She/her • memes • Bi • 26 • Aries • Welsh #beainabottle writes for my work 🔞Minors will be blocked🔞 Lost access to my old account so this is the new one
And I’ve lost access to the account I have been using since I was like 14. It’s not gone and my shit is still there if you wanna go look. Really bummed but I’m just trying to see it as a fresh start.
Picture it: I’m a 13 yr old girl, a major twilight fan and people are asking if I’m team Edward or Jacob. I DIDN’T CARE ABOUT THEM, I was just struggling to chose between Charlie and Rosalie. Not knowing fully that I was Bi yet 😂😂
⇾ w.c. 3.3k words
⇾ warning(s). f!reader (use of feminine pet names), post canon!Baron, Marmalade spoilers, kisses
⇾ a/n. Inspired by an idea @babydollbaron and I talked about. 🧡 Also, since we don't know what Baron's real name is, instead of making up some random name to call him, I've decided to just use his alias.
Your mother's always been known for sticking her nose in other people's business—most usually yours—and this time, she's determined to set you up with the woman across the hall's handsome son.
[ masterlist ]
The southern summer heat made your shirt stick to your back as you climbed out of your car, your a/c still on the fritz and not enough money to have it repaired just yet. At least your windows still rolled down and there was a cool breeze, despite the humidity.
You grabbed the small bouquet of daisies from the passenger seat before shutting the door and heading toward the ivy covered building, blessedly chill once you passed through the entrance, holding the door open for an older man passing you on his way out. He smiled in recognition and nodded in thanks.
The nurse at the front desk greeted you by name, handing you the sign in clipboard with a warm smile. “Daisies again, huh?” she asked, trading you the clipboard for a small key.
“They’re her favourite. She says they’re a friendly flower,” you chuckled softly, pulling one from the bunch to offer the receptionist.
“She’s right,” she replied, bringing the flower to her face as you headed down the hall toward your mother’s room. Before heading inside, you unlocked the small metal box by her door to switch out her empty prescription bottle for her refill, only to find a fresh bottle already sitting there.
“That’s strange,” you murmured, picking up the orange bottle to inspect it closer. It was definitely the same pills, but there was no name on the prescription. Sometimes when another patient passed away their family would donate any left over medication to those that needed it. Perhaps that’s just what this was.
Frowning slightly, you locked the box back up and glanced at the door across from your mother’s, the familiar crocheted message hanging there making you smile before you knocked at your mum’s door, pushing it open to find her sitting in her rocker by the window, watching the birds at the feeder outside, a book set aside on the table at her elbow.
“Knock knock,” you called softly and she turned to smile at you.
“Oh! Hey there Susie-Q,” she greeted, making to push out of her chair when you quickly stepped inside, not wanting her to get up, the door left open in your haste.
“Stay there, I’ll come to you!” you exclaimed, wrapping her in a hug, your heart aching for a moment before stepping back.
“I brought some fresh flowers,” you added, handing her the bouquet so you could empty the wilted ones from the vase and get some fresh water.
“Oh, they’re lovely! Daisies are such a friendly flower, don’t you think?” she asked, caressing the petals gently and you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing she was going to say that.
“They certainly are,” you replied, placing the bouquet in the vase and setting it on the dresser next to her bed.
“Oh, before I forget!” your mother exclaimed, turning her chair toward you.
“What?” you asked, a little taken aback by the excitement on her face.
“You know the lady from across the hall?”
“Uhm, yeah, Ms. Eda, right? She’s a sweet lady,” you replied, frowning a little in confusion, wondering why she was asking you about that.
“You know she has a son, right? Oh, I can’t remember his name,” she said, snapping her fingers as if that would help her remember.
“Oh no. No, no nonono,” you exclaimed, cutting her off before she could continue her thought.
“What? No, listen! He refilled my bird feeder the other day,” she said, gesturing to the window. “He’s a sweet boy,” she insisted, raising her eyebrows at you.
“Mom!” you exclaimed, huffing a wry laugh, your hand coming up to cover your face in embarrassment. “Stop trying to set me up with your hall mate’s son!” you exclaimed, feeling your face warm.
“Why not? You’re single, as far as I know, he’s single, and you know he cut his hair? He’s actually very handsome–”
“I don’t care how cute he is, I’m not gunna hit on Eda’s son just because I’m single,” you exclaimed, barely registering the sound of a door shutting in the hall.
“That’s a shame.”
The amused voice behind you nearly made you leap out of your skin and you gave a sharp yelp as you spun around, only to find the very man you’d been talking about standing in the doorway, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.
If your face was warm before, it was practically on fire now and you wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out.
However, you couldn’t help but notice that your mother was right—he was rather handsome. His dark chestnut hair was shorter now, though not short by any means, with an artful unruliness to it that looked almost effortless. His dark brown eyes practically danced when the mid-morning light shining through the southern facing window hit them just right, turning them almost golden with the faintest hint of green around the edges.
