#how do they want me to feel when i watch thirteen and wilson play truth or dare

[scrimbum]

watching the lockdown episode from season 6 is crazy because it keeps playing with my emotions.. why do they keep switching from a silly funny moment TO THE MOST GUT WRENCHING SCENE THAT WILL MAKE ME GO INSANE

[steves-on-a-plane]

I'll Be There For You

For @star-spangled-bingo 2021

Pairing: None Cast Of Characters: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers & Rogers Daughter!Reader Warnings: Mild swearing, bit of teenaged angst from Reader Words: 2399 Squares Filled: Dad/Daughter Dance Summary: Reader is Steve Rogers' twelve year old daughter who has been left in the care of her two "Uncles" Sam and Bucky. Reader confesses to Sam & Bucky that she feels like she plays second figure to "Captain America" on her dad's priority list. Her uncles do their best to assure her this isn't the case and of course Steve Rogers swoops in at the last minute to save the day.

You opened the window, closed your eyes and inhaled deeply. You didn’t care that the wind swirling around outside was causing small pools of water on the sill as fat droplets made their way in side. You didn’t care that the air was thick and the sky was a chalky grey. It was raining and you loved the rain. Rain was cleansing. Rain meant that old things were being washed away and new things would grow in their place. Rain was comforting.

The apartment you lived in with your father was the opposite. The building was old and every other floorboard seemed to creak or crack. The windows rattled and no matter how much the two of tried to keep things clean, there seemed to be a perpetual layer of dust that settled over everything. It was somehow stuff and drafty at the same time. You want to be outside where the rain was, not stuck inside with your two babysitters.

“[Y/N], what the hell are you doing?” Your Uncle Bucky demanded as he entered the living room. He pulled down the sash, effectively closing the window and keeping the beautiful rain scents out.

“Buck, you shouldn’t say hell to kids. You shouldn’t swear at kids. Steve would have a fit if he heard you.” Uncle Same chastised as he followed into the room.

“[Y/n]’s not a kid, she’s twelve. That’s practically thirteen. She’s basically a teenager.” Bucky pointed out. “Besides it’s not like hell is a gateway swear. You think if she hears me say hell then it’s a matter of time before she moves on to some real swear like…"

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Sam interrupted. “I don’t see a scenario where that sentence doesn’t end in a word Steve is comfortable with [Y/N] hearing.”

“Uncle Sam you do know that I’ve been around Tony Stark before, right?” You asked. “And believe it or not the Avenger who swears the most is Dr. Banner.”

“That still doesn’t mean your Uncle Bucky needs to help you pick up any bad habits.” Sam then noticed the water on the windowsill dripping down onto Steve’s hardwood floor. “Where did all that water come from?”

“Little Rogers had the window open.” Bucky nodded at you. “She had half her torso sticking out a fifth floor window.” He shook his head. “I’ll go get a towel.”

“Were you really hanging out the window?” Sam asked as Bucky stepped out into the hall. He knew Uncle Bucky had the tendency to overreact. Not that he could blame the guy, you were the only kid Bucky ever spent more than five minutes with.

“No.” You answered, but the truth was you couldn’t be certain. “I don’t know, maybe.” You added.

“YES!” Bucky shouted from the linen closet, still out of sight.

“You know that’s dangerous, don’t you [Y/N]?” Sam reminded you.

“Yeah, but…” You tried to defend yourself.

“Yeah but do you think Uncle Sam or I want to have to call your Dad and tell him that you fell out the window when we were supposed to be taking care of you?” Bucky handed you the towel and motioned for you to start moping up your mess.

“Weren’t you the one who was just saying I’m practically a teenager?” You sighed. You then mumbled to yourself, “Besides, maybe if I fell out of the window he’d actually pay attention to me.” Sam and Bucky exchanged a look of confusion behind your back.

“What do you mean by that?” Sam probed. He wasn’t accusatory. His tone was soft, he waited for you to answer.

“He’s not here right now is he?” You tossed the sopping towel in your hands to the ground and turned to face them. “Lots of kids have parents who go away for work so I know I’m not that special okay? But I can’t help but wish he was home more. Even when he’s not away on missions he’s still in his office taking calls or filing reports or zoom meetings! It sucks!” You threw yourself down into a nearby armchair. You ignored the smirk from Bucky and the incredulous look from Sam as you swore. “Even when he tries to do things with me…Like last week, he wanted to take me out for ice cream. We didn’t even make it a block from the apartment before he was getting hounded for photos and autographs. I love my dad, but I hate Captain America.”

Sam and Bucky exchange another look. This time both their expressions seemed to say, “What do we do now?”

“It’s okay, you can say it.” You sighed, looking down at your feet rather than at either of them.

“Say what, Kid?” Bucky used the most affectionate nickname he could muster and he sat beside you on the couch.

“That it’s a really selfish thing to say and that Captain America does a lot of good and sharing dad with the Greater Good is a sacrifice I should be happy to make. You can’t think any worse of me then I already do.” You assured them, still not daring to make eye contact with either one of them.

“I don’t think that at all.” Bucky told you. You certainly weren’t expect that. You looked over at him. “I hate Captain America too sometimes.”

“You do?” You felt your eyebrows knit together. Uncle Bucky had been your dad’s best friend practically their entire lives.

“Of course. Steve Rogers is my best friend.” Bucky said. “But Steve Rogers is a skinny little thing who’s allergic to everything under the sun, and couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.” His description brought forward in your mind pictures you’d seen of you dad before the serum. Seeimg him like that always made you giggle. “Now Captain America, He’s a big beefy guy, he likes running and motocyles, thinks he’s so cool.” Bucky wrinkled his face in disgust. “You know what helps me, on my days when I’m really ticked off at Captain America?”

“What?” You inched a little closer to Bucky as if he were whispering a secret.

“I have to remind myself that some days, your dad hates Captain America too.” You opened your mouth to disagree, but Sam jumped in. He sat on the other end of the couch, joining the conversation.

“Remember that story you were telling us during dinner, that one friend you have…?” Sam reminded you.

“Jennifer.” You supplied.

“Right.” Sam nodded. “Remember how you said Jennifer’s mom told her that drawing is a waste of time so now even though Jennifer really loves to paint and draw she doesn’t bring her projects home from art class any more? This is kind of like that.”

“Riiight.” Bucky agreed unsure if your friend’s interest in art was the same as the point he was trying to make, but he’d give Wilson an A for effort.

“It’s the same thing.” Sam insisted. “Jennifer is comfortable sharing her art work with you, because she knows you support her. There are thinks your dad with share with us that Captain America might not share with the world.”

“Right.” Bucky nodded enthusiastically this time. “Like that magazine that published an Apple Pie recipe last month as ‘Captain America’s Signature Apple Pie.’ You and I both know your dad’s never made an apple pie in his life. He doesn’t even like apple pie that much.” You smiled again remembering the rant Uncle Bucky had gone on when he saw the magazine in the grocery store.

“You said your cat could probably make a better pie that dad.” You reminded him.

“And I still think that.” Buck assured you. “Our point, [Y/N], is that it’s okay to not be okay all of the time. It’s okay to feel like your dad and Captain America are two different people sometimes. But you have to talk about you are feeling. You have to tell your dad, Uncle Sam, me or someone else , because if you don’t you’re never going to feel better about it.”

“I mean I guess I feel a little better already.” You shrugged. “But I’m afraid to bother any one with my stuff. You guys are busy. Let me guess this is the part where you both say you’re never too busy for me?” You rolled your eyes. “Dad says that all the time, but he’s on a mission and not at the father daughter dance with me tonight. I’m sorry about the window.” You said getting to your feet. You picked up the towel from where you’d discarded it earlier.

“Father daughter dance?” Bucky mouthed to Sam behind your back. Sam shrugged in response. “Fix it!” Bucky replied.

“How?” Sam mouthed back. It was Bucky’s turn to shrug.

“I think I got most of the water.” You said, facing them again. “I’ll throw this thing in the hamper and then I think I’ll call it a night. Thanks for listening to me b-complain for a bit.” You decided not to chance swearing again in front of Uncle Sam.

“Bed?” Bucky jumped to his feet. “It’s not even five yet.” He glanced at his watch to confirm. “We should do something…”

“That’s fine, I think I just want to be alone for now. I’m sure dad will still be gone tomorrow. We can do something then.” You and your dripping wet towel started to make your way towards your bedroom.

“[Y/N], wait.” Sam also got to his feet. “Maybe Uncle Bucky and I could take you to your father daughter dance. I know it’s not the same because we’re not your dad, but other kids probably go with uncles or…”

“Jennifer’s moms are both taking her.” You smirked. “And I am the only one of my friends who wasn’t going. It could be fun.”

“What time’s the dance start?” Bucky asked. “Seven? Eight?”

“Seven, but I don’t have anything to wear. Everyone else was planning on dressing up.” You pointed out.

“If we leave now, I’m sure we can still find you something nice.” Sam suggested. “Maybe we can find a salon to do your hair.” He remembered how much his sister used to love getting her hair done special for dances when they were younger.

“What about the rain?” You bit your lip. You could tell they were really trying to make this work.

“You were about to climb out that window before I got in the room.” Bucky laughed. “I didn’t think a little rain would slow you down.”

“Okay.” You agreed. “Okay. Father-Daughter-Uncle Dance it is.”

“I’ll get my car keys. You put your shoes on and get a jacket. Last thing I need is you getting sick.” Sam instructed.

Two and a half hours later, Sam parked his car in the parking lot of your school. The dance was being held in the gymnasium. Miraculously, he had found a hair salon that was still open and willing to style your hair for the event. Apparently, a lot of parents in the neighborhood were taking their kids for cuts or styles in preparation of the big event. While you were in the salon, Bucky darted in and out of shops trying to find the right dress. He was on video chat with you or Sam the entire time and eventually the three of you settled on a pale pink dress with layers and layers of tule for the skirt. It had a shimmering silk sash that Uncle Bucky had tied into a perfect pink bow and the sleeves were flowy but not heavy. You felt like a princess.

“We’re late.” You frowned. “Do you think that matters?”

“Haven’t you ever been fashionably late before?” Bucky asked, opening the car door for you. He held a large umbrella in his hands so that neither of you would get wet. You noticed the rain had slowed down considerably since earlier.

Bucky and Sam had done their best to look put together for you. Uncle Bucky borrowed a pair of your dad’s old khaki pants and a charcoal grey button up shirt he hardly ever wore. You didn’t know where he’d found suspenders, but suspected they were your fathers too. Uncle Sam went for a more casual look wearing his cleanest pair of jeans and a maroon polo. When you entered the school gym, your homeroom teacher Mr. Jenson was selling and collecting tickets.

“Ah, [Y/N] Rogers. Who are your escorts this evening?” He asked while Sam paid for the tickets.

“These are my two Uncles.” You introduced them.

“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Mr. Jenson smiled. “Enjoy the dance.”

For the most part you did. There were all sorts of desserts available. Bucky helped you taste test every single one before you both agreed the chocolate cupcakes were the best. You felt a sense of pride when one of the boys in your class tried asking Sam about his Falcon costume and he explained he was at the dance on official Uncle business. They’d have to save the Falcon talk for another time. You introduced them to all of your friends and told everyone how amazing it was that they’d put everything together so last minute for you. Both Sam and Bucky took turns making sure you got in as many dances as possible. What had started as a boring afternoon had turned into a pretty good night.

“I think I’m ready for bed.” You yawned as you sat down next to Sam. The night had begun to wind down and you were getting tired.

