopped in front of her, feeling as confused as she looked, his mind empty. “Look, about earlier--” he started and faltered.

“Nothing happened,” she said quietly, never breaking the eye contact.

“I know,” Owen added quickly. “And it’s not that I don’t want it to.” He paused, watching her. From this close, he could feel her, the warmth radiating off of her practically tangible, the green of her eyes pulling him in like gravity. “Because I do, Claire. God help me, I do.” His voice dropped, sounding hoarse somehow, his whole body humming with deep, needy longing. “But it’s too fast, too soon. And Harper… She’s really attached to you and if something doesn’t—I’m sorry.”

This was meant to be an entirely different conversation if he hadn’t talked himself out of it two minutes ago when his guilt kicked in, rendering him paralyzed on the inside. What a moron.

Claire’s lips quirked faintly but the smile never came. “I know. It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.”

“Okay,” he echoed, not sure what else to say. Not sure if there even was anything he could say.

She pushed the door open. “Thank you for today. I’ll see you later, Owen.”

---

Owen had yet to figure out why some days felt like the whole world belong to him while the others made him wonder if it was falling apart before his eyes. And while the moments of crisis were growing few and far between, he couldn’t help but feel sometime that the entire universe was conspiring against him. Granted, there was no other way to look at it after burning his mouth on his coffee and then promptly spilling said coffee down his shirt, remembering that he definitely needed to take care of their laundry before they ran out of clean clothes altogether.

It did not qualify as a good morning.  

“Harper!” Owen bellowed down the hall for the third time. They were going to be late. Hell, they were late 10 minutes ago.

“I can’t find my bracelet,” she said without looking up when he appeared in the doorway of her room to find her kneeling near her dresser, rummaging through one of the drawers.

Owen ran a hand over his face. “Okay, you’ll have to do without it today then.”

The girl pushed away from the dresser and dove under her desk. “I can’t go without it,” she said with a frown. “Grandma gave it to me!”

He stifled an exasperated sigh. Checked his watch and pursed his lips into a thin line, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “Harper, come on, we have to go.”

“I have to find it,” she repeated stubbornly, her voice breaking. “I can’t go without it.”

“You can and we need to be out the door in two minutes,” he countered, which came out snappier than Owen intended.

The girl looked up at him, “Why does everything always have to be your way?”

“Because I say so, that’s why,” Owen pointed out, feeling like he was starting to lose his patience.

In looks, Harper took largely after her mother – the same curve of her eyebrows, the same slightly upturned nose, the same dark curls, falling nearly to her waist. There was an old photo album with Jenny’s childhood photos that Owen kept in the study and if he put Harper’s picture next to her mother’s when she was her age, they could easily be mistaken for the same person, or twins.

The girl’s stubbornness was all Owen’s, though. She would never leave the house wearing blue sneakers if her heart was set on the red ones, or wear pigtails on a ponytail day, or eat her vegetables if she didn’t feel like it. He had yet to discover a force of nature that could make his daughter do what she didn’t want to do. It was cute when she was little, and one day, he hoped, she would put this trait to good use, but right now it was getting more and more frustrating the older she got, their communication calling for negotiating and compromising, and Owen was starting to suspect that her teenage years would be a nightmare for both of them.

A part of him loved that willfulness in Harper, the determination that pushed her to learn how to walk and read before her peers did, but it also made her withdraw into herself in any situation that was out of her control. This was why she took the loss of her mother so hard – like she was trying to will herself into growing up faster so she could have a better grasp on something that was yet outside of her full comprehension.  He admired her for that, however wistful that admiration was – at times, Owen couldn’t help but think that she was stronger than he’d ever be.

Which was wonderful, all things considered, except they really didn’t have any time for this right now.

Harper’s eyes welled up when she looked up at him. “Why are you so mean?” Her lips began to quiver, and her breaking voice stabbed him right in the heart.

“Harper…” Owen took in a deep breath. “Okay, let’s look for it.”

“Go away!” Angry tears sprung out of her eyes, and she sank onto her bed and gave that knife a twist. “I don’t want you, I want my mommy!”

He exhaled sharply, feeling sick to his stomach.

She wasn’t that far off – if he was in Harper’s place, he’d also want just about anyone else who was more qualified to do the job. He was a joke, and he kept messing everything up. They were constantly late, he was forgetting stuff, mixing up the dates. Half the time, he had no idea what he was doing, and the other half he still wasn’t sure he was getting it right. Owen was trying, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was enough to justify all the mistakes he kept making along the way.

