Ah Ha Ha No Girl Don't Use Vampirism, Religion, And/or Cannibalism As A Metaphor For All Consuming Love

Chalkboard Hearts - S.H (Coming Soon)

Single parenthood is no easy feat, but you and your daughter Abbey seem to be making it by just fine. That is, until the morning that you drop your daughter off for her very first day of elementary school and meet her teacher for the year: Mr. Harrington.

Contains - strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, early-mid 90's, teacher!steve harrington au, single!mom!reader, parenthood

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV - Coming soon!

Chemical Reactions (P. 1)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Smut in later parts, Age-Gap, Infidelity 

Words: 1,867

Note: The fic is spoiler free and fantasy. 

It was just before Christmas when you took up a scholarship at Berkley and, since you were young woman at the tender age of twenty-two, you still could not believe your luck.

You got in to one of the most sought-after courses in the US when it came to quantum physics, which was a field so new and progressive that, to many, its attributes appeared to be rather absurd whereas, to you, it was a way of understanding the world.

Keep reading

banshee's lament - chapter 8.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.7k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

i've been planning this chapter for months now, i hope you all enjoy! there is a surprise in this chapter 👀

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, talk of chronic pain and illness

story playlist

It was slowly nearing half a year since Shera and Cregan arrived at King’s Landing– she still hadn’t gotten used to the heat but she had finally, somehow, begun to adjust to the people, the looks, the whispers and sneers. 

She, albeit slowly, was losing care in such things. She had been spending more and more time with the people she cared about– the ones who made her happy. She still visited Helaena and the children once a day and sometimes would even stay overnight and giggle under the covers with the princess like they would when they were children.

Her mornings started by watching Aemond spar with Ser Cole. She didn’t hide from it anymore– as she felt… somewhat liberated from showing her eye to him. She couldn’t exactly explain, to herself, much less anyone else, why she felt warmer than usual when watching him clash swords with his mentor. Sweat dripping from his face, the little sneer he plastered on when he was particularly concentrating. It felt like butterflies were trapped in her stomach, beating against her skin to get out. It was unfamiliar at first, the feeling– but now it’s become a recognized acquaintance, even if she couldn’t exactly name it.

Aemond, as well, had taken it upon himself to make more effort to spend time with Shera. His days before she returned to King’s Landing were very structured, very planned and scheduled. He would wake up, spar with Cole from morning light until lunch with his mother, then back to sparring until early evening when he would wind down by reading in his chambers, eat dinner, and then go to bed. ‘Going to bed’ didn’t really indicate sleeping, however. He didn’t need much of it to function and found the dreams (and nightmares, to his chagrin) that came with sleep uncouth– so he laid, usually for hours, until his mind drifted into the lightest of sleep cycles. He valued organization and repetition– impromptu changes to such a rigid routine were unwelcome. 

Except for Shera– a very impromptu change to his life on her own. Mayhaps unwelcome at first, his outward antagonistic behavior to her was improper and came from a place of, surprisingly, regret. Regret and self-loathing. Usually, he attributed the feeling of self-pity and self flagellation in association with his brother, who was in all rights, a pathetic example of a man (but still his brother and wouldn’t tolerate such talk about him from anyone else) but when Shera came back, walking down that hall– she had looked so small, like she was a fragile heirloom on the verge of breaking at any moment. She could hardly walk without guidance and hid herself. 

When his mother said she was returning, as vague as it was, he felt some sort of resentment bubbling up in his gut. What gave her the right to return now? He fully expected her to be the epitome of a Northern lady, hardy and strong, unyielding. The letters ‘she’ (unbeknownst to him at the time, the words were fabrications of Cregan) sent after Driftmark, painted the picture of someone who was fine, who was well adjusted, who didn’t have to go through moons and moons of relearning how to be a person. The image of Shera he had concocted into his mind, and onto paper– an icy woman with fiery hair who would come to blows with someone rather than shed a tear– was not what he saw. 

No, what he had seen in that hall, who he had seen– he didn’t recognize her. Then, seeing the small curl of copper hair, the fur stole, the wolf. It struck him like a bolt of lightning, spurring every cell in his body into action, setting them on fire. Blood pumped in his ears and he could hardly hear her (whispering voice aside). 

She was broken. Harsh, yes– but it was true. She was a shell, behest to the terrible experience they both suffered.

Regret flooded through him. She was this way because of him, because he dragged her along in the middle of the night to watch him claim Vhagar.

I should have killed them. I should have killed them. 

And he retreated from her. He hardly remembers his words to her after she came out from his mother’s chambers– they felt vile in his mouth, like spewing venom. The primal part of him, the dragon, was unruly and restless.

He couldn’t stop lashing out at her–

But what did he really feel? 

He fucking missed her. He missed her more than he could ever profess. He wouldn’t admit it outloud, of course, he had to maintain some form of self-preservation. 

After their night in her room, after seeing her eye– there was a shift. They spent more time together and she became a fixture of his schedule. 

Wake up, spar with Cole and have Shera watch him until noon, they would lunch together three days out of the week with Helaena. He cut his afternoon sparring in half and spent that time with Shera. At first it was awkward, but they melded into one another like their youth quickly.

She begged him to teach her how to draw, to help strengthen her eyesight.

“It… it hurts to focus.” she sniffed, looking up at him. She didn’t wear her veil when they were alone, which he made sure they were when they were drawing. Her blind eye was red rimmed slightly, twitching. 

He had set up a vase on a small table for her to draw– it was a simple clay vase with a depiction of two nightingales in flight. They had just moved on from plain objects to something a bit more detailed, albeit only by a little bit.

“Don’t strain, Shera. Just… look at it normally. It’s blurry in some places, right?” 

“… yes.” 

“Okay. You looked at it up close for a good five minutes. Do you remember what was on the side?”

“The… the nightingale imprint.”

“You can see it in your mind, but it’s not clear to the eye. Use your memory to fill in the blanks.” 

“Aemond— this… this is just a test of memory. How is this helping my eyes?”

“Trust me.” 

She started off shaky, her first slew of sketches no better than his were when he had first started, but she fell into it quickly. She developed her own style, straying from the charcoal that Aemond used exclusively, and opted for more colorful tools– she had woad paste pastels imported from Dorne. They would sit and depict the same thing and come out with completely different results.

It was so easy to forget that she was betrothed to another. That she was to leave soon.