“One more dance and then we’ll head up.” Bucky told you.

“Uncle Bucky I don’t know if I’ve got one more dance in me.” You yawned again.

“Too tired to dance with your old man even?” A familiar voice asked from behind you. You pivoted in your seat to see your dad standing behind you. He was dressed in his best suit, your favorite navy blue one, and held a bouquet of wildflowers in one hand.

“Dad!” You jumped to your feet and hugged him.

“You didn’t think I’d miss the chance to dance with my best girl, did ya?” You Dad asked. You took the flowers he offer you and placed them on the table between Sam and Bucky.

“Thank you.” You whispered to both of them before following your dad out to the dance floor.

[dilfhanni]

No one at the hospital knows you two are married.

“How’s the husband? Still too busy for a vacation?” Mrs. Johnson was trying to make friendly conversation with you – like she did every time you saw her – by asking about House. Or ‘the husband’ as she knew him. Anyone else who knew him wouldn’t be so fond of him, but you were lucky enough to tell her about all of the good things he does and how good he was to you. The last time you saw her, you were stressed from how heavy a workload you had and were in desperate need of a vacation. You told her that House (‘the husband’) wouldn’t be able to go and you refused to leave without him; apparently, she remembered that.

“Yes, unfortunately. But work is so much better now, I’m no longer in dire need of way too much sunlight and sand in unwanted places.” You gave her your warmest smile and she let out a soft laugh, hanging her purse over her shoulder. You lead her to the door and followed her out of the room.

“Tell him that he needs to take you anyway, you look like you could use some sun.” You shook your head slightly and set her chart in the file holder beside the door.

“I thought my vampirish glow was working for me.” You walked to the nurses station and waved her off with a goodbye, grabbing another patient file. You might as well try to fulfill your clinic hours while you were here. The doors to the clinic opened and you could see a small group of people walking in, one of them with a distinct walk. Something you could recognize anywhere. You set the file back and walked around the opposite side of the clinic, avoiding him like the plague.

You two made a pact to ignore each other at work and to pretend like you didn’t know the other existed. It was easier for you two that way, no arguments to have over a patient or annoying things to dispute about your relationship with talkative nurses. You could hear the collection of footsteps following you at a somewhat faster pace and House say something to them, your eyes searching the clinic to see who was paying attention. You turned your head to look over your shoulder at them, seeing House looking back at you.

“Need a consult.” You stopped and turned your body to face him, seeing his fellows standing behind him and watching with curious faces.

“Come to my office, I’m not doing this here.” You walked out of the clinic and to the elevators, knowing that House would be following you. You pressed the button and tucked your hands into your lab coat pockets, feeling the presence of someone standing right next to you. You spoke so only House could hear you, your eyes staying on the elevator doors. “There’s no one else you could get a consult from? Or are you still mad about last night?” You stepped into the elevator as it opened, turning to face the doors and seeing his fellows looking at you two with their eyebrows scrunched together. He stepped in beside you and pressed the button for your floor.

“Sorry, no more room.” He spoke to them and you watched as the doors slid shut before turning your head to face him. He looked down at you and raised his eyebrows slightly. “No, I’m not mad because I know I was right and so do you.” Your mouth hung open a bit as you scoffed.

“There is no way in hell you were right. Admit it, you just want to tell everyone that you love me and you’re tired of hiding it anymore.” The doors opened as you were finished talking and you smirked at him, walking out of the elevator backwards and watching as he rolled his eyes. You turned around and lead him to your office, finding his team already sitting and waiting. You smiled at them before sitting at your desk, clasping your hands together on the top of your desk.

“Fever, joint pain, rash, seizures, kidney function declining.” House was the first to speak in the room, his eyes focused on the window and his hands tapping his cane up and down.

“And you needed my expertise? It sounds like autoimmune.” You watched his face for a moment before resting your head on your hand, raising an eyebrow. “Do you need me to tell you it’s lupus? Because I can. Gladly.” He turned to look at you and narrowed his eyes.

“It’s not lupus.” You raised your hand to get him to stop his tangent before he even started, his fellows surprised that he listened.

“Is the ANA positive?” He sighed and nodded, a smirk spreading on your lips. “It’s lupus.” You watched as he grumbled to himself, the only female fellow speaking up; you think he called her Thirteen, but you can’t remember.

“Do you two know each other?” You looked between her and House, wondering if you should tell them the truth, before sighing.

“Yes. He’s my husband and currently being an idiot.” You watched as he crossed the room to stand beside you at your desk, some stupid remark about to come out of his mouth. “It’s lupus and you need to start treatment.” You could see his fellows watching you two carefully, trying to figure out if you were lying or not. House looked at them and picked your left hand up, showing them the ring on your finger.

“It’s real, you can stop looking at us like that. Is it so hard to believe someone would want to marry me?” You rolled your eyes and took your hand back, looking at the four doctors in front of you.

“You can ask Wilson if you still don’t believe us.” You stood from your chair and walked to the door, opening it and gesturing outside. “Now that you have what you needed, I have to get back to my job. Go treat your patient.” House walked to you, his bottom lip pushed out in a pout. You shook your head and shoved him out of the door, nodding towards him to get the other four to follow him. “No, don’t look at me like that. It’s lupus.” You shut the door behind them and went back to your desk, looking down at your calendar and seeing that you had a patient to see in ten minutes.

--

You opened the door to Wilson’s office, seeing House sitting on the couch and quickly entering the room. You shut the door behind yourself and sat in the chair in front of his desk, sticking your tongue out at House before turning your attention to Wilson.

“He told his team our secret.” You watched as Wilson looked between you and House, his eyebrows scrunching for a minute before realization dawned on him.

“So, they know you’re married. It’s not a big deal, it’s about time you told people.” Your mouth hung open slightly and you looked back at House, his face mirroring yours.

“Can you believe this guy? He thinks we can just tell the hospital about our personal lives and be fine with it.” You turned your attention back to Wilson – who was shaking his head in annoyance at you two – and heard House speak behind you.

“She thinks I can’t behave myself if people at work know we’re married.” You nodded and looked back at him, his fingers playing with a loose thread on the couch.

“I know you can’t behave yourself, House. When we had to tell Cuddy, you were bursting with the need to tell her about our sex life in as many innuendos as possible.” You raised your eyebrow at him, his argument deflating as you stared him down. You turned back to Wilson and saw that he was ignoring you both, his eyes focused on his paperwork. You reached forward and grabbed a pen off of his desk, leaning forward and scribbling a stick man onto his calendar. You gave the stick man a cane and drew a speech bubble, writing ‘Wilson Sux’ in it. Wilson reached out and grabbed the pen from you, putting it in his drawer along with the rest of his stationary.

“Wilson…” You looked over to the door and saw Thirteen standing in the doorway, Chase behind her. You smiled at them and they seemed a bit taken aback. “I was just wondering if you’d seen House.” You looked over at House and watched as he stood up, walking to the door. He stopped beside you and leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. When he pulled away you smiled at him, missing his touch already.

“Forgot to ask, do you want takeout tonight? I can stop on my way home.” You stood from your chair and walked to the door, stepping around Thirteen and Chase.

“Don’t get the one with the bald guy, he forgets half of our order every time.” You gave him a thumbs up before stepping into the elevator, needing to get some paperwork done. Thirteen and Chase stared at him in disbelief, Chase the first to speak up.

“You’re actually married? Not just going insane and thinking a hooker is your wife?” House narrowed his eyes at him, leaving Wilson’s office and heading to his own with Chase and Thirteen in tow.

“Believe it or not, she’s the one that pursued me.” He sat down in his desk chair, Chase and Thirteen standing in front of his desk and looking at him like he had two heads.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Thirteen thought she was catching onto a clue that it was made up, trying to get him to admit it.

“We made an agreement to keep it under wraps. It made things easier; no one to distract me during a case and no one to scare her patients away.” Chase looked over at Thirteen, his eyebrows raised. Foreman came into the room, holding lab results.

“His kidneys are improving.” House groaned and tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling tiles.

“Don’t tell (Y/N) she was right.”

--

“How’s your patient?” You sat with your legs crossed, facing House with the remnants of your dinner sitting on the coffee table. You had your head resting on your hand, your elbow propped up on the back of the couch. House was staring intently at some guy showing off a sponsored power tool, his feet propped up on the coffee table and his hand rubbing at his thigh.

“Stable. Apparently, lupus is a real thing.” You laughed and climbed carefully onto his lap, not putting any weight down on his bad leg. You placed both hands on the sides of his face, leaning down to press your lips to his. You pulled back and smirked down at him, his eyes closed now.

“Tell me I was right and I’ll make tonight fun for you.” You placed kisses along his jaw, moving down until your lips were at the collar of his shirt. He placed his hands on your hips, sighing in frustration before mumbling something to himself. You looked up at him and moved your hands to his belt, unbuckling it while raising your eyebrow. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.” You unbuttoned his jeans and paused, waiting for him to say it louder.

“You were right. Happy now?” You smiled and kissed his neck, unzipping his jeans slowly.

“Very happy.”

---

I found this prompt on the gregory house x reader tag ! I can’t remember who wrote it originally but I wanted to give it a try <33

[amoderndreamletdown]

All We’re After- Chapter 1

So I started writing a Julie and the Phantoms prequel fic about Sunset Curve set in the ‘90s back in November, and I never posted it anywhere. So, I figured why not post the first chapter on Tumblr to see what you guys think. 

  Tick. Tick. Tick. 

  Alex listened to the sound of the clock in his chemistry class as he completed the test in front of him. He couldn’t focus, and his hands shook as he wrote the answers on his test booklet, and he found himself tapping his pencil on his table. This earned a lot of stares from his classmates, and a lot of shushing from his teacher. 

  “You okay, Alex?” Whispered Alex’s best friend, Luke. 

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” Alex lied, blushing as he made eye contact with Luke. 

  “Okay,” Luke said, turning back to his test. 

  Alex followed Luke’s lead and continued on his test. He barely paid attention to what he was doing and instead just focused on the clock. He willed the clock to go slower or to stop completely, but he knew that wasn’t possible. 

  Alex watched as the minutes ticked by and more and more of his classmates got up to turn in their tests. This only made more anxious, especially after Luke turned in his test before him. 

  “How are you done already?” Alex whispered to Luke as he sat back down. 

  Luke shrugged. “Most of the class is. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Alex nodded. “Yeah.”

  Alex went back to his test and started scribbling in answers. He doubted they were right, but he couldn’t focus anymore. All he could think about was what he’d say to his band mates after school, and what they’d say back. He hoped it wouldn’t be too brutal, and that he’d still have band mates after what he was going to say. 

  He finished his test just as the bell rang, announcing the end of class. It startled him so much that he fell out of his seat. 

  “Wow,” Luke said, rushing to help Alex get up. 

  “Thanks,” Alex told him, his cheeks red from embarrassment and from him looking at Luke. God, why Luke, why couldn’t it have been some other guy in his class? Why did it have to be his best friend?

  “Are you hurt?” Luke asked him. 

  “My dignity is,” Alex replied. 

  Luke smiled. “Trust me, no one saw, they were too busy running out of class.”

  Alex smiled. “Thanks, Luke.”

  “No problem,” Luke told Alex. “Now, c’mon, Bobby’s gonna drive us to his house for band practice.”

  Alex nodded. “Okay. Let me just turn in this test and get some things from my locker. I’ll meet you outside.”

  Luke nodded. “Okay.”