It had been over ten months now, and while they made some progress with their routine, he still felt like a fraud, their lives feeling more like a game, something he could step out of to take a breath and regroup. Particularly, on the moments like this one. A part of him was still clinging to the hope of finding the middle ground, figuring out the balance between having to be two parents at the same time, but even that hope was starting to fade, filling him with dread of being stuck in this uncharted territory for the rest of his life. It was like he couldn’t figure out the right steps, or sometimes the steps were right, but the music had changed.

Owen crouched in front of Harper and reached for his daughter whose shoulders were shaking with quiet sobs, bracing himself for being pushed away, and if she did it, he knew he wouldn’t blame her. However, she leaned into him and pressed her face into his shoulder, her tears soaking Owen’s shirt and her small body trembling.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Owen rubbed Harper’s back gently. “I miss you mom, too. Very, very much. But we have to make it work without her, baby. As a team, remember?” Maybe if he repeated it enough times, he’d learn to believe it.

The girl nodded and wrapped her arms around him, her ragged breathing evening out slowly. “Okay.” She sniffled. “Daddy? Are you going to get sick and die to?” She asked quietly.

“What?” Owen pulled back and wiped away the tears from her cheeks, his forehead creased as he searched her features, his chest tightening at the sight of tired acceptance on her face. “No, honey. Where did you get that?”

She rolled her shoulders in a half-shrug. Her hands dropped in her lap, fingers bunching the fabric of her purple tutu.

“Hey,” Owen tapped her on the chin until Harper was looking at him again. “Never, I swear.” He pulled at her hands until she let go of the starchy fabric – a nervous habit she picked up from Jenny – and clasped them in his palms, their eyes locked together. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” Harper’s eyes narrowed assertively in a cautious hope that she didn’t trust herself with just yet.

He willed himself to offer her a smile, hoping it looked more reassuring than it felt. “Cross my heart.”

At last, the worry lines on her face smoothed out, and she nodded slowly. And then asked, “Can we stay at home and watch cartoons today?”

Owen gave her a look - one eyebrow arched in a silent, Do you need to ask? Harper wrinkled her nose – there was no point in arguing, and they both knew it.

He uncurled from the floor and stood up, and Harper slid off the bed and followed him into the hallway, this time without protest.

Two minutes later, they found her bracelet in the pocket of her coat where she put it the previous evening.

Another thing that Owen discovered after finally dropping his daughter off at school (only 20 minutes late for her first period) was a black cashmere glove wedged between the passenger seat and the center console. He pulled it out and twisted it in his fingers. The fabric was pleasantly soft to the touch, smelling faintly of Claire’s perfume.

---

“I’m just saying – he’s a good guy,” Karen pressed for what felt like a hundredth time.

“I don’t need you setting me up with anyone,” Claire countered with patient tat threated to turn into exasperation any moment now and blew a wisp of hair that kept falling over her forehead off with a huff. “And why would you want to do it, anyway?”

A hand of her hip, Karen regarded her glumly across the room. “My love life is dead in a ditch, Claire. Let me live vicariously through you.”

“Well, thank you, but no, thank you,” Claire snorted. “I can take care of my love life without your help.”

“Right,” Karen snorted, earning an expressive eye-roll from her sister.

After the divorce, she decided to redecorate the house in an attempt to try and erase the presence of her ex-husband from her life to the best of her ability. After living for nearly twenty years surrounded by everything beige and pastel, Karen settled on baby-blue for the living room and mint-green for the kitchen. The hallway was still under consideration.

Currently, she and Claire were halfway into repainting her living room while her sons, Zach and Gray, were sent to clean the garage, the sound of their bickering wafting through the vents as they pushed around the boxes of useless junk no one had the heart to throw out. Claire knew for a fact that they were not likely to make any progress there whatsoever, but at least it kept them out of the way.

However, ending up elbows deep in paint and redecoration supplies was hardly what Claire expected when her sister asked her to ‘come over and help out with something’ on her day off. Apparently, there were two types of people in the world – those who hired professionals for this kind of thing, and those who shamelessly exploited their family.

“You are a professional,” Karen pointed out when Claire brought it up. “And you’re free.”

“Wow, I’ve never felt more appreciate in my life.” She deadpanned.

Claire’s phone dinged, announcing a new text message.

The corner of her mouth curled up at the sight of Owen’s name that popped up on the screen.

Lost anything? it read.

Are we playing 20 questions? She typed back. Should I ask if it’s an animal, a vegetable, or a mineral?

Owen responded promptly, Found your glove.

Claire bit her lip, doing her best to ignore Karen who was making big eyes at her. Thank god, I thought it ran away from me.