That she was to be his nephew’s wife. His nephew who didn’t give a shit about her. His nephew who was there. Did no one else think it a bit sick that she was to be the wife of someone who took a part in her mutilation? 

Was he the only sane one? 

He sighed softly as they finished up their drawings for the day. They had been sketching the coastline of Blackwater Bay– Shera went with a color scheme of blue and green and sparse spots of orange and yellow. 

He stuck to his monochromatic charcoal.

“Rhaenyra’s name day gala is… in a fortnight, right?” Shera hummed, using her foot to pet Moongeist, who was at her feet. 

“Mm,” Aemond responded, flicking some errant charcoal powder from his doublet. “A mummer’s farce, if you ask me.”

“... I don’t care much for events– but at least… your mother and sister are getting along,” she tilted her head as she wiped her hands off. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent had been working together to plan the event and were in high spirits. They were frequently seen chatting lightheartedly. 

“Half-sister,” Aemond clarifies, giving her a pointed look.

“Half-sister,” Shera says, brows raised. “I suppose it is a send off, too– since…” her voice trails off slightly, not really wanting to talk about her impending wedding to Jacaerys. She hasn’t spoken much to her betrothed as she didn’t feel the need to– she let him run around with her brother and do what he liked. She imagined it wouldn’t be much different when they were married.

An uneasy silence settled over them. There were many words on the tips of their tongues that they just couldn’t say– it would make it real.

“Shera-,”

“Aemond-,”

They spoke at the same time, standing up simultaneously. Moongeist made a warbling chuff sound that sounded like a laugh.

He must be sick of our antics.

“I should get back to my chambers– before dinner. Cregan wants to… eat with me, for some reason.” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Hm,” Aemond hummed in his usual manner.

—

Shera sat across from Cregan, leg crossed over the other as she fed Moongeist scraps under the table.

“What did you want to speak about?” she broke the silence, glancing up at him. She had put her veil back on– to her dismay, as she had come to like not having it on… around Aemond, at least.

“Do I need a reason to want to dine with my sister?” he asked, clenching his jaw slightly. 

“... no,” she mumbled, flicking her nails against one another. “But you don’t usually dine with me.” 

He chewed on his piece of mutton slowly, regarding her. “I’m leaving, Shera. I need to go back North.” 

“Why?” she blurts out, a bit more emotionally than she wanted to. She and Cregan didn’t have a great relationship, but they were… siblings. There was familiarity. 

“I’ve stayed too long already, there is a keep to run, things to do, Shera,” he narrowed his gaze. “Will you be alright… alone?” 

Her lip caught between her teeth. “... I suppose so.” she and Cregan had their moments– she thought he was a huge idiot most of the time, but that was her brother. She had been by his side for the last ten years and he nursed her back to some semblance of health when she returned from Driftmark. No matter the choices he made, the ones he made for her– they were all one another had, really. 

Her chest ached slightly that he would be going back North and leaving her here. She wouldn’t be alone, per say, but… her blood would be so far away.

“Will you… attend the wedding?” she asked then, drawing little circles on the table with the tip of her nail. 

“Yes, I’ll return to Dragonstone for it.” 

“Dragonstone?” Shera looked up, slightly alarmed. “I thought the wedding would be in King’s Landing?”

Cregan stopped chewing, suddenly looking sheepish. It was unbecoming of him. “I… yes,” he cleared his throat. “Jacaerys said that after his mother’s name day gala, they will move back to Dragonstone.”

Why does no one tell me anything? “Hm.” she grumbled, sounding much like Aemond– she’s picked up on his little mannerisms and made them her own, it seemed.

“You will be going with them and will be wed soon after.” 

She made another noncommittal noise, scraping the remains of her plate to the floor. She’d lost her appetite. 

She would be alone sooner than she thought.

—

Returning from a luncheon with Helaena, a few days after Cregan’s departure, she discarded her veil right away as soon as the door was closed behind her. 

She waved her hand in front of her face, despairing in the heat of the South. Moongeist agreed, his tongue lolling out in a pant as he lapped at a small tub of water at the foot of the bed. 

“It’s too hot for us here, dovey,” she whimpered, wiping sweat from her brow, beginning to strip the various layers of clothing she had on— she did have somewhere to be later in the day, but she would simply have to redress. “I hope Dragonstone is more breezy, lest we melt.”

The layers flew off of her, pooling upon the floor like a puddle of dark ichor. It likely didn’t help that she only wished to wear dark colors, attracting the heat of the sun to her poor constitution. Her cheeks flushed red with the errant warmth and she wondered if this was how those with Targaryen blood felt all of the time— constantly huffing, puffing, warm and sweating. It was terrible. 

Finally in nothing but her shift and underclothes, she walked to the bed, hand reached out to peel back the blanket when something shiny caught her eye. 

Investigating further, she found a small velvety box, opened to reveal a silver choker, inlaid with three sapphires. Blinking profusely, Shera carefully pried the piece out of its holdings and inspected it. It was, to say the least, flawless. It matched her silver earrings that she always wore almost down to the exact detail, the engravings even the same— long, flowing tendrils into the metal, outlining the gems like garlands. Pearls hung from the bottom of each sapphire. Her thumb roved over the center sapphire, the largest one and the most prominent. It was cool to the touch. 

Gently placing the choker down, she dismantled the box looking for a note or any indication of who might have left it. She guessed it to be Jace— did he intend for her to wear it to the gala? She would have to find a garment to match. 

Shera descended to her wardrobe, rummaging through until she landed on something that would go swimmingly with her new necklace. It was a dress she hadn’t worn at all, and had been tailored for her shortly before leaving Winterfell. It was a silver and blue dress with intricate embroidery akin to that of a Godswood, but the leaves were a cool toned blue rather than red. She had a pearl-laden head garment, imbued with a silken veil and ringed headdress of sorts, with silver moons hanging down on each side. 

Curious.

–

“You… must stay outside, lovey,” Shera murmured to Moongeist. She had received a missive– unclear from who, but either Alicent and Rhaenyra– that they would prefer if her wolf was not in attendance to the gala. She wanted to cry, leaving him outside of the ballroom. Contrary to popular belief, she didn’t really command her companion– their relationship, as impenetrable as others may see it, was the culmination of years of hard work and trust. They were so attuned to each other, Moongeist knowing when she was pushing herself too far, when she was in distress, and when he needed to step into a situation. He was, on all accounts, very polite and well-mannered – for a wolf. He had never bitten anyone who didn’t deserve it. His good conduct thus far and impeccable record was apparently not enough for him to be admitted to the event. He whined as Shera snuffed into his fur, murmuring soft nothings into it. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” she whispered. “I’ll come get you when everyone leaves and you shall have all the scraps you’d like.” 