  Alex turned in his test and then split up with Luke to go to his own locker. His heart hammered as he walked. He couldn’t believe he was going to admit something to his friends that he had kept bottled up inside him since he was thirteen. He was almost seventeen now, but he had had a hard time even admitting the truth to himself much less anyone else. 

  Alex opened his locker and shoved his textbooks and drumsticks into his backpack as quickly as he could. He needed to stop thinking about what would take place in the next few hours, but it was almost impossible. Every time he tries to think of something else, his mind would wander back to the future conversation he had been stressing about all day. 

  Alex finally closed his locker and made his way to the front of the school. His hands shook as he got closer to the parking lot. He recited what he was going to say over and over in his head. He finally snapped out of his daze when a voice called his name. 

  “Hey, Alex!” Luke called, holding his guitar, and standing next to Reggie and Bobby. 

  “Hey, guys,” Alex said, walking over to his friends.  

  “You’re late,” Bobby joked. 

  “Sorry,” Alex apologized. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Bobby told Alex. 

  “Ready for practice?” Reggie asked the group. 

  Alex nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

  A few minutes later and Alex, Luke, Reggie, Bobby, and their instruments were all piled into Bobby’s semi-old beat up Chevy. It had been a gift from Bobby’s dad when he turned sixteen, and he had been driving it ever since. 

  “What do you guys wanna listen to?” Reggie asked the group, pulling out CDs from Bobby’s glove box. Some drivers might’ve seen it as disrespectful if their passenger dug around in their glove box, but Bobby didn’t mind. In fact, he encouraged the guys to add their favorite CDs to the glovebox so that they could discover new music, and jam out to their favorites. 

  “Green Day?” Alex spoke up. Normally, he wouldn’t suggest the music they listen to unless he was asked, but Green Day always made him feel less anxious, and he really needed that right now. 

  “Okay,” Luke said. “I can rock to that.”

  “Me too,” Bobby agreed. 

  “Green Day it is,” Reggie said, and put in the CD. 

  The first song came on and the friends all sung along and rocked out to the first song. It helped calm Alex’s nerves a bit, but not completely. He tapped his foot nervously. He couldn’t believe it was almost time for him to say something he had been dreading for years until, finally, they reached Bobby’s house. 

  Alex took a deep breath and got out of Bobby’s car. He was building up the courage for what he wanted to say, but he knew he couldn’t tell them right away. He wanted at least one more normal band practice just in case he was kicked out or shunned. 

  “Ya coming, Alex?” Luke asked him, and Alex realized that he had been standing in the same spot for about a minute. 

  “Yeah, sorry, just thinking,” Alex said. 

  “About what?” Luke asked. 

  “Nothing important,” Alex lied. “Let’s go practice.”

  Band practice lasted about five hours before they finally decided to take a break to eat. Bobby decided to order pizza since his parents were out of town for the weekend, and none of the band could cook. However, they still ate in the garage despite having the whole place to themselves. They all agreed it made more sense as the garage was basically their safe haven. 

  “That rehearsal was great!” Luke exclaimed, clearly proud. “I’m glad we were able to learn the new songs so fast.”

  “Yeah,” Alex agreed. 

  “Would’ve been better if you let me make Crooked Teeth country,” Reggie mumbled. 

  “Crooked Teeth is not a country song,” Luke protested. “It’s clearly rock.”

  “We could’ve experimented with it,” Reggie said. 

  “You’re not gonna crack him, Reg,” Bobby told him. 

  “Hmph,” Reggie said in defeat. 

  “Anyway,” Luke said, looking from Reggie to Alex. “What’s wrong?”

  “What? Nothing,” Alex lied, trying to play it cool. 

  “I know that face,” Luke said. “What’s up?”

  Alex sighed. “I have something to tell you guys, but I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. 

  “You can tell us anything,” Luke assured Alex. 

  “Yeah, we’re here for you, man,” Reggie added. 

  “Yeah, whatever you have to say, you can say to us,” Bobby said. “Nothing leaves this garage.”

  Alex smiled. “Promise?”

  “Promise,” all three boys said at the same time. 

  Alex took a deep breath. “I really don’t know how to say this, and I’ve been wanted to tell you for years now, but I never found the right time, and, well, I could barely tell myself the truth, and I know if I don’t say it now I never will and-“

  “Alex, you’re rambling,” Luke told him. 

  “Right, sorry,” Alex took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to tell you is, well, that, I’m, well, I’m gay.”

  Alex held his breath. At first, no one said anything. Alex was just about to get his drumsticks and leave, sure he wasn’t wanted when Reggie came over and hugged him. 

  “Wha-“ Alex started, but before he could finish, Luke and Bobby joined the hug. “You’re not mad?” Alex asked. 

  “Of course we’re not,” Bobby said.  

  “Yeah, we support you no matter what,” Luke added. 

  “You really thought we’d be mad?” Reggie asked. 

  “Well, yeah, I mean it’s not exactly the most accepted thing ever,” Alex told his friends. 

  “Well, we’re not like that,” Bobby said. 

  “Yeah,” Luke agreed. “You’re still the same Alex.”

  Reggie nodded. 

  Alex smiled. “Thanks guys, but, um, would you mind not letting this leave this room. I mean you’re the first people I’ve told, my parents don’t even know.”

  “Of course, man,” Reggie said. 

  “Yeah, nothing leaves this room,” Luke agreed. 

  “Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Bobby added. 

  “Thanks,” Alex said. He felt happy. For one of the first times in his life, he felt calm and relaxed. He actually felt good, and realized he made the right decision telling his friends. 

  “So, did you guys hear about what happened in Ms. Wilson’s class?” Luke asked the group. 

  “No,” Bobby said. “What happened?”

  “Brandon Cooper and Tyler Jameson got into a huge fight over Susan McClan!” Luke exclaimed. 

  “Seriously?” Alex asked. 

  “Yeah,” Luke smiled. “It was pretty hilarious.”

  “Who won?” Reggie asked. 

  “Neither. Susan rejected both of them right after the fight,” Luke said. “It was awesome!”

  Bobby left. “That sucks.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “They didn’t even get the girl in the end.”

  Luke smiled. “Yeah.”

  “How did I not hear about that?” Reggie asked. 

  “Because you’re in AP classes,” Luke said. “You were probably on the other side of the school, and the only one of us you have classes with besides music is Alex.”

  “Just English,” Alex said.

  “That’s still one more than the rest of us,” Luke joked. 

  Reggie smiled. “You’re not wrong.”

  Although Reggie wasn’t exactly the brightest in the real world, he was extremely smart when it came to school things. Of course, Reggie had done some incredibly dumb thing, and Alex had often wondered how he wasn’t dead yet, but none of the school knew that side of him, they really thought he was the smartest person in the school. 

  The friends talked for hours until they decided it was probably best to go to bed. 

  “I call the couch!” Luke exclaimed.

  Reggie sighed. “How come you always get the couch?”

  “Because I’m more likable,” Luke joked. 

  Reggie smiled. “Sure,” he said. 

  “It’s fine,” Bobby said. “The beanbags are set up in the loft, we can just sleep on those.”

 “Okay,” Alex said. 

  Alex and Bobby went up to the loft while Reggie stayed behind to get the teddy bear he carried with him from his backpack. Reggie had told them it was a gift from his parents before they started fighting all the time. He had kept it and used it as a comfort object to drown out the sound of his parents yelling. 

  Alex picked a pink beanbag to sleep on while Bobby picked a black one. Reggie came up on the loft later and slept on a red beanbag. 

  “Night guys!” Luke called from the couch. 

  “Night,” Alex responded. 

  “Goodnight,” Bobby said. 

  “Goodnight, Couch thief,” Reggie joked. 

  Alex smiled and looked up at the ceiling. He slowly drifted off to sleep.

[romewritingshop]

Wake up Parker! Chapter Twelve: The truth is difficult

Relationship: Peter Parker x Tall Older Reader (Peter is 22 and Reader is 26/27)

Warnings: Angst, stress, sadness

Word Count Total: 1723 (This Chapter)

Tagged: @bggerbtch​ @technicallykawaiisoul

Summary: Peter Parker is a student in the city of Brooklyn. He’s lazy, spoilt and he procrastinates a lot. He meets a woman named (Y/N), She’s recently moved to Brooklyn for an independent life. Something Peter is fascinated by. Over the course of a few months, Peter needs to realise that he has to grow up and become responsible for his life.

WAKE UP PARKER! MASTERLIST

It has been three days since he’s been in his room. After lying to Mr and Mrs. Stark that he passed, they celebrated and held a party the next day. Peter felt awful. His skin wasn’t as bright as it used to be and he was constantly sweaty. Playing video games or watching Netflix didn’t make him feel any better. Mrs Stark was so kind as she would often come up to his room and warm him some food. He did not deserve their kindness. Mr. Stark was proud as he gloated to his friends that his son passed and got a first class degree.

Peter had gotten himself into a right mess as he sat up on his bed with his head in his hands. A natural position for him to now go to because of the lying and the guilt of failing taking a toll on him. A low knock rapped on the door as Peter sluggishly muttered permission for the person to come in. Even his voice didn’t have the happy excitement it used to.

“Hey Peter! How’re you feeling?”

It was Mr. Stark! Peter was surprised Mr. Stark hadn’t figured out he was lying as he felt the bed shift. Peter slowly glanced up and saw a bright beam on Mr. Stark’s face. He hated that smile. It was as if it was mocking Peter and pointing out what a terrible human being Peter was. Mr. Stark noticed Peter did not look like the lively boy he was. His skin was slightly ashy and the bright chocolate hair was now a muted black. 

The eyes were a little sunken and his body was a little thinner than it was before. Mr. Stark couldn’t bear to see Peter like this. As much as it hurt him, he knew that it was Peter’s own fault. He just needed Peter to admit the truth and he would then go easy. Pepper was confused as to why Peter was looking sickly and Tony didn’t have the heart to admit he knew why.

“‘M okay, Mr. Stark.” That was another lie.

“Have you been eating?”

“Yes.” Lie.

“You know Peter, we should really go to the hospital. You are not looking like yourself.”

“‘M fine. I don’t need a doctor.”

“Peter! You look like a skeleton’s ghost! You’re not as healthy as you used to be.”

Peter knows. He knows he looks like shit. He can’t help feel like shit.

“I just want to sleep, that’s all.”

“I really don’t know how you got sick! Ever since you told us you passed, you’ve been in this funk.”

Peter winced at the mention of the word ‘passed’. It was a dangerous word and Peter felt bile come close to the back of his throat. Mr. Stark couldn’t stand this any longer. He had to confront Peter.

“You know, I was talking to your economics professor the other day. Sam Wilson, right? I thanked him for helping you pass and preparing you for the real world. He said something that really stuck with me.” Peter’s heart dropped at the realisation that Mr. Stark knew. “He said, Peter didn’t pass. He failed. In fact he wanted to know if you were going to retake the year so you had an opportunity to pass. You see where I’m going with this?”

Peter wanted to vomit but nothing was coming up. He didn’t have the strength to jump up and run out of the room, away from Mr. Stark. He sat still as he listened to Mr. Stark. This was going to be a long lecture.

“Peter. Why did you lie? Actually, we don’t need to know why you lied. We need to know why you lied for three days to Morgan and Pepper.” Peter didn’t have the strength to say why. Even he wasn’t sure why he lied to Morgan and Pepper. 

“I think I can guess why. See: if you had told us you failed the first day, we probably would have been upset but we would have supported you and encouraged you to try again. You lied because you knew it was your fault you failed. I’m surprised you kept up with the lie.”