The screen came to life almost immediately. Well then, it’s grounded until you’re reunited.

Are you up for the challenge? You saw what it’s capable of. She shook her head, trying not to notice a fluttering in her chest and a soft warm glow in the pit of her stomach.

I have a 6-yr old who’s learning how to make waffles from scratch. I can handle a runaway glove.

You’re a brave man.

Instead of sending another text, Owen called, a picture of him and Harper that Claire took at the girl’s birthday party blinking on the screen – Owen grinning for what he was worth, slightly blurry next to his daughter who was blowing out birthday candles, her party hat slightly askew.

“Hey, um… You need me to bring it over?” Owen asked when she picked up, his voice laced with amusement, and maybe it was the paint fumes, but she almost managed to convince herself that she could no longer hear the notes of tension that seemed to permeate every conversation they had since last Sunday. All one and half of them, and every word they’d exchanged felt like trying too hard.

“No, it’s okay. Believe it or not, I have more than one pair of gloves, Mr. Grady,” she responded.  

He chuckled, and Claire imagined him standing in his kitchen bathed in the morning sunlight tangled in his hair, making it look golden at the ends. Imaged him leaning against the counter with the easy grace he was seemingly unaware of, his cheeks shaded with stubble, probably still sporting a bedhead.

“Yeah, well… I was just worried about your mutual separation anxiety. Wouldn’t want that to happen.”

Claire snorted. “We’ll live.” A pause. “So, waffles, huh?” She could hear the clatter of pots and pans on his end of the line, and Harper’s voice reading from a cookbook or maybe a magazine.

“Stranger things happen.”

They do indeed, she thought.

Like a snowfall in the Sahara Desert.

Or Venus spinning backwards for no particular reason.

Or the fact that practical and level-headed Claire Dearing was grinning uncontrollably like an idiot right now while her logical thinking and pragmatism were having a laughing fit. With a suddenness that left her lightheaded, Claire’s life was spiraling out of control, making her feel like she was balancing on a tightrope – one wrong step, and she’d be flying into the abyss. The only difference between this and a circus trick was that she was blindfolded as well, or at least so it seemed.

God, she was in so much trouble.

“Who was that?” Karen asked as soon as Claire hung up.

“No one.” Claire grabbed her abandoned roller and dipped it into a tray of baby-blue paint, grateful for an excuse to focus on something that wasn’t dealing with the flopping of her heart in her chest. It grew five size too big and couldn’t fit in her ribcage anymore, making her slightly dizzy.  

“Could you be any more obvious?” Karen rolled her eyes. “What’s going on with you two?”

Claire turned away, choosing to concentrate on the task at hand. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sis.”

Karen snorted. “Wanna try that again, but with more feeling?”  

---

There was something soothing about repetitive activities that Owen found particularly comforting. Some people meditated, other knitted, and he loved to run. The simple action of pounding the pavement, one step after another, pushing himself forward helped him clear his mind, set his thoughts straight, or, in most cases, rid him of any altogether. Funny how physical exertion could be so consuming it barely ever left the space for anything else.

A few days after Jenny’s funeral, he woke up completely numb, his mind a black hole, which felt surprisingly refreshing after a long period of agonizing pain over the sickness and the loss of his wife. It was almost like his brain blocked out the whole incident, making Owen believe half the time that Jenny would be in the kitchen or watching cartoons with Harper when he got back home from work. Something like coping mechanism – he was well familiar with the concept in theory after those mandatory therapy sessions that followed one of his NAVY tours.

It was easier that way, too. He could function the way he used to. He could get up in the morning and make breakfast for his daughter and go to work and pick up groceries on his way back. He’d probably lie to himself if he said he wanted it to be any other way. Frozen somehow. Stunned.

It didn’t matter.

At the time, nothing mattered. The woman he loved more than life itself was gone, his whole existence was in ruins – why would he want to feel anything about any of this? A few months ago, he was certain this was how it was going to be until the day he died – going through motions as if on autopilot, sticking to the basics of existence rather than actually living, holding on to the sweet oblivion of dreams that made sense more than his reality.

Not only did it feel better than the alternative, it felt fair. What right did he have to be happy when Jenny was dead? How could he allow himself a sliver of hope for the future when hers was taken from her? He had a clear plan and goal ahead of him – make sure his daughter’s life was better than this. End of story.

And then…

And then he started to thaw, the feelings he never knew he could have again peeking cautiously from their hiding, waking up from a long slumber, shaky and uncertain but eager and willing to overflow him. Of course, he fought them as best he could, shoving them back and burying them deep and shutting them out with persistence and determination. The anticipation of something new and wonderful mixed with guilt and shame, Jenny’s face before his mind’s eye, sobering and grave.