Tearing herself from him, he sat dutifully outside of the glass door that led from the gardens into the ballroom. She willed herself not to cry, not to cry. 

She was unsteady on her own feet, hoping to find someone familiar to steady herself on. The last option of familiarity presented itself first. Jacaerys spotted her right away, putting a hand on her waist. “Shera,” he smiled warmly. “You look… wonderful tonight. Mother is going to be so happy to see you in attendance.” 

“Jacaerys,” she responded, willing a smile on her face. He was better than no one. She steadied herself by putting a hand on his shoulder. His eyes, usually sparkling with mirth, were a bit dim. He seemed… forlorn. “We don’t have such lavish events like this much– up North… apart from feasts. There usually isn’t much dancing.” 

He swallowed, his brow furrowing minutely. “May I interest you in a dance, then?” 

“Mm,” she hummed as they descended to the dance floor. She thought about her dance with Helaena and Aemond on the night of her betrothal dinner– it all felt so far away now. She tilted her head slightly as they danced. Jace’s head was looking to the door, as if he was waiting for someone. “As annoying as he is– I miss him as well.”

Jace looked slightly bewildered. “Pardon?”

“I may only be able to see from one eye, but I’m not completely blind,” Shera murmured. “You’ll see him again.” 

The prince softened slightly, nodding his head. He was grateful for the words.

They danced a bit more and mingled, more so Jacaerys talking to people and stringing Shera along. Somehow, through it all, she became separated from him, walking on her own through the throngs of people. The heat, even with her less thick layers than usual, was stifling– from all of the bodies. 

She suddenly felt… panicked, like when she was lost in the tunnels that one evening. “Excuse me,” she whispered hurriedly as she pushed through people, who didn’t even seem to see her there. “Pardon m–” 

Her voice was cut off by a strong arm pulling her around her waist. Her anxiety damped right away as the familiar smell of sandalwood and leather took over her senses. Aemond looked down at her. “Lost again?” he was wearing a black and deep purple button-up doublet, with a long overcoat. It had a flared collar. He looked nice– it wasn’t much different color wise to his usual garb, but it absolutely wasn’t something he would spar in. He was even without his sword– but a brush of Shera’s hand near his waist revealed he did have his dagger strapped to his belt. 

“... mayhaps.”

“And where is your guide? It is unlike your dog to abandon his post.” 

“He wasn’t invited to the gala,” Shera frowned.

“And you’ve… been left alone?”

“Jacaerys was–” 

Aemond held up his hand. “You don’t need to tell me any more,” he rolled his one eye. “He wouldn’t be able to keep track of you if you were the size of a dragon.” 

They fell into an easy sway– he was much more relaxed than he was when they first danced. But Shera couldn’t shake what her brother had said– they… Rhaenyra and her brood, which included Shera now, would be leaving a few days after the gala. She hadn’t told Aemond, she didn’t know how.

“You’re worried,” he tilted her chin up to him so their gazes could meet. “I can feel your unease from here.” 

“... I…” her mouth felt dry, her hand clutching his inner elbow shakily. “We’re leaving.” 

Aemond stayed silent.

“Jacaerys and I… are to be wed upon Dragonstone– and we are to leave… in a few days.” 

Aemond still declined to speak.

“Aemond,” she pressed her thumb into his skin. 

“You can’t leave again,” he stated. He did not ask, nor plead. He stated it, as if it was a definitive fact. “I won’t let you.” the same moment of rage she had seen before was there, bubbling under the surface. A vein in his neck bulged out and she could feel the control he was trying to keep over himself, over the situation. He gripped her face with both hands now, boring into her with a surprising and sudden placid smile.

–

With a hand over her swollen belly, Rhaenyra scanned the crowd. It’d been so long since she properly enjoyed an event. The planning of it with Alicent had been… more fun than she thought it’d be, and the two women quickly fell back into a rapport, akin to when they were girls together.

It felt right.

Her eyes eventually fell upon two familiar faces— Shera, her veil pulled back slightly by Rhaenyra’s half-brother, Aemond. His hand gripped her face softly, but with intensity as the two locked gazes, lips pursed, brows furrowed, clearly in a heated conversation. It took Rhaenyra all but five seconds to be teleported back to her own wedding to Laenor, all those years ago, where she and Daemon had been in the exact same position— where she had dared Daemon to cleave through her father’s men, steal her away to Dragonstone and make her his wife. 

Fuck.

–

“They think you are tame and controlled— but I can see it, the blood welling and boiling just under the surface of your skin. You’re hardly holding it together,” she whispered harshly. “Do you not think I’ve tried to devise everything I could… to stay? To stop any of this?”

“Quell me, then. Let me take you to marriage and let me cut your lip, taste your blood in the ways of old. Dampen my molten blood. I’ll do it in an instant, under the heart tree, in the molten halls of the Dragonmont– anywhere,” his nail pressed into her cheek, angling her head upward to look directly at him. No escape from madness, look me in the eye, he seemed to taunt silently.

It was overwhelming. She was overwhelmed with the warmth in her stomach, the butterflies she felt– they bursted into ash, searing into her like a brand. Shera felt the world around her chill, her extremities cold. “A-Aemond,” she croaked, her hand grasping at his shoulder with all of her might, but it’d only came through as a light tug. “A-Aem—“

Coldness spread through her, her vision fading to white. Then she was warm, extremely so— like she was on fire, panting and spewing hot breaths from her open maw. 

Blinking her eyes— she was outside, her heavy wisps fogging the glass pane on the door. Wait. She had full vision, not just the one. It felt odd, so wrong for her to be able to see all around her like she was whole and normal. 

Why was she outside? Just let me in, Godsdammit, let me in! She growled low, hands coming up to scratch at the wood and glass, nails digging into it. Her nails were longer than normal and much sharper, a deep black in color. 