Mr. Stark noticed he was standing upright. He must have been pacing whilst scolding Peter. He turned to Peter to see he hadn’t moved much. The guilt was really eating at him as Mr. Stark sighed.

“Peter. You really should have told us, or at the very least you should have told Pepper you failed.”

“He failed!”

Tony and Peter stiffened at the female voice. Not wanting to look back at Pepper’s distraught face. She couldn’t believe what she heard. Peter failed! And Tony knew! Peter and Tony could feel steams of anger wave their way. Pepper stepped into the room as she stared hard at Peter.

“Peter! I - I defended you against Tony. Made sure Tony gave you the very best in life and this is how you treat us! Peter I have cared more about you than Morgan and this is what you do! Lie!” Pepper turned to Tony, not sparing him from her wrath. “And you, Tony! You couldn’t even tell me our son failed!”

“I can retake!”

Tony and Pepper turned their heads to Peter’s direction as he stood up in his plain white t-shirt and navy tracksuit bottoms. Peter was surprised he was able to stand up and tell them about re-taking. 

“I know exactly what happened and what went wrong. I'll pass next year. There is no need to panic!”

Tony frowned as Peter misunderstood the whole point of the conversation. It wasn’t about failing. It was about lying.

“Peter! It’s about lying. The lack of responsibility for not owning up to your mistakes. Peter it is your own fault you didn’t pass because you didn’t even work hard! All the opportunities I’ve given you were a waste. I’m not going to continue giving you easy opportunities just so you could be an ungrateful spoilt brat. If you would have told us the truth, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Peter was starting to feel more angry. He didn’t need Mr. Stark to point out his mistakes. He didn’t even ask Mr. Stark to give him those opportunities. Mr. and Mrs. Stark were about to walk away when Peter yelled.

“I didn’t ask for your help! You just took pity on me because my aunt was your best friend!”

Tony stiffened as he heard Peter mention May. Never did he think Peter would see himself as a burden. Pepper felt a storm rage inside as she was outraged by Peter’s suggestion.

“Pity! You think we took you in because of pity! If May heard you say this today, she would not be happy with you. May wanted you to be successful in life, she would not have wanted you to waste it away. We took you in because we wanted to fulfill May’s wishes. Not because you were alone.”

Peter had nothing else to say. He had to get out of the room before things went from bad to worse.

“I need some air.”

Peter pushed past his parents and was beginning to head down the stairs when he heard Mr. Stark stop him. Mr. Stark wanted one thing clear.

“Do you feel like a burden?”

“Mr Stark -”

“Do you feel like a burden?”

Peter gave a small nod as Mr. Stark took a deep breath. Mr. Stark treaded down the stairs until there was a stair gap between the two.

“If you think you can make it on your own, then go. You think you’re a burden on us, why don’t you go? I doubt you'd make it. You couldn't even stay one week at the office.”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter couldn’t believe what Mr. Stark was saying. He was kicking Peter out of the house. “Mr. Stark?”

“Go, Peter.”

Mr. Stark looked away and saw Morgan and Pepper at the top of the stairs. Morgan seemed confused by the scene as Mr. Stark trod up the stairs and took Morgan back to her room. Pepper felt her heart lodge in her throat as she watched Peter break before her. She had never seen Tony or Peter like this. She was torn between comforting Peter or questioning Tony.

Tony managed to put Morgan to sleep, telling her that Peter wasn't feeling too well. Morgan knew something was wrong but she didn't question it. If her mother and father knew what to do then she shouldn't have to know. Tony was glad to have a child that didn't question things. He heard the door open as he sat just beside Morgan's sleeping form.

He felt thin fingers curl around his shoulder. He didn't have to look up to know it was Pepper, telling him off for his parenting.

"He's packing a bag and getting ready to leave. I hope you're happy Tony."

Tony didn't say anything and he heard the door creak again. He knew it was Peter and if he turned around to face him, Tony would break down crying. This was a mistake Tony and Peter were making but for the moment it was the only choice they both felt was right.

After Mr. Stark's order, Peter decided to go to his room and pack his bags. He knew Mrs. Stark wanted to stop him but he told her not to. If Mr. Stark wanted this then who is Peter to deny. He had a blue sports bag which he used to stuff some clothes and grabbed his rucksack and phone. Stepping out of his room, before turning left and noticing Morgan's bedroom door open.

He tiptoed towards the door and pushed it slightly open. Mrs. Stark had tears in her eyes and Mr. Stark wouldn't even look at him in the face. Peter knew it wouldn't be right to leave without saying goodbye, he needed to.

"I'm going."

Mrs. Stark broke down, trying and failing to keep her sobs down while Mr. Stark remained still like a statue. What Peter didn't know was Tony had a tear stream down his face as he restrained showing Peter any emotion. This was it for Peter. The moment he stepped out of the front door, he was alone. He wasn't sure where to go from here.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE REAL WORLD IS DIFFERENT

[avengerscompound]

The Tower - Chapter 8

The Tower: An Avengers Fanfic

Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Chapters:  one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / fifteen / sixteen / seventeen / eighteen / nineteen / twenty / twenty-one / twenty-two / twenty-three / twenty-four / twenty-five / twenty-six / twenty-seven / twenty-eight

Word Count: 2296

Warnings: Smut (f/m vaginal sex, fingering, teacher-student role play, spanking)

Synopsis: While getting to know Sam he discovers that Elly used to go to a private school.  They both decide she might have a few things to learn still.

Author’s Note:  Co-written with @fanficwriter013

Chapter 8 - Sam

I have never instantly connected with someone as quickly as I did with Samuel Thomas Wilson.  By the time I went home after spending the first day with him we had one in-joke and spoke at least fifty percent in innuendo.

Things were now getting a little complicated.  My phone buzzed a lot with messages from Sam, Clint and Tony and even the odd one from Natasha when she thought it was safe.  Over the two weeks where Sam and I were setting our own pace, the others backed off a little.  Clint showed up at my apartment for a sleepover twice.  Tony asked if I’d come over once. I saw Wanda again briefly and met Bruce in the hall long enough to get tongue-tied while I tried to tell him how much I admired his work.  Mostly though, I spent time with Sam.

The first day we spent just hanging out around the tower.  We made pizza together.  We went to the roof and got in the hot tub.  I didn’t have a swimsuit so we both just skinny dipped.  He showed me the arena they used for training.  It was like I was getting to know someone I had known forever.

We set our own pace, not just rushing into sex the way I did with Clint or Tony.   Nor did we take a long time not doing anything at all like I did with Nat.  It was two weeks of making out, giving each other massages, talking dirty on the phone and just generally getting to know each other before we did anything.  Sam had a tendency to do what I did.  He used analyzing other people’s problems as a way to ignore with his own.  Never wanting to talk about how his parents died, or how he lost the first man he’d ever really been in love with.  Always turning the conversation back to me and how I was dealing with everything.

He was at my place the day we took that step.  His head was in my lap and I was feeding him grapes and generally just skitching his beard or walking my fingers down his neck while we spoke.

“It was weird you know.  I think up until Cap I was just living on the premise that I liked women so I must be straight.  I mean there was Riley obviously.  But he was an anomaly that came about through the connection we had.”  He said as I ran my fingers down his neck.  He flinched away from me a little as I hit a particularly ticklish spot.  “Then one day I’m out for my morning run and the little shit keeps lapping me over and over every time just saying ‘On your left’.  And I would watch him tear by.  He was wearing this ridiculously tight shirt.  And I was just ‘I am definitely not straight.”

“I mean if someone’s going to make you question your sexuality right?”  I joked.

“We literally hooked up that night.  That’s how fast it happened.”  Sam answered.  “So yeah, he made me question it pretty hard.”

“Damn! I really need to meet Steve.”  I said and bent over softly kissing him.

He reached up and cupped my jaw, running his thumb over my cheek.  “Soon enough.”

“Glad I don’t have to meet him the same way you did.  I hate running.  Running and team sports.”  I said and offered Sam another grape.

He took it nipping at my finger as he did. “But team sports are where it’s at!  You didn’t even play softball at school?”

I shook my head.  “And here’s where I come off sounding completely private school preppy.  I did rowing, dance, and skiing.”

Sam smirked up at me.  “I can picture it now.  The uniform and everything.”

“Oh yeah.  It had a pleated skirt, knee-high socks. A tie and a blazer.”  I said.

Sam sat up and shifted over so he was pressed against me.  “I bet you got a lot of detentions back then.”

I smiled and ran my tongue over my lips.  “Oh, I was such a bad girl.”

Sam pulled me into his lap, his hand running under my t-shirt.  “I bet you were.”

I leaned down and teased his lips with mine.  “I actually have the uniform still.  Would you like me to go put it on?  Maybe you’d like to punish this bad girl?”

“Yes, please.”  Sam all but squeaked.

I climbed up off his lap.  “Give me like; fifteen minutes.”

I went to my closet and grabbed a garment box from the top of it and a pair of black knee-high socks.  I even got a matching lace thong and push-up bra.  If you’re going to dress up you might as well go all in.  I went and changed in the bathroom.  I left the top button of my blouse open and tied the tie in a loose Windsor knot.  I also knotted the bottom of the blouse exposing my stomach. I rolled up the skirt so it was very short.  If I bent over at all he’d see the thong.

Finally, I put my hair into pigtails and came back out to him.  He looked up at me and his pupils dilated as his gaze roamed my form.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Wilson?”  I asked, innocently.

“Yes, I did.  Come and sit over here.”  He said, patting his knee.  I walked over and perched myself in his lap.  His hands ran up my bare thighs making my skin prickle.  “I need a safeword.”  He said.

“Red,”  I answered, instantly.  Going with the traffic light system I often used.

“Natasha says you like spanking and name-calling.”  He said.

I nodded.  Part of me feeling slightly embarrassed that Natasha told him that.  The other part really glad she did. “Yes, sir.”

He brought his lips to my ear.  “I’ve heard you’ve been quite the little slut.”  He whispered.  “Is that true?”

I nodded my head, the prickle spreading through my body. “Yes, sir.  I’m a little slut.”

“We don’t tolerate that kind of behavior.  Perhaps I should expel you.”  Sam growled.

“Please don’t.  I’ll do anything.”  I said, playing up the scared school girl.

Sam smirked. “I was hoping you’d say that.  Lay down over my lap. You’re going to get punished.”

I shifted in his lap, lying down over it and propping myself up on my elbows.  Sam lifted my skirt and his palm ran over my cheeks.  “Look at what you’re wearing, you dirty girl,”  Sam said, pulling at the g-string.

“I didn’t expect you to see it, sir,”  I say with a smirk.

He brought his hand down on my ass.  It made a loud crack and a sting erupted in my cheeks.  I yelped.  “You knew exactly what you were doing.”  He said and slapped me again.

I clenched my teeth as he slapped me three more times.  The sting spread through my skin and heat built in my asscheeks.  It hurt in that way that feels so, so good.  My cunt started to drip for him.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”  He said, shifting the thong to one side and running his thick fingers up my folds.

“Yes, sir.”  I whimpered as he started circling over my clit.  I rolled my hips against his hand.  He slapped me again making me clench up and release a squeaking sound.

His fingers went back to teasing me.  He pulled my thong down to my knees to give himself better access as he fingered me.  He pushed two fingers inside me and fucked me with them.  Moving them quickly in and out so there was this rhythmic press and release on my g-spot.

I started to pant.  Pleasure crept through me adding a new element to the sting in my skin.  The anticipation of being slapped again was there too.  I started to feel fuzzy on the edges and I moaned loudly.