Until the edges of that image began to blur and it cracked and faded like an old photograph, and the heavy black mane Jenny used to wear in sloppy buns on the top of her head and the chocolate softness of her gaze stepped back, giving way to bright-red waves and a dusting of freckles and the sea-green of Claire’s eyes, the sound of her laughter echoing in his head. Until he was going to bed and waking up with her face before his mind’s eye.

In the past decade, Owen Grady had seen enough death, blood and violence to last him a few lifetimes. He’d long lost count of the times when he was half a step away from becoming a memory and never seeing the light of another day again. And yet, it was nothing compared to the animal fear that was clutching him in its sharp claws right now. The fear of taking a leap again and betting on a maybe instead of sticking to a safe no.

Of course, there also was a matter of Harper. Did he have any right to bring another woman into their lives when the memories of her mother were still raw and fresh in his daughter’s mind? No, he did not. It already frightened Owen that she was young, her recollection of Jenny more fleeting than his. In a few years, she would barely remember her at all, the face on the photographs would be a face of a stranger. Was he in a position to speed up this process by bringing another person into their small world after trying so hard and for so long to conserve it the way it had been when the three of them were still together?

But how on earth was he supposed to choose between logic and common sense, and the fact that he was head over heels for Claire?

Owen circled around the park, before slowing down and stopping eventually, breathless. He bent over, hands propped on his knees, gulping hungry for air, his lungs screaming. For once, a 12-mile run left him more agitated than he was when he left the house.

That evening Owen found Harper sitting at the coffee table in the living room after dinner, her school workbook open before her and her crayons strewn all over the place.

“Hey, kiddo? Whatcha you up to?”

“Spelling,” she said when he plopped down next to her.

“Sound like fun,” Owen offered enthusiastically, stretching out on the carpet, but she only shrugged. Then her expression brightened and she peered down at him. “Can we go see the horses again?”

Owen chuckled. “We might have to ask Claire about that.” He made another attempt to gather his thoughts together. Took a steadying. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” The girl reached for a blue crayon and filled the large boxes with shaky P-H-O-N-E.

“What’d you say if Claire started hanging out with us sometimes?” He watched her look for another crayon before diving under the coffee table to retrieve it.

“She’s already hanging out with us,” Harper responded, seemingly more interested in her homework.

Owen cleared his throat. “Maybe more than that,” he said. “Like, maybe we’ll have her over for dinner now and then, or take her to the movies with us, or to the park. Stuff like that. Hypothetically speaking.”

She turned to him with a frown. “What’s a ‘hypoticly’?”

“Hypothetically. It means ‘in theory’,” he explained. “Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. But if she will, would it be okay with you?”

Harper sat back on her heels. “Why won’t she? She likes us.”

He laughed at that. “You think so? Well, I still have to ask her.”  

“It’s okay.” The girl grinned. “Hypo—what was it?”

“Hypothetically.” With a victorious whoop, Owen pulled her down for a vicious tickle attack.

---

“Stop it, man!” Barry demanded from his spot near the workbench where he was scrubbing his hands clean with a solvent the following Friday, its sharp scent hanging in the air.

Elbows deep in the guts of an old Harley Davidson, Owen glanced up at him. “What?”

“You’re humming,” Barry raised his eyebrows. “Why are you humming?”

“I’m not humming,” Owen scoffed.

“You are, too. What is it? Did your daughter get an A or something?” He paused theatrically. “Or is it that hot --”

“Shut up,” Owen told him, his mouth curving into a smile against his will.

“’Cause if you’re not gonna go for it, I might,” Barry warned him, earning a dirty cloth in his face, tossed with surprising precision.

“You need to get a life,” Owen said, pulling away from the motorcycle and standing up, his hands shaking with the nervous energy coursing through him.

“Hey, where are you going?” Barry called after him when he grabbed his jacket and headed for the exit.

“I got a date,” Owen tossed over the shoulder with a short laugh, his insides churning at the sound of his own voice and the idea of… whatever it was he was going to do.

---

It was a little known fact, but her entire life could have easily turned out entirely different.

The first time Claire stepped on the ice, she was 4, and up until this moment, she was living and breathing her dreams about bright, colourful leotards and tight buns and doing gymnastics, like Karen. Yet, when their parents went to sign her up for the lessons, the class was already full, leaving Claire devastated and heart-broken. Her only option was to wait for the next year, or maybe hope that someone would drop out, vacating a spot she could take.