She wanted in, in, in, in— her hands, no— her paws and claws shredded at the door, eyes peering into the crowd. They were gathered around, shifting slightly to let her see what was going on—

They were gathered around her, eyes rolled back in her head as she laid limp in Aemond’s arms. She saw Jacaerys storming over, already hurling accusations towards Aemond. 

No, no, he didn’t do this, stop! She screamed, barking and howling, her teeth biting into the wood and beginning to rip it apart, splintering and cracking the glass. 

Shera watched in horror as Jacaerys unsheathed his sword. Aemond was still holding her, loathing to give her up— 

Stop, stop, stopstopstop! She bursted through the weakened door, glass and all, feeling it tear at her fur and skin. Patrons gasped around her as she mulled through them towards the center, snapping and snarling. 

“Moongeist, calm down!” Jacaerys said, his eyes wide in surprise as she sat between him and Aemond. 

So she was Moongeist— that is why it felt so familiar. She, no, they drew their lips back in a growl, hackles raised. Back off, back off, back off! They screamed, snapping at anyone who got too close. 

‘That wolf has gone mad!’ 

‘Is that the prince’s intended?’

‘Yes, but not the prince that’s holding her.’

‘How wanton.’ 

They panted heavily, still feeling a deep rage within them. Everyone was too close, too close– the sounds of the gala drowned out as they looked to the upper windows of the ballroom. A familiar sight to behold– the cream colored blur and siren’s song of a voice. 

A beige and cream colored barn owl sat atop the eave of the window, staring down at them with wide eyes.

‘Now you know, dear Shera.’

–

Shera awoke later, still cold as ice. She was back in her own body but still felt the remnants of itching fervor from being in Moongeist– not ‘in’, it had a word. Warg. She heard children’s tales about it, how a man can enter the mind of a beast and become one with it. 

She glanced around the room. Aemond was pacing– she was in… her chambers. Jaw clenched, she sat up from the settee with surprising vigor. 

“Shera–” Aemond sputtered, stopping his pacing. 

“Hush, come with me,” she grabbed his wrist and strung him along, feeling more lively than she had in ages. Moongeist padded alongside them, hugging to her leg just in case. 

She led them down to the weirwood, not letting go of her grip on him.

“You cannot lie to me, Aemond Targaryen, not here. Do you see that?” she gestures to the face etched in the bark of the Great Oak– staring back at the two of them.

How silly they must look.

“Do… not… lie to me,” Shera pleaded. She approached him, her hand skimming the edge of his jaw. He was so warm, always so warm– he permeated through the cold she always felt. “You can lie to everyone else. Keep… those walls up and don’t let anyone in. But not… not to me. Never to me,” she was trembling with the weight of what she was asking, her fingers drumming against his skin. “Did you mean it? Did… you mean it? You want me here with you?”

He stilled her by covering her hand with his own. “I wouldn’t–,” Aemond murmured, his free hand coming up to unhook his eyepatch. Her breath hitched as he discarded it. The moonlight caught the concaves of the gem first, expanding over the flecks of blue, all shades of it.

A sapphire.

She palmed the matching stones on her mysteriously gifted choker. “You… you… your eye…” Shera stumbled slightly, her knees wobbling beneath her.

Aemond held her upright with one arm, slung around her waist. “Hm?” he asked in return, a playful lilt to his voice– something only reserved for her.

“It’s… it’s blue!” she squeaked, pulling his face closer to her, observing with the same scrutiny that she had when they were sketching together. “And… and…” she kept babbling, tugging at her gifted choker. “And this? You… you git! You… cad! Oh, you’re incorrigible.” her words were inflammatory in nature but she… was laughing– as much as she could anyways. It was a quiet giggle, like the soft trill of a small bell.

It made Aemond chuckle in return. The two of them soon devolved into a fit of joviality. “I quite like you in blue, Shera. In my color,” he leaned down to whisper in the shell of her ear. “I had to let Jacaerys know… exactly…” he punctuated each word as his hand made a home on her jaw, inching closer to her lips. “... where and to whom,” his thumb pulled down her bottom lip. “You belong.” 

Every nerve in her body was on fire. She’s never felt so warm, so hot in her life. Is this what it felt like to be a Targaryen? Gods, it was fucking stifling.

“And… to be clear,” he continued. “You belong here. With me.” 

Her mouth parted, she was barely breathing. She… she wanted… she wanted to kiss him. She wanted him, more than anything she’d wanted before. She was mad; this was mad. Even on shaking legs, she pushed herself on her tippy-toes, pressing their lips together. 

She felt… elated. More than elated, it felt like she was flying, skimming the clouds like a dragon, wings spread… free.

Aemond melted into her right away, pulling her closer as they melded together. His tongue swiped against her lower lip as he caressed her so softly, so gently– more gentle than she could ever imagine him being.

This was the first time she ever took something– something she wanted, and she got it. It was selfish, she knew– selfish and dangerous and reckless and just… hers. This was hers. He was hers. “Mine,” she whispered as they caught their respectful breaths. “If… I’m yours, then… you are mine, right?” she clarified, a bit less confident than her previous possessive declaration. “Quite right, little wolf.” he hummed, pressing another kiss to her temple. 

In a brazen show of exuberance, she captured his lips once more.

Things were forgotten. Namely, everything that wasn’t them in this moment. Their individual turmoils, their shared despair. All notions of her mysterious collapse, Aemond’s scuffle with Jacaerys, Shera’s impending marriage to the said prince, tensions rising between two sides of a family–

This was for them. 

The only time that either of them had taken anything for themselves in the last ten years.

--

a/n: ART IN THIS CHAPTER BY @lonelymagpies who, as always, was LOVELY to work with! they captured the scene perfectly.

new teenage winchesters fic up btw on my ao3…. this one’s a dean pov direct sequel/companion to my 16 y old sam fic, featuring sam jumping out of a moving car like the relatable king he is

(tssss i love long hair padaobi)

aaron hotchner drabbles

hotch and his housewife

hotch gets gifts from a very sunny team member

hotch makes you lie down in his office

hotch and your baby girl are in kahoots

all aaron hotchner x reader <- you can find every fic I write for hotch here newest to oldest

god tier dramione fanfics

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Rights and Wrongs series by LovesBitca8 {https://archiveofourown.org/series/1007625}

Remain Nameless by HeyJude19 {https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875939/chapters/57393508}

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All You Want by senlinyu {https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153092/chapters/35140268}

Apple Pies and Other Amends by ToEatAPeach {https://archiveofourown.org/works/8156101/chapters/18691246}

The Gloriana Set by ThebeMoon {https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821571/chapters/39485710}

Love and Other Misfortunes by senlinyu {https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380728/chapters/33204618}

This World or Any Other series by olivieblake {https://archiveofourown.org/series/502333}

You're impossibly fast. And strong. Your skin is… pale white, and ice cold. Your eyes change color… and sometimes you speak like - like you're from a different time. You never eat or drink anything; you don't go into the sunlight. How old are you? Seventeen. How long have you been seventeen? …a while. I know what you are. Say it… out loud. Say it. Vampire.