Sam took his hand away and brought it down on my asscheeks.  I cried out and jerked against him.  Sam smoothed his hand over my ass cheeks and skimmed them over my pussy.  “You’re going to have quite the handprint here, little girl.”  He cooed.

“Thank you, sir.”  I hummed.

“That’s not how you thank me.”  He said.  “Get on your knees and put that mouth to good use.”

I slid off his lap and unfastened his jeans, tugging them down, and freeing his cock.  I locked my eyes with his and ran my tongue up his length.  Circling over his head before plunging my mouth down as deep as I comfortably could.  His hips snapped up, making him go deeper.  I gagged and my fingers tightened on his thigh muscles.  Drool pooled in my mouth and when he pulled back I swallowed adding pressure around his cock.

Sam moaned.  He wrapped his hand in my hair and started to thrust into my mouth.  I parted my lips a little and just gave him room.  Truth was, I loved having his hand holding me in place.  How he dominated me while at the same time he came apart for me.  His eyes rolled back in ecstasy and I started to become more active again. Moaning around his cock as I licked and sucked at it.  I cupped his balls and teased my fingers down his perineum.  His muscles started to clench and relax and his breath started coming in shallow.  With a loud growl, he jerked forward and came, spilling hot ribbons over my tongue and down my throat.

I swallowed it all and licked his cock clean.  “Thank you, sir,”  I said pulling off.

“You’re very welcome, princess,”  Sam said, half panting as he looked down at me with his deep brown eyes.  “How about you do a little strip for me.”   It was phrased like a question but sounded like a demand.  I got to my feet and wriggled out of my g-string.  I got out my phone and selected a song and placed it into the dock.  I came back towards Sam, swiveling my hips as I moved.  I tugged off my tie and hung it over his neck.

“You expect me to believe you’re innocent when you move like that?”  He teased, looking up at me.

I turned around and twisted down, grinding my ass into his crotch as I unbuttoned my blouse.  “I’m not sure what you mean,”  I said, innocently.

“Yeah, right.”  He chuckled, his hands sliding up my stomach.

I turned and shrugged off the blouse.  Exposing my push-up bra.

“And who are you wearing that for?”  He asked.

“Should I not be wearing it?”  I asked with a half smile, running my hands down between my legs as a moved above him.

His eyes darkened. “No.  Take it off.”

I reached behind me and unhooked my bra and slowly slid the straps down my arms.  I kept my hands over the cups and continued to move my hips.  Sam pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it to the side and began slowly stroking his cock.  I licked my lips and let my bra fall into his lap.

He grabbed my hips and dragged me into his lap.  His hand went to my hair and he pulled me into a hard kiss.  I ran my tongue over his top lip and he danced his over it before pushing into my mouth.  I moaned and rocked my hips against him feeling the press of his cock against my mound.  His hand slipped down between us and he started running his cock up and down my folds.

I broke our kiss with a gasp.  “Oh god.  Please.  Please fuck me.  Don’t hold anything back.”  I mewled.

Sam just continued to tease me with his cock.  Not saying anything.  I kissed and sucked on his neck and ran my fingers down his back.

“Sam, please,”  I whined.

He chuckled and suddenly plunged his cock deep into my cunt.  I gasped and threw my head back.  “Oh fuck yes.”  I groaned.  “Thank you, sir.”

His hand went to the back of my neck, holding me in place and he started snapping his hips up into me.  I kept rolling my hips with him as he fucked up into me.  I kissed him hard, biting at his lips.  His hand tightened in my hair to hold me in place and his fingers dug into my hip.

My orgasm slowly built at his drove into my cunt.  His thumb went to my clit and he drew small circles over it.  He bit down into my neck and sucked hard enough to mark.  My whole body clenched up and I came.  “Oh fuck.”  I moaned.

He continued to thrust up into me hard, holding me in place as my body trembled.  There was a sudden tightening of his muscles and he came, biting down into my shoulder.

I let out a low hum as he let my hair go and I collapsed down against him.  He relaxed back into the couch running his hands down my back.  “How are you doing there?  Are you okay?”  He asked, slipping from his assumed persona almost instantaneously.

“Mmm…”  I hummed.  “So much more than okay.  That was really fun.”

He tilted my chin up to look at him.  “How about we go take a bath?”

“Sounds good,”  I said, almost sleepily.

Sam scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the bathroom.  “Just a little FYI.   If Tones every saw you wear that it would make his brain short circuit.”

“Maybe I should wear it next time I come to the tower.”  I joked.

Sam looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.  “I dare you to.”

[duckybeth99]

Truth and Love (Past!Fic)

strap ya self in this shit’s long. based on convos between @genjis-girlfriend and i. very nervous this is gonna be all format broken fjdhhd

—

It affected everyone she had known differently.

The day after her suicide, a statement from the high school was released. The administration gave its condolences, told parents to talk with their children about the death, and offered support to students who were affected or were facing similar feelings.

We don’t want another tragedy to happen, they said. We don’t want another beautiful life to be lost.

The school had a memorial assembly two days after and organized a block of time for students to light candles and let them stay lit all night. Another assembly was organized a week later talking about mental health and suicide.

It hit individuals in waves. Beth’s mother, Erin Veran, took personal time off in the midst of it. Heather Morrison and her posse backed off other students and stayed out of trouble. Some of the girls started to draw away from their ringleader. Travis Middleton was drawing away from her, too, and some were gossiping that he was planning on breaking up with her. He seemed shaken by the whole event, more than people anticipated.

Mr. Andrew Wilson, Beth’s counselor and father of her best friend took no time off. He needed to be there for his other students, more than before. He failed one. He wasn’t going to fail again.

Alex Wilson took an entire week off from school, choosing to only participate in Beth’s actual memorial, for people who actually knew and loved her. His mother took the time off to watch over her son, putting his head in her lap and letting him cry until no more tears came.

The worst responses came from the Bosteaus.

Andrew contacted them a few times and offered them help. He offered to come to their home and offer counseling or redirect them to other professionals he knew. Ghost politely declined each time but thanked him for his care, and for all he had done to try and save Beth.

Ghost was cold for a time. He wasn’t as joyful when he walked into his classes; he gave busy work to his chemistry students and didn’t walk around to offer critiques and help in his art class. He seemed to just sit there and stare at a single photo on his desk.

He hadn’t known her for long. Only two years. She died at fourteen. His photo was when she was thirteen and he gave her her very first birthday party. It wasn’t much; just him and Johnny. It wasn’t much of a party either. They did things as normal. Had dinner, had a cake, and after Ghost had done the dishes, he joined his children to play video games.

It wasn’t much. But she told them both it meant the world to her.

Johnny was sticking his tongue out in the photo, winking and with bunny ears behind Beth’s head. She didn’t care. She was smiling the widest Ghost had ever seen.

Johnny.

He wasn’t doing well at all.

He running errands for his father in town when one of Jared Morrison’s old posse boys found him. He chided him on, and Johnny took it with an eerie, cold silence.

The minute he mentioned his dead sister, though, he went ballistic.

People on the side of the street who saw him assaulting him in broad daylight pulled the two apart. The younger shouted, “dude, what’s your problem?!” at Johnny. He didn’t answer. He was shaking too bad to.

Johnny practically broke his hand against his punching bag. His knuckles were bloody and bruised and he had to change out his bandages often. He avoided showing his father his hands. He avoided him all together.

He was quiet at work, not fidgeting as much. He left the house often, without saying anything to Ghost. He drove fast; the signs that checked speed would blink SLOW DOWN in bright red. He drove late, he drove fast, and he took backroads and went as far from home as he could sometimes. In the woods on the other side of town, throw his helmet to the dirt and grip his hair, and scream, and kick at the trees, and try and hit them and get splinters on his hands.

He just needed to get out of the house. He couldn’t stand seeing the shut door to what was going to become her permanent bedroom. He couldn’t stand staring at the goddamn custody papers on the kitchen counter. He wanted to tear it up. Something in him told him not to. He stopped every time before his hands would touch it.

But what was the point?

His sister had died.

We’ll spare the details, the school reports would say, but the police call told the truth to the Bosteaus.

Beth was found dead in her bathtub, wrists slit. Police said she grabbed her razor and pulled out the blades. Her fingers were cut up from it. The water was red. Her suicide note was on her desk in her room. Her phone was beside the tub on the floor. Droplets of water were on the surface of it.

Five days after her birthday.

Her birthday had a star sticker on the calendar.

Goddamn it, she barely lived a life.

Johnny felt a vessel pulse and bulge, he started panting as he stared at his punching bag.

He slammed his fist into it.

She was barely fourteen.

Slam.

She was a child.

Slam.

My sister is fucking dead.

Johnny pulled back and punched so hard, his punching bag finally gave way from its chain to the ceiling of the garage and flew to the wall. Johnny panted and stared at it, limp on the ground, the swinging chain sound echoing in his mind.

He suddenly held back a yell and crumpled into a squat, gripping his hand to himself and hissing in pain. Knuckles were all bloody again. His wrist didn’t feel right.

———

Ghost parked the car at the cemetery, taking a deep breath before getting out of the car. He came here frequently, it felt like.

He tugged his scarf closer to his face as the fall winds picked up, shivering a little as the cold nipped at the back of his neck and ears. Frost was on the tips of the grass and Ghost was reminded of her even more at seeing it. She loved the snow. It wouldn’t be winter yet, or any time soon, but that didn’t mean the cold wasn’t coming forth yet.

He remembered their first Christmas together. She told them she had to go to church that morning with her mother but would visit when she got the chance. Erin would always leave to go to Christmas parties that night with her co-workers. That was when Beth would leave and when her mother would call, she would simply say she ordered pizza at home and stayed like she told her to. Johnny admired her lying ability.

Ghost stood in front of the grave, her name and dates of birth and death written. Nothing else was there.

Bethany Veran.

Ghost looked at the flowers he held tightly in his hand and sighed as he set them down on the pile of dirt. He pressed a gloved hand to the frosted grass and pushed some of it away, sitting beside the tombstone, his cane next to him. He watched people come and go. Singular people. Groups. Families. The hours moved fast as he just watched them go by. The frost on the grass melted.

“I understood why I did it all those years ago,” Ghost began slowly, “but... why you? Beth... you did nothing wrong in your life. Why didn’t you tell us? Why couldn’t... why couldn’t I see...”

Ghost took a shuddering breath to prevent himself from crying again. Hunching his shoulders and swallowing the hot lump in his throat, he sat there with his daughter.

“If I adopted you sooner... I could have—”

A loud screeching of tires pulled Ghost from his thoughts. He grabbed his cane from beside him and stood up with its aid, looking out at the street in worry.

His concern was worse when he saw who it was.

Johnny staggered away from his bike, grabbing on the fence of the cemetery and jumping over. He had that bratty, closed off anger look, his jacket collar popped up and shoulders hunched to hide himself. Fists shoved into his pockets. Knowing his son, he was probably fiddling with his Swiss Army knife in his pocket.

Ghost stared down at his son as he trudged up the hill. Johnny’s head was down. Ghost stood there quietly until Johnny lifted his head and saw him. The younger man’s angered look cooled in surprise for a moment, before he glared down at the grass. Ghost sighed and sat back down beside the tombstone. Johnny stood beside it and stared down at the streets.

The minutes moved much slower. Johnny finally sat down on the other side of the grave. He hugged his knees to his chest, mouth pressed to his jeans. His glare still followed out towards the city.

“Are you ready to talk about it now?”

“Are you?”