Her mother suggested trying ice-skating to fill the time until Claire could join the next group, and the offer wasn’t met with enthusiasm. Why would she want to do it if it wasn’t gymnastics? But Claire didn’t have much of a choice except to maybe sulk in her room and fell miserable, and at the time, she really, really wanted to have a thing, like her sister. And after her first hour on the skating rink, she never thought about gymnastics ever again.

Push, turn, jump…

Triple flip, her lifelong nemesis.

Claire winced at the mild tug of ache in her leg, caused by an awkward landing. It was all about the setting - knowing what she had to do and seeing it in her mind wasn’t enough. Her body needed to be aligned perfectly and positioned properly for every move. She knew from experience how doing it wrong might end.

All her life, she heard people tell her that her techniques looked effortless and smooth and flawless, not one of them seemingly realizing that there was always fear. The ice was merciless if she allowed it to be, yet it also gave her the freedom like nothing else, and the short moments in the air, mere seconds of floating above the smooth, pale surface were worth it. They were worth every bruise and scratch and all of her tears. There was, after all, nothing quite like flying, like an illusion of breaking the laws of physics and tearing off the ground, escaping the grip of gravity at last, longing for more than she could have.

And at the same time, it kept her grounded and focused, her attention zeroed in on here and now. More whole than ever.

Spin, lunge…

“You really are living here, aren’t you?”

A familiar voice broke through the melodic notes of Across The Universe, nearly throwing her off balance – both literally and figuratively.  

Claire whipped her head around, so engrossed in the moment she thought she might have imagined it. It had been so long since Owen casually dropped by when she wasn’t teaching, she’d forgot to look for him in the bleachers, hidden in the shadows outside the brightly lit arena – a habit she developed briefly after the first few time he’d done it. The one she wasn’t particularly proud of.

She straightened up and pushed the hair that escaped the scrunchie holding it together at the nape of her neck out of her face. “Actually, I am. I sleep on the pallet over there,” she motioned vaguely toward the corner of the auditorium. “And my house is just a decoy to keep my sister off my back.”

He chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What brings you by, Mr. Grady?” She asked, only half-joking.

In the two weeks since Harper’s birthday, Owen made a point of having as little interaction with her as humanly possible. No, he wasn’t rubbing it in her face, but his attempts were undeniable nonetheless. He’d drop Harper off and collect her afterward, not a minute late, always ushering the girl out the second the pulled on her street shoes and avoiding looking at Claire for more than a second at a time like she was contagious with something incurable.

As a result, Claire went out of her way to stick around talking to the other kids or their parents until Owen and Harper were gone, desperate to prove that two could play that game. Which only added to her puzzlement that she was seeing him now, not only here out of the blue, but stepping onto the ice, grey ice-skates on his feet. He clutched the barrier for a second to steady himself, stiff and cautious, and her eyebrows hit the roof at the sight of him.

And then he started toward her, not at all uncertain in his movements – something that undoubtedly came from practice.

“Colour me surprised,” Claire whistled under her breath, and Owen laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls to hang for a moment in the hollow space above their heads.

“I actually played hockey,” he admitted. “A long time ago.”

She arched an eyebrow, allowing him to slide closer to her, trying to guess what was it that caught her attention. In a snug leather jacket and black dress shirt underneath it, he looked different somehow, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on what made her think so. Not his wardrobe choices, she decided in the end. She saw him dressed in grease-stained work clothes as well as in casual and what Owen perceived as ‘business casual’ attire before.

No, there was something about him this time…

“And then what happened?” She asked, genuinely curious.

“Middle school. Puberty.” He flinched at the memories. “I stopped being interested in hangin’ out with people that looked like me and got into spending time with people who looked like you.” His gaze traveled up and down Claire’s body, and she raised her chin, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“But girls like jocks,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, and they also like having boyfriends who don’t spend 4 hours a day chasing a plastic puck,” Owen countered.

“Fair enough.” She raised her hands, conceding his point. “So…” In one fluid motion, she slipped away and around him, disappearing in the shadow for a second only to emerge in another spotlight, “do you have any other hidden talents I know nothing about?”

Owen pushed back, making a slow semi-circle on the spot, following her with his gaze.

“Sometime I don’t burn the food to a crisp when I cook,” he responded, watching her face.

A laughter bubbled up in Claire’s chest. “Wow, you’re quite a catch,” she started, and then cut herself off with a wince. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like—It’s all Karen’s fault.”

“Karen thinks I’m a catch?” Owen specified, making an awkward spin as if to prove a point.