BELLA SWAN & EDWARD CULLEN TWILIGHT │ 2008

hi angel ✨

could i request steve stealing BILLYS GF this time? i know there’d be violence involved and it gets me hawt 😉

hi baby <3 here you go! thank you for waiting on it, like thank you thank you thank you, it's been a long time coming and I hope it delivers as much as I loved writing this.

Steve Harrington x reader (5k+ words)

cw: 18+, mdni, drunkness, swearing, hints of abuse (nothing too serious), smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, munch!Steve (love him, he will be missed)

He was a mess. Falling everywhere, sloppy drunk, spitting profanities at everyone who had looked in your direction, doing everything that you had begged him not to. But he was yours... right?

"Baby..." The word was drawn out, a sloppy wet kiss pressed to the side of your cheek. Pushing him away, you grumbled to yourself, pulling down your skirt where his hand had found its way to your thigh, pushing up the material.

"Billy. Stop."

The older man rolled his eyes, continuing his advances despite your best efforts to stop it. His hand continued snaking up your thigh, black cloth hitched up to expose the cotton white of your panties. A soft groan escaped his lips as he gained sight of your underwear, interest peaking at his eyebrows.

You caught his hand half way, his fingers itching to dip the material to the side. "Billy. Please."

With a sigh, he had pushed you away from him, irritation reaching its full height as he realized he wasn't going to get anything from you. Distance grew between the two of you as he scooted away, hands immediately finding the beer that once laid abandoned to his side. His eyes grew curious as he searched the crowd for anyone to stick his dick into, satisfy the craving that you weren't going to give into.

"We're in public," you seethed, dropping your voice down to a whisper as you took a look around you. It was a bonfire, celebrating the senior season coming to a close. Half of Hawkins High surrounded you, drunk off of their asses, yet you knew that rumors were already going to start from the way he had caressed you, finding yourself the topic of discussion among the hallways in the last few weeks of class.

Did you hear that Billy and his girl did it in front of the fire? They were so on each other, I heard the Pammy got hit with Billy's pants right before he fucked—what was her name again?

"Like it fucking matters," he spat at you, not bothering to glance in your direction as a blonde walked by him. Her Daisy Duke shorts were high on her hips, teased hair higher than ever as she rounded a corner, throwing a wink in his direction. Scoffing at the sight, you weren't shocked—everyone acted like you didn't exist in this relationship. "'We're in public. I'm tired. You're too rough, too drunk, too blah, blah, blah.'"

Pulling at your shirt uncomfortably, you looked around to see if anyone had noticed his words, voice dripping with intoxication and growing louder by the second.

"Can we not do this right now?"

"So when do you want to do it?" He was borderline shouting at this point, a few pointed glances in your direction from nearby teenagers. Crumbling under their looks, you shifted uncomfortably. "I barely get any anymore."

You remained silent instead choosing to look down at your clasped hands, fingers toying together at your lap. Embarrassment tinged at your cheeks, coloring the skin as your boyfriend grew more angry by the second. This attitude change wasn't something you weren't used to, but it didn't make it any less embarrassing.

You placed a hand on his arm, briefly closing your eyes at the way he pulled away when that same blonde looked in his direction.

"Maybe we should get out of here," you whispered, standing up. Billy's eyes suddenly found yours, that charming smirk you once fell for crossing his face. The flickering light of the fire made him look beautiful, a fallen angel that was tempting you in every way possible.

He stood up, standing in front of you with a hand on your hip. Chugging the rest of his beer, he tossed the empty glass bottle to the side.

"You want to leave with me, baby?" He grinned, stepping even closer to you. His hand graced the side of your face, cold fingers from the beer dancing across your temple. It made you want to pull away.

You grabbed his wrist, leaning into the hand as his other hand began to rest on your lower back. It was the way he pulled you in, the heat from his body pressing into yours that made you melt, his scary demeanor fading as he became Billy—that charming man who was so beautiful, so scary to everyone but you.

"I could... make it up to you," his voice was low as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Apologize for my behavior, baby."

You nodded, leaning into the touch. Eyes fluttering closed, you felt comfort in this moment.

It didn't last for long.

One quick grab under your skirt, you were jumping away from him, pushing at his chest. The quirk of his eyebrow fueled the irritation in your chest, his cocky smug attitude returning, sweet Billy dissipating.

"Absolutely not. I'm done," you rolled your eyes once more before you began to walk away, only to get caught by the harsh grab of your shoulder. Pulling you into him, he squared up in your face, eyes inches away from yours. Keeping your face straight, you met his gaze, not faltering despite wanting to crumble.

Maybe it was the shots you had earlier, fueling this confidence that you never had before when it came to him. He always decided things, he was the shot caller when it came to your break ups and make ups, never you.

"What was that?" Alcohol wafted off of his breath, hitting you in the face harshly.

"I said I'm done, Billy," you pulled away from him, looking down at your shoes as you noticed a few pair of eyes on the two of you. Great, more rumours were the last thing you needed come Monday morning.

He scoffed a laugh, shaking his head as he looked at the sky, constellations partially hidden by the overhang of evergreen trees.

"We're not done until I say we're done, baby," he laughed, winking at you as a scowl crossed your features.

Taking a step away from him, you shook your head, "Watch me... baby."

It was dramatic, the way that you scurried away, pushing away hoards of teenagers that were surrounding the fire. You could've gave yourself a round of applause the way you handled it, the tears didn't even come until you landed in a clearing, the rocks of the boulders encasing the fire long behind you.

You didn't hear the crunch of leaves coming up behind you as you wiped your face, hot tears cast away by your hands. Your sniffles covered the uncomfortable cough feet away, a stuffy nose blocking the stench of a cigarette from that same direction.