Both fell silent.

“What’s there to talk about?” Johnny finally spoke up glumly, “She’s fucking dead. That’s not up for discussion.”

“Do you want to talk to her?” Ghost asked. Johnny gave an odd look to his father. “I—I know not really, son. Just... talking like you are talking to her might help. If you won’t talk to me, then try to her.” Johnny glared at his knees for a long moment. With a sigh, he spoke up.

“Not gonna lie,” he mumbled, “I’m pissed. I thought... I thought we gave you everything and did everything. Why couldn’t you just tell me? I thought you were doing better? Why would you lie?” The air was silent. Ghost gestured for Johnny to keep talking. “It wasn’t enough, I guess.” He fell quiet. Before Ghost could do anything, quietly, bitterly, Johnny added, “I wasn’t enough. Why wasn’t I enough? What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ghost spoke gently. “You really didn’t. Bethany... had it worse than we thought. She was hurting more than she was showing, and maybe we didn’t ask enough questions. There’s a fine line in letting her have her privacy, and protecting her because we know how she is.”

“I wanted to save her,” Johnny’s voice was tight. He tucked his head down further. “I promised to protect her. I tried even harder after she got Hanahaki.”

“I did, too, Junior,” Ghost sighed. “But two people can do only so much.”

“I should have stopped more of those kids from hurting her,” Johnny growled. “I could have. I didn’t.”

“I should have adopted her sooner,” Ghost whispered. “We knew she wasn’t happy. I should have told her we wanted to adopt her. And... and here I was, thinking it would be a nice surprise for her. A belated birthday present. I should have told her on her birthday we were fighting for custody. Now it’s too late.”

“I should have just—just taken her from her house,” Johnny balled his hands into fists in the grass, “fuck whatever her mom thought. She didn’t care! She didn’t love her! I don’t care what would have happened, at least we would have taken her someplace safe!” Ghost fell quiet as he lamented on the thoughts.

And an idea came to him.

“Her mother,” Ghost whispered. Johnny looked up at him and raised a brow. “You’re right. Her mother didn’t care. She didn’t care for or about her at all.” He looked down at his grieving son, brows furrowing in seriousness. “Johnny. We can’t undo what’s happened. But... but we can make it up to her. Wherever she is.”

“What are you talking about?” Johnny uncurled himself as Ghost grabbed his cane and helped himself stand up.

“Perhaps we have blame for not noticing sooner her downfall,” Ghost began, “but the blame is nowhere near the same as what her mother’s is. She downright abused her. She can’t get away with that.”

“You want to report her?” Johnny stood up, brushing the frost and dew from the backside of his jeans, “Now? After it doesn’t matter?”

“It does matter,” Ghost said firmly. “It’s the least we can do. If people see a woman arrested for the abuse that helped factor into a child’s suicide, maybe it will make changes. Maybe we can protect others. But at the very least... we can make it up to Beth.”

“So we’re gonna avenge her, basically.”

“Sure.”

“Great. I’m Iron-Man.”

———

Ghost and Johnny were dressed as nicely as they could for the court day. It was a bit ragtag—a bit their style—but they cleaned up more than normal. They had to. This was important.

Joined with them to testify and act as witnesses, was Andrew Wilson, a friend of his, who was a professional psychiatrist, one of Beth’s teachers, and the Bosteau men.

And, surprisingly, Travis Middleton.

Johnny looked over his shoulder and saw the fourteen-year-old dressed nice himself, looking unsure. His parents were with him and looked just as uncomfortable. The young man remembered when the teenager talked to him about Beth a few days ago.

Johnny had gone back to coach the baseball practice after taking a week off. Travis went up to him after and they talked for an hour waiting for his parents. Travis confessed the guilt he felt. How he tried to be kind to Beth but was too scared still of what others thought of him to do more. He confessed to later finding out Beth had a crush on him at some point. Johnny listened. He thanked him for trying to do right for Beth and told him it was okay to talk about what he was going through.

Travis then asked if Johnny was okay.

Johnny simply said he was healing. He then tried to lighten the mood by saying he was an Avenger now. Travis asked what he meant. Johnny told the truth. Travis asked to help. He claimed to have seen the abuse more than once, in town.

His parents were hesitant. They said it might be traumatizing for him to take part in something like this. Andrew and Alma said no to Alex taking part. He still hadn’t come out of his depression. Johnny figured the Middletons would be no different. But Travis insisted.

So here he was.

Ghost looked over at Erin as she entered the courtroom, with a lawyer. He glared at him. How could she afford one? She wasn’t much better off than him. And who would want to represent her?

Ghost shook his head. No time for that. What was important was proving Erin harmed Beth. Even with a fancy lawyer who would try and twist words around.

Johnny tuned out for most of the beginning legal drudgery. He was shaking his leg and drumming his fingers against his crossed arms. Ghost kept whispering for him to relax. Johnny would stop shaking his leg and drumming his fingers for a minute or two.

He’d immediately start back up again when Ghost’s attention was off of him.

Andrew went up as one of the first to give a testimony. He sat up at the witness stand, and Ghost could tell he didn’t like sitting up there. But he would thank him again for being part of this later.

“Andrew Wilson,” the lawyer began, “what was your relationship to the deceased?”

“I’d like to be simply referred to as Mr. Wilson, thank you,” he spoke firmly. Ghost couldn’t help but allow the hints of his vengeful smirk come across. “I was her counselor. She wasn’t assigned to me initially. Bethany was redirected to me after other counselors noticed she needed more help than just with her academics.”

“That’s not all your relation, though, is it?”

“No,” Andrew hesitated. “I knew her personally, as she grew up. She was best friends with my son.”

“So you would say you knew her well?”

“Yes.”

“And her mother?”

“Erin never stopped by the school,” Andrew spoke matter-of-factly. “She always claimed to be too busy. I believe her, too; she was. I talked to her in earlier years, setting play dates for our kids, and all. But nothing really outside of that. She never came to them. Sometimes, Beth would walk to the park on her own.”

“Ah,” the lawyer nodded, “she learned independence. Very hard for children now a days to grasp.”

“Sure. But she was four.”

Ghost had to elbow Johnny’s arm to keep him from going “oooooh”, or shouting “oh shit”.

“Well, Mr. Wilson, you did note something very important,” the lawyer continued, unfazed. “You brought up that Erin worked constantly. Now, can any person be blamed for being overworked if its to put food on the table? To put a roof over your head and clothes on your back? Clearly, no. On the charges that my client was neglectful, it’s a gross, horrid assumption to make. It implies she had the time. She didn’t. She was busy trying to provide for her daughter. Is that so wrong?” After a brief pause, the lawyer looked to Andrew and raised his hand, “No further questions. Thank you.”

Andrew hesitated but the police in the courtroom gestured for him to move. He looked worriedly at the Bosteaus as he stepped down and went back to his seat.

Ghost wasn’t nervous yet. He knew they were going to stop her.

They had to.

The psychologist gave her statement, firmly explaining that the symptoms Andrew and the Bosteaus noted her having were the same as a child suffering from abuse. Her timidity, her fear of doing anything wrong, her anxiousness at loud noises, her lack of care towards herself were all similar. The psychologist further noted that prolonged exposure to such treatment would have aided in developing the depression and anxiety Andrew had suspected in her.

The lawyer asked her if she knew anything about Erin. She admitted that in speaking with her and looking at her history in reports before the case, Erin seemed to be a manic depressive. The lawyer asked if anyone could be blamed for not seeking treatment, and if Erin not knowing of her own problems could hold her accountable. He asked one last thing.

Ghost’s heart stopped when he did.

“And, is there any information you know about the Bosteaus own mental health?”

Johnny glared at the lawyer. The psychologist hesitated.

“Doctor, if we’re really going to bring mental health into this, you really must answer, and answer truthfully,” the lawyer said calmly. “You are under oath.”

“I... was allowed to review the medical files, so yes, I do know what was on their records,” she spoke slowly. “But this is clearly breaking patient-doctor confidentially—”

“But you aren’t their doctor,” the lawyer interrupted. “You aren’t Beth’s or Erin’s either, and you had no problem disclosing their information.”

“Jonathan Bosteau, Senior,” the doctor sighed, “also shows symptoms related to depression and anxiety. Similar to Bethany. But his case isn’t as severe as hers or Erin’s. He’s very mentally capable.”

“And Jonathan Junior?”

“He’s mentally capable as well,” the doctor looked confused at the lawyer. “He might have anger issues, but in speaking with him, he behaves perfectly normal. Maybe a bit narcissistic, but not full blown or enough to become a hazard to himself or others.”

“Anger issues, hm?” the lawyer raised a brow. “And you believe that that isn’t concerning, either?”

“We are concerned with the abuse that Erin brought upon Bethany,” the doctor frowned. “And even if we were to talk about the Bosteaus, they have managed whatever problems they may have.”

“No further questions,” the lawyer grumbled. The psychiatrist stood with her head high and shoulders back as she walked past the lawyer, annoyed but confident in all she said.

Johnny was called next, much to his and Travis’s surprise. Johnny made his way up to the witness stand.

“Jonathan Bosteau, Junior,” the lawyer began, “we’ve heard very little about you and your father this entire case.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Johnny shrugged calmly. “We weren’t the ones who abused her. Anyone with half a brain knows who did.”

“Right. You’ve got a smart mouth on you, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And supposedly a hot temper?”

“I guess.”

“So how do we know Beth was safe with you either?” the lawyer asked. Johnny frowned.

“What are you saying?”

“How do we know that parts of the abuse she endured were not because of you or your father?” he rephrased the question. “Nobody here knows much about you. You live far away, you don’t socialize much with outsiders...”

“Hey, whoa, we do,” Johnny crossed his arms. “How do you think we got to get all these people together to prove she’s guilty?”

“How do we know that you and your father,” the lawyer began, “did not lure Bethany to your home? You had no right to be around her. According to you yourselves in your reports, you watched over Bethany often. You even claimed to be her family. You’re liars. You could have harmed her just as much as anyone else, and you didn’t have the consent of Erin, who, no matter what, is Beth’s legal mother. It sounds an awful like kidnapping—”

“Kidnapping?!”

“—and putting a young girl in harm’s way—”

“I didn’t do anything like that, neither did my father—!!”

“—you could be just as guilty for hurting Bethany Veran!”

Johnny’s face was bright red. His hair stood on end. He stood up and began to shout, “How fucking dare you!!”

“Order in the court!” the judge pounded her gavel. “Johnny, please watch your language; there are children present.”

“No!” Johnny snapped, “He’s a fucking bastard!!” He stormed down from the witness stand. Ghost and two police men grabbed Johnny’s arms and chest to hold him back.

“And we see,” the lawyer spoke up over Johnny’s yelling, “an anger worse than anyone’s claimed Erin to have. If she is to even be thought of as abusive, then consider these men as well!”

“Order in the court!” the judge shouted again and hit her gavel. “We will continue after a brief recess.”

“Johnny—Johnny, stop it,” Ghost hushed his thrashing son. When he stopped squirming and fighting, the policemen let him go. Ghost turned to face the people who had been there to help avenge Beth—and they all looked shocked at what they just saw. The people in the jury looked uncomfortable as well.

———

After calming down within the recess, Johnny and Ghost came back in the courtroom. Johnny’s head was low. The lawyer didn’t ask him back up.

Travis looked anxiously at Johnny and Ghost. He knew he had a truth to tell. He wasn’t sure if he would be convincing enough in a courtroom setting.