“No! I mean, yes, obviously--” Claire rolled her eyes, “--but it’s not what it was about.” She shook her head, trying not to think of the traitorous colour rising up her cheeks. “My sister got divorced recently and she hates when people treat her like a divorced woman instead of like, you know, a person. And I guess I thought you’d also be sick of being defined by something that happened to you instead of who you are.” After that, she clamped her mouth shut, hoping that one of the overhead lights would maybe fall on her head this very moment. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

Owen stayed quiet for a long moment, before his lips stretched into a rueful half-smile and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “You know, I’ve heard ‘I’m sorry, my condolences’ so many times in this past year that at some point I almost started to believe it was my name. I actually almost introduced myself as ‘I’m sorry, my condolences’ when I first met you.”

“Shame.” She bit her lip when Owen nearly tripped over himself, trying to keep up with her. “That’d make one hell of a first impression.”

Claire didn’t really notice she was skating away from him while Owen was advancing on her until her sacrum bumped into the barrier, catching her off-guard, and the next moment, he was right in front of her, bracketing her with his arms, his hands gripping the railing on other side of Claire for support. And they were both breathless, and she could feel the pounding of his heart against her chest and his warm breath on her face, and the world was spinning so fast.

“Why are you here, Owen?” Claire repeated softly.

His eyes were deep blue and stormy, making her think of being lost in the sea, and drowning, drowning, drowning.

“Trying to not be defined by something that happened to me,” he murmured, his face so close to Claire’s he could see every golden spec in her eyes, every freckle, every smallest detail already seared into his mind. His nose bumped against hers, his lips hovering over Claire’s for a second before she tilted her face up, pressing her mouth to his, her fingers curled tightly around his jacket.

She smelled of something sweet and tasted of cherries – a mix that left him lightheaded, her lips soft and warm against his. And when she started to pull away, Owen dipped his head, deepening the kiss, his teeth tugging lightly at her bottom lip, his heart suddenly too big for his body, and too hot, and too full…

“So I was hoping,” he began when Claire drew back a little at last, “to maybe take you out for dinner. If you happen to have a couple hours on your hands.”

“I think I could shift some things around,” she whispered, her head swimming. “But what about--”

“It’s okay,” he promised her as his shuddered inhale reverberating through her, no longer able to hold back the words he’d been swallowing for quite a while. “I can’t get you out of my mind for one goddamn moment, Claire. Couldn’t for months now, and it’s driving me insane.”

“And Harper…” Her hand traced the collar of his shirt, his skin rippling and shivering under the touch of her cool fingers.

“Harper’s staying with my mother till tomorrow.”

Feeling her face break into a grin, Claire wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up urgently on tiptoes and closer to him, dizzy and elated. “Tomorrow, huh?” Her lips crashed to his again as Owen’s hand slipped up her back, a guttural moan forming in the back of his throat, and she prayed to god they wouldn’t float away.

To be continued....

PS HCs are welcome!

[wetmalissa-blog]

Exploring Convenience Wetting

An idea popped into my head one morning when I stepped into the shower. Before I turned the water on I decided I wanted to pee right then and there (for the sexual thrill, of course!) I stood with my legs tight together and released my morning torrent. But a detail struck me! The process was remarkably silent. My pee was just streaming down my legs, branching off to the backs of my thighs and spiraling around my calves all the way down to the bottoms of my feet, where it would pool and ripple before finding its way to the drain. I peed harder to see if it would be any noisier than the feint hiss it made slowly spraying from my pussy. The small rivers turned into a waterfall between my legs, clinging to the sides of my inner thighs, forming a beautiful, dancing, golden curtain before spiraling around my knees and jettisoning in small streams off my calves to splatter on the ground. If I peed really hard it would form a powerful arc, shooting high off my inner thigh and making a lot of noise against the cold tile floor. As you can tell it had a hypnotizing effect on me. The real take-away from this little experiment was that if I restrained the flow just right, the process was virtually silent! And I was in the shower so not only was I standing on a noisy tiled floor, I was standing in a small, enclosed, noisy tiled room! Again-- hardly any sound! (At least until it poured down the drain.) It dawned on me that with the right skirt this could be a discreet and convenient way to pee in public! I decided that this theory needed to be tested.