Jumping away from the hand that was placed on your shoulder, you shoved the person, screaming.

Someone who definitely wasn't Billy hit the ground, a groan leaving him and a cigarette flying in the opposite direction. Two hands were held up in a surrender, apologies thrown.

"Jeez, it's me! I'm sorry," the young man groaned some more, standing up as he shook the broken leaves off of him, leaning down to find his discarded cigarette. Placing it in his mouth again, he ran a hand through his hair, face turned up in discomfort as he rubbed out his shoulder. "Jesus Christ, you're strong."

Exasperated, you huffed, stomping your foot down as your heart began to settle down behind your rib cage.

"Jesus, Steve, you scared me!"

"Yeah, no shit," he offered the cigarette to you in which you declined, waving your hand in his direction. Eyeing you under the moonlight, he took note of your tears, eyes shifting uncomfortably over the highlights of your face. "Oh... egh—Are you crying?"

Laughing, you turned away from him to wipe away the sting of hot tears once more.

"As many girls as you get, Steve, you still don't know how to speak to one?"

His smile was wide around the tobacco stick in his mouth, eyebrows raising at your comment. It was the most of a conversation you had with the man, normally harsh words you heard in passing as he exchanged them with your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend? The rivalry between them was something you never could make sense of, pointless arguments and overt male aggression.

"Just asking, hon," he shrugged, taking a slow drag. The smoke billowed from his mouth, your eyes drifting through the clouds. It was in this light you realized just how good he looked—scratch that, you've always noticed how good he looked, you just couldn't voice it before. You didn't know who Billy was going to kill first if he had ever found out—you or Steve.

"So what's wrong? He finally did something stupid enough to fuck up the one good thing in his life?"

A small gasp left your lips as soon as the words left his. A smirk was on his face, teeth exposed slightly as he peered at you.

"Steve..." You warned, shaking your head as you tried to stop his whole thing from even beginning. The breakup was fresh on your mind, something you needed to not think about, but could only, as it was literally minutes before.

"What?" He laughed, tucking his hand into his pocket. "I was waiting for him to finally be an idiot in the right way."

You could barely bring up the nerve to be irritated at him, this sudden change of Steve being something that you weren't used to. The both of you had been aware of each other's existence, normally passing through halls giving each other curious eyes, nothing too out of pocket that would've sounded off alarms in Billy's head.

"I just-I don't want to talk about him right now," you huffed, turning your whole body to face him. He gave you a once over, eyebrows raising at your remark. His cigarette was tossed to the side, long forgotten as he stepped closer to you.

"We don't have to talk about him," he said, shrugging slightly. A small smile began to creep up on your face as he adopted the infamous persona he was known for around Hawkins—or used to be known for. "We actually don't have to talk at all."

"Oh, is that so?"

You could match his energy in this moment, grateful that it was coming from him and not your ex. It had gotten to a point in your relationship where sex had been so common, it felt like a chore for you, rather than something you enjoyed with the blond. With Steve, you were willing to explore what type of feelings he would bring out of you.

"Absolutely, hon." His teeth dug into his bottom lip, upper lip curving into a smile at the same time. Stepping closer to you, he wrapped an arm around you, leading you to walk in the direction of the bonfire.

The leaves underneath you crunched as you faltered in your gait, feet turning inward.

"I don't want to go back out there," your voice was thin, less confident than you had been earlier. "He's... I don't want to see him."

Steve was confused as he looked at you, eyebrows furrowing before he recalled the way you looked seconds earlier, hot tears running down your face, slightly smudging the mascara that clung to your eyelashes. It was like a switch flipped, that bit of concern returning yet again. Your insecurities were poking out at every seam, revealing yourself under a gaze of perceived scrutiny.

"We don't have to—no, I could take you home," he said, nodding at his own words. He waited carefully before your reaction came, a slight shift in the head that gave him the green light.

The two of you walked in a different direction of the bonfire, you heard the fading of the throes of teenagers, the blare of music from a stereo fading, and the crackling orange of the flames dying down. Another world of Hawkins was entered, the calming of the night air, chirps of cicadas surrounding the two of you. It was the perfect night, early summer setting in.

"So... what was the fight about?" Steve's voice interrupted your appreciation of the night. Your shoulders stiffened at his words.

"He's just... Billy," you decided on saying, deep sigh at the end of your statement. That was enough for him, a hum of agreement given.

Just as you opened your mouth to continue speaking on the matter, you caught sight of the man of the hour—Billy himself, leaning against a tree, making out with that same blonde girl from before. He pulled away as he heard the two of you, his lip turning up in disgust. The sight had you sick to your stomach, irritation peaking out of you.

"What the fuck, Harrington," he muttered to himself, slightly shoving the girl to the side. Her yelp of protest was lost amongst the three of you, Steve immediately perking up at Billy heading his way. "So now you think you can take my girl away from me?"

Rolling your eyes, you placed a hand on Steve's arm, beginning to pull him away from the scene. He was just as stubborn as Billy in that moment, feet digging into the dirt, sticking himself into place. You barely paid mind to the blonde girl scurrying off in the distance, avoiding the confrontation that was brewing amongst the trees.

"Last time I checked, you fucked up," you would like to think that Steve was confident in this matter, but you heard the shakiness behind his voice. His crown of Hawkins had long been knocked off when Billy Hargrove stepped into town, but now, it was a matter of showing face.

"Is that right?"

Billy gave a shove to Steve, sending him flying backwards, feet stumbling over each other as he tried to maintain his balance. You yelled at Billy, voice cracking through the air as this night had taken a turn for the worst.

"Leave him alone!"

The only reply you got was that stupid smirk from Billy, his tongue running over his lips as he balled his fist into Steve's shirt, pulling him to eye level. They were both fuming at this point, heavy breath leaving their chests, features turned up into an angry frown, eyes searching each other as they dared not to make the first move.

"Why don't you leave it, man?" Steve asked, shoving his fingers into Billy's shoulder. It flew back, but Billy stood his ground, eyebrow quirking up as he saw Steve's challenge.

He tossed Steve back yet again, a loud groan punched from his chest as his back hit a tree trunk, head clunking back against it. Your heart lurched in your chest, cringing at the impact he made. Now that it dawned on you, you could name several times where Steve had gotten his ass handed to him, a few times by Billy himself, the poor boy couldn't defend himself to save his life.