Beth’s former teacher was called up and she presented several papers and assignments Beth had worked on as evidence of cry’s for help. The lawyer pointed more focus to the ones that alluded to her bullying and accused to the teacher and Andrew of not intervening. The teacher rebutted with how she tried to ask and do her own looking into the situation, but couldn’t find anything concrete. The school policies prevented her from doing anything further.

She pointed to a poem that she saved from Beth, where she had lines about her mother. Lines about her cold face, their distant and stiff air, and a key line about sudden flashes of heat in brief moments, a charged air. The teacher explained she could never know the absolute truth of the poem and Beth’s other writings, but she knew something wasn’t right.

Ghost was called next. He stood tall, adjusted the buttons on his coat, and sat for the questions.

“Did you ever once ask consent of Erin to take her daughter?” the lawyer asked. Ghost replied calmly with no. “And why not?”

“For the same reason Beth never told her herself,” he began, “for the sake of her safety. Look, I know I’m not a perfect person. Neither is my son. I never tried to lie and say we were. But I didn’t grow up in a happy home either. My life was similar to Beth’s. And believe me, nobody should go through that. I wanted custody of Beth because I didn’t want her to go through it anymore. And because I loved her as though she were my own daughter. I’ve lost her now. Forever. Because of her so-called mother. I was fighting for her custody because she couldn’t stay there, but she did. Look at what’s happened now. I’m not here to change the past. I’m here to avenge the girl who took her life and never should have. Don’t forget that this is what this is all about: a girl in an abusive home who took her life. Ask me whatever you want, but that’s the truth and I will not tell or stand for anything else.”

“No further questions,” the lawyer spoke quietly. Ghost stood up and never broke his eye contact with the lawyer.

Travis trembled. He was next.

The young teenager slowly stepped up when called, taking a seat and fiddling with the ends of his coat as he sat there. He felt heat run up his spine.

“There isn’t a lot I know about families, and court cases, and stuff,” Travis began, “but there’s somethings I know. One thing I do know, is Ms. Veran abused Beth.”

“And how do you know this?”

“I saw it. A few times,” Travis murmured. “Once was in the seventh grade. We had one of those open houses. Ms. Veran was there for once. Beth was showing her artwork to her mom. I guess she was wearing something that was nicer than normal. Some art stuff got on her... I dunno, oil pastel or something? It got on her hands and shirt. Her mom went ballistic.

“She was screaming at her and one of the teachers asked them to leave. They went into the hallway. I was leaving that room and looking for a drinking fountain, ‘cuz the whole place was hot from all the people, and I saw Erin yelling at Beth in the hallway. She was crying. Ms. Veran slapped her. Beth stopped being so loud but was crying too. Her mom threw an open water bottle at Beth’s face to make her stop crying. She did and they left.

“Then there was just this year,” Travis murmured, “at one of my baseball games. Johnny was there. He was assistant coach. He knew Beth by then. Beth was watching the game and her mom showed up. I guess neither were expecting each other? And Ms. Veran grabbed Beth’s arm and started tugging her away. Johnny left to go and talk to her. I wasn’t out at bat and wouldn’t be for a while so I snuck around to see what they were doing.

“In that span of time, Beth’s cheeks were all red and she was trying not to cry again. Johnny told Ms. Veran to let Beth go and leave or else he’d do something. Ms. Veran said something and left with Beth. Johnny got called back and so did I,” Travis looked down at his lap. “I never knew Beth that well. In middle school, I was... I was awful to her. She didn’t deserve it. Same as how she didn’t deserve to die or go through what her mom put her through. Like I first said, I dunno a lot about family and court cases but... my dad raised me and my sister for a few years when we were young without anyone else. My mom left when my twin and I were really little. But now he’s remarried, and I have two dads, and it’s great. But... if my dad could have raised me without hurting me, or neglecting me, or any other excuse you’ve been trying to give to Ms. Veran, why couldn’t she?”

“Thank you, Travis,” the lawyer said. Travis stood, legs still shaking under him, and took his seat with his family. Johnny turned around in his seat and smiled at him, giving a thumbs up. Travis gave a smile back. His fathers both looked proud at their son, one patting his back. His sister squeezed his hand.

The lawyer made his closing statement and the jury was sent to make their verdict. Ghost looked down at Johnny and patted his shoulder.

“I didn’t know you went after her,” he said. Johnny shrugged.

“Hey, I’m Iron-Man. I’m supposed to go after bad guys.”

It was a short wait before the jury came back. The judge asked for their verdict.

They found Erin guilty of child abuse and neglect. Ghost felt a wave of relief hit him, letting out a calming sigh.

“Case dismissed,” the judge said, hitting her gavel once more. The policemen went over to Erin and handcuffed her. With no more forced restraint, she started screaming at Johnny and Ghost, at the others who helped them. Beth’s teacher and Andrew were startled. The Middleton parents held tightly to their children and hid them away from the screaming woman.

“Mr. Bosteau,” a voice behind Ghost said. He turned to see the man who was watching over the case and had everyone’s files. “There’s something I think I need to show you. Something I didn’t get to go over with you about Beth before the case started.” He gestured for Ghost and Johnny to follow him.

Ghost gave his last goodbyes and thank yous to the people who helped. Johnny patted Travis’s arm and told him he’d see him at next practice.

“What is it?” Ghost asked. The man sighed and opened up a manila folder from his briefcase. He pulled out a single sheet and handed it to Ghost.

“I didn’t bring it up because we had such a short time before the case and it wasn’t relevant,” he began, “nor would it help considering she’s... gone now, but this is papers about Beth’s birth. Erin wasn’t her biological mom. She was her adoptive mother.”

“So who’s her biological mother?” Ghost scanned the page for an answer, Johnny looking over his father’s shoulder at it as well, a brow raised.

“We don’t know,” the man explained. “The woman requested her name and contact to be left off the papers. Anything about her that was required to be known for Beth’s own health was filled out. Anything else was left out. All we know was that she was sixteen, and gave Beth up for adoption shortly after her birth.” Ghost looked at the corner top of the page, seeing the baby.

His Beth.

Even then, her big brown eyes carried an innocence and a sadness she hadn’t even realized she carried.

“Thank you,” Ghost murmured, folding the paper, “for this and everything else.” He handed it back to the man. He put it back into his folder and parted ways.

Ghost and Johnny silently walked away from the courthouse to the car and drove home. They were quiet the whole way. Johnny stared out the window. As Ghost parked in the garage, he finally spoke up.

“Pops,” Johnny began, “is it... still bad that I miss her?”

“No, son,” Ghost shook his head. “I think, or at least I hope, she misses us, too.”

“You think she knows what we did?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it... really helped her?”

“Maybe. Maybe it helped us, too.”

[meltingalphabet]

The Collector

The story told most often is that Greg Wilson was a child rapist, a murderer, and a monster, feeding off the trusting nature of young boys. But Greg had been my friend, and I know he didn’t do those things. I've tried to tell people the truth, but no one will listen. Maybe one of you will believe me.

The southwestern town I grew up in was small and isolated, surrounded by tall mountains, and resting near a deep canyon. There was one two-lane highway that stretched through the mountains and ran lazily across the town from one end to the other. Buying comic books there was impossible before the internet, so for me and the few other nerds and geeks in my town, Greg was the hero we thought we deserved, but, as we learned later, not the one we needed.

Greg owned the only comic book store in my town: The Rusty Robot. It was my favorite place in the world when I was a preteen. My friends and I worshipped Greg, whose inventory, as well as his personal collection, was the envy of everyone from small kids to some of my friend’s dads.

Greg had inherited a building when his father passed away, a two story space with a store on the ground level, and an apartment on the upper floor. After he inherited the place, Greg changed it from a hardware store into a geek’s paradise, filled ceiling to floor with stacked boxes of backlogged comic books. Figurines and collector’s items lined the tops of shelves, while valuable items were carefully positioned in shadow boxes behind the large glass counter, which held first editions of classic books.

One night, when the store was empty except for me and Greg, he swore me to secrecy as he donned white cotton gloves and delicately brought out a rare edition of the first book in the original Amazing Spider-Man series, placing it on the counter with a reverence reserved usually for holy objects. It was the most beautiful thing my young self had ever witnessed.

I loved comic books, but my real passion was collecting figurines from Fireball XL5, a sci-fi show popular in the sixties. My father had watched the show when he was young, and we used to watch it together when I was really little. My attachment to the show was solidified when my father passed away a week before my sixth birthday. I became a bit obsessed.

Greg knew of my collection, and would let me know if he found anything on the road at a convention or another store. Once, he purchased a pristine figure of Colonel Steve Zodiac from a Japanese collector he ran into in Indiana. He knew I was low on funds at the time, so he gave it to me as a birthday gift. Birthdays were hard for me, and he wanted to give me something that’d remind me of the happy memories with my dad. His mother had died when he was little, and I think he felt especially attached to me since we both knew what it was like to lose a parent as a kid. He really was a great friend.

Our town had a history of children disappearing: usually one a year. Each loss was devastating to the town, but between the mountains, the cliffs of the canyon, and the wild animals that occupied both, these disappearances were nothing anyone thought of as intentional malice.

The year I turned thirteen, that changed. Four boys went missing within nine months. The first one, Brandon, nine years old, went missing that January. The entire town got together and searched for him in the mountains and along the closest wall of the canyon. Then Jack, eight, went missing in February and the town doubled their efforts. Kyle, nine, disappeared one evening in early June, and Zack, seven, in September.

The kidnappings didn’t affect me much, beyond my parents spending a few nights assisting the searches. I hate to admit it but, as a new teenager, dealing with puberty and the selfishness found in most teens, I didn’t pay much attention to the missing flyers that began appearing in great numbers all over town. That is, until Zack was taken.

The town’s Middle School had a program called Kids Assisting Kids. Older students would sign up to tutor struggling Elementary School students. I had been tutoring Zack in math, and we had grown close over the year. As an only child, I found it nice to have a younger boy look up to me. I had gotten him into comic books, and he’d accompanied me often to The Rusty Robot. We were as close as an eight year old and a thirteen year old could be. When his mother called me, I was horrified. I remember feeling scared for what my friend might be going through, as well as anger at whoever could have taken such a sweet boy.

People noticed the trend of disappearing children instantly, and suspicion and accusations started spreading like wildfire. By the time Zack went missing, everyone in the town was in full panic mode. It was a small town and so everyone knew that all four of the boys had only two things in common: they went to the same school, and they all frequented The Rusty Robot. Greg became the town’s main suspect.

My mom, like most people’s mothers at that point, banned me from going to the store, so I didn’t see Greg for almost a month. From the news reports, I knew that they had found no evidence to support that Greg was the one behind the boys’ disappearances.

One weekend in late October, my mom went out of town on business. I woke up that Saturday a free man. I used a mixing bowl instead of a regular bowl to eat my Lucky Charm’s, and filled the late snowy morning with cartoons. A little after lunch, I decided to check in on Greg. I bundled myself in my thick winter jacket and boots, and hopped on my red Mongoose mountain bike. I rode down to the small central street in our town, lined with mom and pop shops.

Stopping in front of the door of The Rusty Robot, I noticed the “closed” sign hanging in the dirty glass. My stomach dropped. Greg never closed the shop during the day, especially not on a weekend. The media must have been doing more damage to the business than I had realized.

I pounded on the glass door, but heard nothing from inside. I pressed my face to the door, blocking the sun from my vision with my hands, and peered inside. The place was dark and empty.

Turning to the buzzer at the door, I rung the apartment bell. A window opened above me, so I stepped back to see Greg’s face hanging out.