I hardly got any work done at work. I was too busy imagining how the rest of my day would go! Water was my constant companion and the bathroom became a forbidden zone. When I got home at 1:30, like I usually do, my bladder was uncomfortably loaded. The nagging pressure in my groin excited me as it mounted. Especially because I knew my moment of relief would happen in public. But first I needed to pick out my outfit, and more importantly my skirt! In order for it to work like it did in my shower simulation I first needed to discard my panties. Going commando in pants is one thing, and not all that uncommon for me, but being pantiless with a skirt is something I’ve only ever done on rare occasions. It honestly made my experience that much more exciting! (I’m sure that’ll be evident as the story progresses!) I picked out my light grey, high-wasted, corduroy skirt that buttons together down the middle and comes down to mid-thigh. It’s perfect because its kind of a loose fit on my thighs and the stiff fabric makes it hover over them without too much clinging. I also wore a black tank top with a jean jacket and my auburn converse. It was actually a pretty cute outfit! At this point though I really had to go—not pee pee dance desperate but it was getting pretty bad. It occurred to me that in the right circumstances I could pee in this outfit multiple times on the same day! I grabbed a towel from my dryer (the same one I used for my Tuesday story!!!) and my purse and headed out—but not before downing a cold glass of water!

I wanted to go to a store again, and actually go IN the store this time! I drove to a nice shoe store (which will remain nameless) and strolled inside. I could feel the cool air currents against my bare pussy as I walked and the knowledge of what I planned to do was making me moist. The memory of my previous experience was actually giving me a lot of confidence. Plus I wouldn’t even have to worry about pee stains on my pants giving me away! I browsed the aisles looking for one with suitable privacy. Although the idea of having an ‘accident’ in front of somebody again really excited me, I wasn’t very keen on getting in trouble with any store staff. Eventually I found a pair of boots that I wanted to try on and a naughty thought popped into my mind. Suddenly I heard a friendly voice from over my shoulder, “Are finding everything alright?”

I spun around and matched her smile, “Oh, yes! I’m just browsing.” She was a young black girl, about my height, dressed nicely and wearing a nametag I couldn’t read. She then told me what I imagine her usual spiel was: that if I needed anything she’d be up front. I was tempted to stage an accident right there—she would probably feel sorry for me and at least let me run out of the store in embarrassment. But I remained composed, let her walk away, and grabbed the boots I wanted to try.

I sat on a bench, pretty aware that if I were to spread my legs my vagina would be on display for anybody who passed by. Then I took off my convers, and my socks too, and took all the paper stuff out of the boots. Once I got them on I stood up and assessed myself. They were dark brown and came up to the thickest part of my calves, just below my knees. One: they were a little big, and two: that was perfect because I needed to pee and I wanted them to capture as much as possible. I walked over to one of those slanted mirrors and looked down at the reflection of my legs. What I was about to do was so wrong but I had come too far to back out now! So I held my legs tightly together, let my arms hang loose, took a deep breath… and exhaled.

I didn’t feel any wetness at first. In fact I made the mistake of thinking I wasn’t pushing hard enough! I guess an appropriate term is ‘over-corrected’. In an instant there was pee streaming down my thighs, branching out every which way, flowing into the legs of the loose boots I was wearing. I concentrated hard to try and stop the release—I had only wanted to do a short burst! But I was pissing uncontrollably at this point and my branching stream had become a waterfall torrent clinging to my legs. I started to feel warm piss pooling in the boots around my feet and quickly rise above my ankles. Some of my pee started to shoot in streams off my calves down onto the carpet! But there was nobody nearby to hear the quiet splatter (and I suspect that even if there were the store music would have sufficiently drowned it out). I was so turned on I stopped trying to cut the flow entirely and just let my bladder do what it had to. I was peeing even harder now and a small puddle on the floor started to form— but most of it was still going in the boots! I looked down at the angled mirror and got a nice picture of what I looked like from the ground. Holding my thighs together that tightly and peeing that hard made my piss spread wildly from my pussy to the sides of my legs. From the reflection in the mirror you could see how the pee was gushing around my upper thighs farther up my skirt! Some of it was even shooting to the against the inside of my skirt and dripping off the bottom. I threw my head up in relief and ecstasy, closed my eyes, sighed, and peed until I couldn’t anymore.

Once I was finished I carefully took the boots off (making sure not to spill any of my pee) and placed them back on the shelf. I felt so incredibly naughty and knew that some poor soul would inevitably find it! My legs and feet were glistening and warm and there was a wet circle on the carpet about 1½ feet in diameter where I had stood. And thank god nothing showed on my skirt! I used the paper bunches from the boots to wipe my feet dry before placing them carefully on top of the lake of piss inside each boot. Then I put my socks and convers back on and made my way to the exit with my heart absolutely racing! As I passed by the girl behind the register, I smiled and waved goodbye to her like any innocent shopper would do. She reciprocated, not suspecting a thing.