"Steve, come on. Let's just go," Your voice was shaky as you took a few steps towards the two teenage boys. Billy casted a glance towards you, a cut of his eyes that had you sinking back a few feet, returning to the spot you once had.

"Yeah, Steve," Billy teased, his voice raising a few octaves to imitate you. He grabbed the boy yet again, tossing him to the ground as he tried catching his breath that was knocked out of him. Steve rolled once, twice, before catching himself on his feet, standing up on shaky legs.

He was persistent, you could give it to him.

"It's not worth it," Steve shook his hair, leaves falling out of the mane. His teeth had caught his lip in the roll, a drop of blood staining his pearly white teeth.

It was like those words sobered Billy up, his back straightening as he zoned in on the other teenager. Stopping inches from him, he turned to look at you, giving you a once over as he processed the words. Your heart caught in your throat, you dared not speak—worried that your words would have him change his mind and further hurt Steve.

"You're right," Billy opted for, turning to give Steve one last shove. His foot stumbled over a tree branch, the final push sending him flying onto his ass, a loud oof leaving him. "She's not."

And with that, Billy was gone, stomping through the trees, a harsh shove given to you as his shoulder collided. You couldn't be bothered by the sting, your feet took you over to Steve before you could even think about it.

"Are you okay?" You rushed, running your hands over his body. You could pretend you were dusting off the leaves, but really you were checking for broken bones, bruised limbs, anything that might've gotten hurt in the assault.

He groaned, standing up slowly before using his thumb to wipe away the smudge of blood. Giving you a toothy grin, he wiggled his eyebrows at you, making light of the situation.

"I really showed him, huh?"

You wanted to scream at him, call him an idiot for even thinking it would be a good idea to take a stand against Billy. But all you could really do is laugh, your cheeks pulling into a smile as Steve began to lead you to his car in the clearing, only a few feet away from the site. The two of you walked in silence, uncomfortable swallows hidden by the crunching of the leaves, you blinking back tears as you looked through the throes of trees.

With a groan, he settled into the driver's seat, his face turning up in pain as he shifted uncomfortably.

"That doesn't sound okay," the worry in your voice was unmistakable. He gave you a look, pressing his keys into the ignition to start it up.

"I'm fine, just... stings a little," his fingers were shaking as he held the keys at the start up, a slight shift in his movements to the left. Your eyes looked at his clothed abdomen, frowning at his movements were drawing attention to that part of his body.

"Let me see," you whispered, fingers already reaching for him. He complained, voice raising as you leaned over, a loud chit from you to get him to quiet down.

Reclining in his seat, he let you raise his shirt up to expose his side, a deep bruise already forming where his ribs would be. A small gasp left your lips as you ran a finger over the area, his muscles flexing as he leaned away from the touch.

"Ah, careful," he whined through gritted teeth, his eyes squeezing shut. It looked bad, but you knew that it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed.

“We should probably get you home,” you muttered, shaking your head as you recalled the events that happened. Typical Billy to get angry at something he started, not taking responsibility for any of his actions like normal.

Steve’s head turned towards you, wiggling his eyebrows as he processed the words that came from you. “Ooh, already?”

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at him, patience leaving you as you realized what type of game he was playing. Coming from Billy, it was one thing, but you weren't too mad when it came to the brown haired boy in front of you.

"Steve." That stern tone returned, your teeth digging into the skin of your lip to prevent your smile from shining through.

"Okay, okay..." He laughed, putting his car in drive so the two of you could flee the scene. The soft sounds of the radio overtook any signs of a conversation between you two. Before you knew it, the familiar neighborhood streets of the town came into view. "Hey, I'm going to swing into my place real fast to grab a new shirt, and I'll drop you off?"

His words allowed the opportunity to make itself known, your eyebrows raising at a chance to get back at Billy.

"Or I could just crash at yours?"

Steve's head snapped towards you, the car stuttering as his foot his the brake briefly. Your hand shot out to press against the dash, the seat belt tightening across your chest.

You cleared your throat, "I just don't want you to drive... being injured and all."

A small smirk began to creep up on his face, his head nodding at your words. "Yeah, okay... because I'm injured... and all."

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning to look out of the window as he began to pull into his neighborhood. Your heart pounded in your chest, warning bells sounding off in your mind as you weren't sure if this was the worst decision you could make. Being the gentleman that he is, he helped you out of the car and into his house as if you were the one to take the beating from Billy.

His house was huge, barren as if it were a show room, a ghost of a house that was for display only. You chose to follow him upstairs, your feet dragging behind you as the events were catching up to you.

He made himself immediately comfortable, throwing his keys down on his bed, pulling off his sweater from his waistline.

You gasped slightly, turning to face the door as his bare abdomen was exposed. Staring wasn't your goal at the moment, not trying to make yourself so vulnerable in front of him. Cheeks burning, your face was crunched up as you searched for something to focus on.

"Jeez, relax," he laughed, a soft chuckle behind his words. "Didn't realize I didn't do it for you that much."

"It's not that... you just..." You turned back to him, grimacing at the dark bruise that was already beginning to form over his shoulder blade. Sighing, you crossed the room to him, reaching out to run your fingers over the muscle there. "He really hurt you."

Craning his neck to look over his shoulder, he frowned at the sliver of the mark in his gaze. The muscle was firm in your touch, flexing under your fingertips as you didn't dare to press any more into the skin.

Steve looked down into your eyes, the lighting allowing you to fully see the flecks of amber in his eyes. A small smile was on his lips, his eyes darting around the features on your face.

"Your boyfriend's a dick," he laughed, voice dropping an octave.

"Ex."

"Ex?"

"Mhmm," you nodded, your own eyes darting down to look at the crimson color on his lips.

It was silent for a moment before Steve leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. A perfect match, his own slotting into yours like they were made to be there. Slightly parting his lips, his tongue slipped into your mouth, staking claim against your own.

His hands were placed on your hips, rough fingertips dancing over the skin there. You took a few steps back as he walked forward, falling down on the plush bed as he towered over you. As the two of you fell together, you bounced on the mattress, Steve covering your frame.

Hissing slightly, he pulled away from your point of connection, his face turning up. Your hand reached up, palm encompassing his cheek.

"You okay?"

Nodding, Steve smiled again, soldiering through the pain that struck him in the lip. The cut gained from the fight had split again, bright crimson on the skin.