I waved up at him.

“Oh, heyya Nate.” Greg said, without his usual enthusiasm. “I’ll let you in, one sec.” With that, Greg’s face vanished back into the apartment, and I heard the window close.

Moments later, I could see Greg approach the door from inside the shop. He waved as he saw me, and unlocked the door, stepping aside as he opened it to allow me past his large frame.

“Hey Greg!” I said, as cheerily as I could, and stepped inside. He closed the door behind me and gestured for me to follow. We walked to the back of the store, past rows of comics and graphic novels. The sun feebly stretched from the glass door towards us, but without much success. The posters of poised superheroes and cut outs of famous sci-fi characters looked menacingly down at me in the dim light as we passed. I stopped in front of Farscape’s villain, Scorpius, who loomed above me. His leather mask revealed taught grey skin. Deep red lines that looked like a blend of wrinkles and scratches, stemmed from beneath his eyes and mouth. His black lips were pulled back into a nasty smile, revealing yellow pointed teeth.

I shuddered. The show was silly, and I had never been shaken by the character’s appearance before, but his face morphed into a nightmare in the dark stale air.

I jogged to the stairway at the back of the room, which Greg had vanished into. That had been the first time I ever saw the door to his apartment opened. I followed him up into the dark unknown.

Entering the kitchen, I squinted at the sudden light. A bare bulb above me illuminated the entirety of the main room, which consisted of both the kitchen and a small living room. Greg’s apartment was pretty much what I was expecting. The first thing I noticed was that, like the store, the walls were lined with boxes from floor to ceiling. The contents of his collection. The kitchen’s once white linoleum floor was curling with aged and yellowing from a lack of mopping. The wooden cabinets looked warped, one door hanging loosely from its top hinge. Outdated wainscoting ran along the perimeter of the entire room, cut off halfway up by an over the top but faded floral pattern.

The kitchen had an old rectangular table in the middle, with two chairs on either side. There was a worn beige armchair with a matching footrest in the living room, placed strategically in front of a small television I recognized from shows that played after cartoons stopped during weekday afternoons, like I Love Lucy and The Happy Days. I’d watch them sometimes when I was home from school, sick.

The room smelt bodily, like a mix of sweat, old food, and fear. I mindlessly picked up a figurine I didn’t recognize, and examined it. It was an amazingly realistic depiction of an older man. He was tall and thin, his mouth set in a tight scowl. He felt like he might have been made of leather, the texture of his skin more forgiving than the hard plastic I was used to, and his fine white hair rested in a comb-over above splotched wrinkled skin.

I felt the heaviness of the silent room around me, and looked up at Greg, who stood before me, staring at the floor. His face was oddly unshaven, and his hair was even frizzier than normal. He looked like he had lost weight, his skin waxy and loose.

Uncomfortable in the silence, I finally spoke. “How is it going?” I asked, realizing how stupid that question was in the moment, but unable to think of a better conversation starter.

He looked up at me with eyes outlined in red, and stared for a moment. I swallowed, shifting my feet beneath me in discomfort.

“I’ve been collecting.” He responded.

I looked around, nodding encouragingly, “yeah, this place is full of stuff!” I smiled at him, hoping the conversation would become less awkward.

“No, not this stuff.” He said, gesturing towards the boxes. “I’ve been collecting something better.” He emphasized the last word, his eyes growing wide. “A man from Russia came into my store six years ago and sold me something. Something… special.” His face gleamed with a manic thrill.

I nodded slowly, trying to figure out what he was trying to tell me.

He continued, “at first, I just used it to get this place started. But then, over the years, I’ve grown to love it.” He leaned closer towards me, and I took a step backwards, uncomfortable with his tone. “I’ll admit, it’s turned into a bit of an obsession.” He paused, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re a collector.” He said in a low tone. “You understand how addicting it can become.”

My heart was racing. This was not the Greg I knew. This was a Greg, who for the first time, I realized might be as bad as the press claimed he was. But I had never even heard Greg swear, let alone express any interest in violence against someone else. He even refused to carry some of the more mature comics for that very reason.

“I’ll show you.” He turned, and shuffled to a door in the back. He opened it, and I reluctantly followed, lead by a loyalty to my friend, even though my heart pounded with fear. The door revealed a much cleaner and neater room then the rest. White bookcases lined the walls, filled with what I recognized as the more valuable part of Greg’s collection. The items were illuminated by small lights set into the top of each shelf.

He gestured to a thin glass cabinet in the corner, set apart, and stopped. I walked up to it and looked inside. It displayed nine small figures of children. They were each about six inches tall, and were the most lifelike figures I had ever seen. The features of their faces were incredibly realistic. I examined each one individually, in complete awe of the detail.

I stopped at the last figure, my blood turning cold. I recognized that face. It was Zack’s.

I turned slowly towards Greg, who was behind me holding a small futuristic toy gun. It looked sort of like one of the Phasers from Star Trek, but it was different somehow. The more I looked at it, the more real the collectible seemed. It wasn’t one of those cheap plastic things you usually see, but actually made of metal and glass.

“What’s going on, Greg?”

“I got this from the Russian. He had called it a Ctatyetka Gun. It sounded impossible, but the price was cheap enough, so I bought it on the spot.” He rubbed the toy affectionately, then turned his attention back to me, “I’m so happy you came. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“What do you mean, Greg? What does that gun do?” I said, my throat tightening with fear.

Greg nodded to the glass case, to the figurines, to the young boys shrunken and frozen in time. I knew that even the ones who had disappeared years ago still had family searching for them, hoping with the last of their strength that they were okay. Despite all logic and reason, these boys were standing in a display case in Greg’s apartment.

My eyes grew with realization and horror as Greg held up the gun, aiming it directly at my chest. “I have to leave here soon, Nate. I have to get out of this town.” Greg said, stepping towards me, “You’re a little old for the collection, but I love you so much, I can’t bear to leave without you. I want you to be apart of it.”

I stepped back, trying to make my way towards the door.

I watched Greg’s finger tighten over the trigger. He shook his head, “now we can be together forever, Nate. I can be the father you deserve.”

Instinctively, I dropped to the floor. A high pitched buzz vibrated over my head, and an unnatural green light illuminated the walls. Greg’s face was bathed with the eerie light. He looked like he was radioactive, his facial features tight with determination, his thin lips twisted into a sneer.

I remembered the old man figurine I was still holding. I reached up and smacked Greg’s hand as hard as I could. He yelped, and the gun flew out of his grasp, landing by my leg.

I grabbed it and jumped up, aiming the weapon at his chest. Terror washed across Greg’s face.

“Guess I’m not as slow as a nine year old.” I growled. I felt my outstretched arms shake with anger as I thought of the missing posters all over town. Zack wearing a bright yellow jersey, on one knee in a grassy field, a soccer ball resting on his thigh. I could see the wide warm smile that followed me as I biked through the familiar town streets, the right front tooth missing.

I tightened my finger over the trigger, and shot him. Green light spilled from the narrow muzzle, encapsulating his large body in a sickly aura. I watched with fascination as Greg shrunk in front of me. The green light grew brighter with every second, and I eventually had to turn away from the sight. My eyes burned, so I shut them tight, small tears of pain and loss escaping my eyelids. I let go of the trigger, and looked up.

An eight inch figure of a man stood in front of me, the statue of the older man lying on the floor next to him. I put the gun down on the table beside me, and picked both figurines up. The new one was a man in his late thirties, the red shirt and grey pants he wore were stained and worn. I looked at Greg’s tiny face. His expression was one of betrayal and hurt. My eyes darted to the older man’s and I screamed. I dropped both dolls and ran outside, jumping on my bike and pedaling as fast as I could away from there.

The old man’s scowl had transformed into a satisfied smile.

I called my mom the second I got home and told her what happened. She immediately canceled the rest of her trip and came back. The next week was full of police questioning. I repeated my story over and over again, but no one believed me.

The official story is that Greg Wilson tried to kidnap me, as he did the others, but I had escaped. Greg had left town when his attempt was foiled, but neither him nor any of his victims were ever found. During the next ten years, the disappearance rate of boys under ten in my childhood town diminished back to what it had been before Greg’s father passed away six years ago.

The part of the story I had never told anyone before now is that I went back to Greg’s apartment later that week. The figurines weren’t taken as evidence, and I found the gun on the table where I left it, surrounded by what a naive cop considered collectibles of the same value and nature.

As an adult, I’ve continued growing Greg’s collection. But not with little boys. I prefer older men. Despite the trauma of that day, I still think fondly of my other memories with Greg. And besides, Greg wasn’t a child rapist, nor was he a murderer, or even a monster, really. He was a collector.

[heyscience]

Tagged by @jossscarter who is a beautiful human. Rules: Answer the questions and tag 20 blogs you want to get to know better Nicknames: I don't really have any. I love my name (Lyndal) so I usually prefer people call me that. I had a teacher who called me 'Lynnie' once to give me the shits, so I called him 'bald patch'. 
Star sign: Libra 
Height: 163cm (5'4) 
Time right now: 2:34pm 
Last thing you googled: "you'll be 13, I'd be 35, looking for a place for us to hide" - I was trying to find a song that reminded me of Morrigan and her son Kieran from Dragon Age 
Fave music artist: I feel like a traitor for saying this because I think it's really important to support women artists (cos sexism hurts musicians too) but my answer is probably Gotye. He has songs with women lead vocal artists at least?? 
Song stuck in my head: currently - Thirteen Thirtyfive by Dillion (the song that reminds me of Morrigan). 
Last movie I watched: Captain America: Civil War. Can I just say that I do not approve of the film's treatment of Sam Wilson - he's the gotdang greatest and Steve does not appreciate him enough 
Last tv show I watched: Critical Role. The episode where Scanlan dropped truth bombs on everyone. I'm still emotionally wrecked by it. 
What I’m wearing right now: oh my, shall I describe it to you? The cloth clings to my skin as sweat seeps into my loose shirt. I hitch up my shorts to expose my smooth, pasty thighs. My feet are adorned with running shoes that will probably smell bad when I remove them (I just got back from riding my bike, so yeah, I'm sweaty and look like shit 😅) 
When I created this blog: I am not sure. I created it then ignored it for a year then I started posting heaps when I figured out how to use it. 
The kind of stuff I post: probably too much Dragon Age (sorry), memes, social justice stuff, things that make me lol, random anecdotes from my life and occasional moping about my mental illness 
Why did I choose my url: i love science but I don't want to make it sound like I know things 
Gender: cis woman 
Hogwarts House: I was so sure I was a Hufflepuff, for YEARS. Then I did the sorting on Pottermore and I was put in Gryffindor. At first I was having a full-blown identity crisis but then I was like 'look, maybe it's important to think of myself as brave - telling myself to 'be brave' has given me the strength to get through some tough shit that's happened in my life.' 
Pokémon team: I don't play Pokemon Go cos it eats your data and I have a shitty data plan, but, is Valor the red one? I choose the red one. I like red. 
Favorite color: red? Or maybe green. Green reminds me of nature 🌿 
Average hours of sleep: 6-8 
Lucky number: ?? I like the number 2? 
Favorite characters: Pike (Critical Role), Lady Kima (Critical Role), Gohan (Dragonball Z), Korra (Legend of Korra), and I also have a soft spot of grumpy characters 
Number of blankets I sleep with: none if I can help it, but if I'm feeling particularly spooked about ghosts then I want to sleep with ALL OF THEM I don't know 20 blogs but @nergal-prince and @captain101 pls do the thing if you wanna 😁