When I got to my car I wiped my legs and crotch with my towel and sat down in the drivers seat. I was still breathing heavily from all the excitement. I could still feel warm piss dripping from my yearning pussy and immediately unbuttoned the front of my skirt to masturbate! When I finished (which didn’t take long!) I started to plan out the rest of my day: go to class in the evening, head to a bookstore afterwards to study, and drink a lot of liquids during it all! And, most importantly, find a chance to do that again!

Like I said earlier, I go to class on Monday and Wednesday evenings. The building I have to go to is pretty deep in the city and I prefer taking the subway to fighting traffic (which is an absolute joke in city limits). There’s a station not too far from my house so I can drive there and take the rest of the way by train. I had already started drinking some sweet tea before I got home from the shoe store to grab my computer bag and get ready for class, so my bladder didn’t have much of a reprieve. By the time I stepped on the train I was already desperate enough to stage an accident! But I’m a stickler for adhering to a plan so I continued holding. The classrooms in my college are in kind of semi-circle shape, with ascending rows of chairs and long, curved desks that face the lecturer. What I realized part way into class is that the desks are just tops, so there no wall in front to shield my legs from whoever happened to look up and out to where I’m sitting. I parted my legs some to give anyone who wanted a peak a good view of my bare pussy. For most of the time, though, I was just waving my knees back and forth to tolerate the urinary pressure that was mounting! I suppose that still gave any onlookers a good view, if not a fleeting one.

When I got to the bookstore to study after class at around 9:30 I was really bursting! It was the full package of desperation: crotch grabbing, legs crossing, I even had to stand up and walk around to regain my composure at times. And the armchair I sat in was right next to the bathrooms! Needless to say I didn’t get much studying done! I thought about peeing in the chair but I didn’t want to get my skirt soaking wet—I had to come home to my husband after all and I hadn’t packed anything to change into. I looked over to the empty Starbucks built into the store and decided now was the time. So I packed up my computer and headed that way. There was just one employee sitting on a stool behind the counter, reading a book. By the time I got to the register I was genuinely bursting! I ordered a coconut mocha macchiato. I was already holding my legs tightly together, honestly doing everything I could not to start pissing. While he was making my drink I asked him, “What book are you reading?” My voice must have been shaky from how desperate I was.

“I’m actually re-reading it,” he said. This guy was pretty young, but tall, probably in his late teens, and had gauges in his ears. He started telling me all about Dune and how it was one of the best science fiction books ever written.

I didn’t actually hear everything he was saying, though, because I had already started peeing.

I could have held it but psychologically I had given up. I glanced down at myself for an instant to see it streaming around my legs. It felt so warm… my legs had actually gotten a little chilly sitting in the bookstore for so long. I was careful not to get too excited and push too hard—I didn’t want to be too noisy. Of course, there was no way to silence the hissing it made as it poured out of my pussy. Mr. Barista seemed oblivious enough, what with the easy-listening music and the sound of a macchiato being made. While still telling me about the book, he handed me my drink and I took a sip. My socks and converse were getting soaked. Still peeing, I asked him if it was new. I couldn’t believe what I was doing! I was casually having a conversation with a stranger standing not 3 feet in front of me and peeing! This guy would probably be the one who’d clean up my puddle too! I don’t remember everything he told me but apparently the author was a super interesting guy and there’s like 5 other books in the series or something. I got a chance to look down and see the huge puddle I was standing in. It really was massive and along the edges of it my pee had started to flow along the cracks between the tiles. And I was still going! Relieving myself felt so good and I must have had a huge grin on my face. I stood there talking to him until he was done. He told me that book was a store copy and he’d give it to me to buy if I wanted.

“Maybe another time.” I said. “How much for the coffee?” He sat down to continue reading after I paid. Everything ended up being timed perfectly—my bladder was empty by the time I handed him my money. I took a sip of my coffee, said goodbye, and turned to leave. My shoes squished as I walked, but I didn’t dare look back to see if he had noticed. I left the store as fast as I could and made my way to the subway station to head home. My legs were glistening for a while but they were dry before I made it to my station. Nobody seemed to pay my wet legs any mind on the ride home. I’m sure the inside of my skirt must have gotten a little wet, but its thick corduroy and wouldn’t show much if it was—my shoe store experience was proof of that! All in all, it was a clean getaway and when I got home I managed to get my socks, converse, and towel in the wash without my husband noticing.

I have many future adventures to share-- I can’t wait to write them down! I’m curious to hear if anyone’s done something similar and of course I’d love to hear your feedback regardless!

Take care and stay tuned!