"Doesn't matter right now," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He began to press them down the side of your face, one to the spot beneath your ear, the base of your neck, your collarbone.

You gasped slightly, fingers tangling in his hair as he began to trail lower and lower. He was pushing up the material of your clothing, exposing the expanse of your stomach. His mouth was warm against your skin, his cheeks becoming more and more flush as he reached lower.

He glanced up at you once he reached the material of your skirt, fingers itching to pull down the cotton, but hesitating once he saw the look on your face.

"Are you—is this okay?" He questioned, pressing another small kiss beneath your belly button. You nodded, spreading your legs so he could settle in between them. He made himself comfortable, his fingers sliding to the hem of it to push it up slightly. The white of your underwear was exposed, his eyes dropping down to look at it. "You sure?"

"Y-yeah, just—" You cut yourself off, tightening your fingers in his hair to pull at the brown locks. Groaning, his eyes fluttered shut.

A wave of wetness flowed between your thighs at this revelation, but that was something that could be explored later.

He gave you a small smirk before he pushed the skirt up to your waist. Your legs widened even more as he pressed his mouth to your clothed cunt, his tongue dampening the material. Breath caught in your throat, your eyebrows knitted together.

"Steve..." His name was choked out as he tongue began to run over you through your panties, the material becoming see-through in combination with your wetness.

His fingers reached to the waistband of the white cotton, pulling it down to expose your dripping cunt. Dragging them down your legs, you hitched a leg out to ease the way, curving it over the muscle of his shoulder.

Steve's eyes found yours as he let out a small blow of air on your clit, your muscles tensing as you arched your back at the feeling, hissing at the coolness. With a laugh, you tugged at his hair once more, causing him to groan out loud once more.

"Brat," he laughed at you in return, reaching up to run a finger down your slit. He collected the wetness there before pushing the digit in, instantly curling it against your spongy wall. Your back arched at the intrusion, your eyes fluttering shut at him.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he whispered to himself, pressing his mouth to your clit to suck at your clit. The feeling had you mewling, his tongue lapping down in addition to the thrusting of his finger.

The sounds coming out of your throat were lost in the room, Steve's own groans even louder than your own. His mouth parted further, tongue languidly running over your core.

Fingers tightening in his hair, you ground your hips against his face, knee curling up against his shoulder. It was heaven, what you found yourself in, a feeling you never felt before coming over you as he found himself home between your thighs. Your legs tightened around his head, pushing him even further into your heat as he licked at you.

Another finger slipped in, curling expertly alongside the other, that sweet spot inside of you having you quaking.

A particularly loud moan out of you had him removing his tongue from you, his eyes looking up through disheveled hair at you. Peaking open your eyes, you glanced down, almost fainting at how beautiful he looked between your legs.

He kissed your inner thigh, leaning his cheek against the skin, "Still good, hon?"

Taking a deep breath, you whined at the lack of contact, his fingers still inside you.

"Steve, please."

He rubbed his cheek against your thigh, fluttering his eyes down to look at his fingers inside of you. Moving them slowly, it had you breathless, your head thrown back against the pillows.

"I just want to-"

Kiss.

"-make sure you-"

Kiss.

"-feel good."

Rolling your eyes behind closed lids, you pulled at his hair once more, guiding his face between your thighs. He listened to you this time, tongue running over you with a fervor, eyes sliding shut as he finger fucked you.

Wet noises filled the air, your groans getting louder and louder as he guided you towards completion. His own hips were rutting against the comforter, dick tenting the jeans he had yet to take off.

White noise began to flood your senses, vision blurring, thighs quivering around him. He toyed with your clit with the tip of his tongue, moving in between flattening it and dipping it down to lick at your fluttering hole around his fingers. A wave of wetness pooled around the digits, them curling repeatedly against that sweet spot.

"Ste-" You tried gasping his name, barely giving him a warning before you came, legs drawing up as you pulsed around his fingers. He licked you through your orgasm, pleasure coursing through you as he was relentless.

Overstimulation took you over, your fingers pushing at his forehead as he tried keep his mouth on you.

With a small smirk, he backed away, tongue darting out to lick at the wetness on his mouth, his fingers slipping out of you.

"Well..." He said, shrugging as he sat back on his bed. You felt exposed suddenly, a blush crossing your features as you closed your legs.

Rolling your eyes, you sat up, covering yourself with your hands. "That wasn't even that-"

"You can stop lying now, babe," He laughed, leaning over you to press a kiss to your nose. You fell against the covers once more, reaching up to run a hand over his cheek. Fingers dancing over the injuries on his face, you bit your lip, leaning up to press your own kiss to him. "I'm not Billy."

Glancing down and away from him, you nodded, "You're definitely not him. That I know for sure."

His finger reached under your chin, guiding your eyes to look at him. The intimacy of the moment filled the room, your heart aching with an emotion you had yet to feel with anyone before.

"Well, tell me who you want me to be. I'll be him, and that much more," he whispered, slotting his mouth into yours once more. The kiss was brief, more chaste than it was previously, but so much more passionate than it was. You didn't know how to feel in the moment, but you knew his words were true.

Jeez, it has been a while since I've written anything, but I just want y'all to enjoy it. I can't wait to make a come back to the writing scene, and I have so many things planned. Also, those who have sent stuff in my inbox, I have not forgotten y'all. Trust me, it is coming. (Did I get inspiration for the last line from The Notebook? Yes, maybe I did. Shut up--it was my first time watching it last week.)

Masterlist. <3

"she left you once. she'll leave you again." "you left me once." wayne looking at all the pictures on maureen's wall. i can't compete with your mom. i'll go before you leave me. "if he goes, i won't have anyone left." "not anymore." wayne and del tearing apart from their families to be each other's family. they are each other's solace from every fucked up thing that happens. wayne's mom leaves. his dad dies and he doesn't really get to say goodbye. he can't get himself to stay in school. del and her mom with unmedicated bipolar. her mom dies and doesn't get to say goodbye. her dad can't stop drinking. she does everything for everyone and remember's carl and teddy's birthday. she remembers the cape cod cooley. two terrified kids clinging onto each other and willing to burn bridges along the way paving their way in the hell of being on earth. he doesn't wear shorts. don't ask her what del is short for. they were meant to be together annointed in violence before they even met. maybe she's your pair of skates. he's been looking out for you for years.