He looked well groomed, a smart leather jacket hung open over his blue button down tucked into his dark trousers, a far cry from his appearance the last time you’d seen him a couple weeks ago, his hair hanging down to his shoulders and in desperate need of a good brush.
“Didn’t mean to startle ya, sorry ‘bout that,” he chuckled, his grin turning apologetic, while a soft flush crept across his face as his eyes met yours. His voice was warm, like melted butter, with only the barest hint of a drawl to it, but it made your heart skip a beat just the same.
Quickly trying to compose yourself, you cleared your throat, trying to work moisture back into your mouth.
“No, I… I forgot I’d left the door open,” you spluttered.
“Well, hullo there,” your mum greeted, interrupting you and waving him closer. “C’mon in, come closer so I can get a proper look at you,” she said and Eda’s son shared a grin with you before stepping into the room and letting your mom take his hands.
“Now what is your name again, darlin’?” she asked and he shifted his weight, his brows furrowing for a moment, as if thinking.
“You can call me Baron,” he answered with a nod, holding her gaze, and she seemed pleased.
“Baron,” she repeated, as if savouring the name before her eyes flicked to you. “This is my daughter—“ she introduced, telling him your name as well.
Baron grinned, his eyes finding yours. “It’s good to finally have a name to put with a face,” he murmured, ducking his head to listen as your mom whispered something in his ear. He huffed a soft laugh, a slightly bewildered smile playing at his lips as he straightened, and you frowned, wondering what exactly she’d said.
“Mama?” you questioned, suspicion leeching in, only growing when she merely smiled at you like the cat that got the cream as she eased herself back into her chair, a mischievous glint to her eye.
“What’d she say to you?” you asked, turning back to Baron who still wore a bemused grin.
“She said I’d be a fool if I didn’t ask you to get a drink with me.”
Your mouth fell open, embarrassment washing over you and you looked from Baron to your mom and back, horrified. “Oh my God,” you groaned, at a loss for words, hoping she hadn’t made him too uncomfortable, but Baron shrugged, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I’ve been called worse before, but my mama certainly didn’t raise herself a fool,” he chuckled, his gaze lingering on your face. “So, what d’ya say? Wanna grab a coffee?” he asked, nodding toward the door, a hopeful look crossing his face and you blinked, taken aback.
“Uhm, I–”
“Well, go on then,” your mom urged and you gave a small jump, almost having forgotten she was there. “If you don’t go, I will.”
“Alright!” you relented, laughing as you held up your hands in surrender. “I’d love to.”
“Perfect! You two have fun now!” your mom exclaimed, practically shooing you out the door. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow and tell me alllll about it,” she hissed, pitching her voice low before you stepped out the door.
“Alright, alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you replied, blowing her a kiss. “Love you lots.”
“Tator tots!” she called back, making you smile.
Out in the hall, it hit you that you were now alone with Baron and the thought kicked up a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, embarrassment radiating off you in waves.
“So, uh, I know a good coffee shop nearby,” you offered, clearing your throat nervously, and Baron grinned, ducking his head.
“Sounds good.”
“So… how’s your mom?” you asked as you got your coffee and pulled out a chair at an empty table by the front window, trying to think of something to say and wincing, unable to come up with any other topic at the moment.
Baron didn’t seem upset though, he merely smiled pleasantly down at the strawberry frappe on the table in front of him, playing with his straw. “She’s doin’ just fine. How about yours?”
“Oh, good. Good,” you answered, taking a sip of your cappuccino. “As long as she’s got her meds she’s good,” you added, frowning as you remembered the excess pills you’d found in her medication box.
“You know, it’s the darnedest thing though. When I checked her supply earlier, there was a whole extra bottle in there and I don’t know where it came from.”
Baron hummed, his smile sharpening for a moment, turning knowing. “That’s strange,” he mused, dipping his finger in the whipped cream at the top of his drink and popping it in mouth, sucking it clean.
“Yeah,” you agreed, losing your words for a moment as you watched him, your lips parting, wishing for a taste. When his eyes flicked back up to yours, you quickly cleared your throat and shrugged. “I ain’t about to look a gift mouth in the horse though,“ you murmured, wincing when you realized you’d jumbled the words and quickly amended them, your face growing hotter. “I mean, gift horse in the mouth.”
Baron chuckled, his gaze lingering on your face and you hoped he couldn’t tell how flustered you were.
“I’m sorry for my mom springing this on you. She tends to butt into everyones’ business, whether they like it or not,” you began, flashing him a sheepish grin, but before you could finish apologizing for your mom’s behaviour, Baron cut you off.
“I’m not,” he replied simply, his gaze boring into yours. “Sorry, I mean,” he clarified with a shrug. “It finally gave me an excuse to talk to you. Plus it helped to hear you think I’m cute,” he teased, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
For a long moment you merely gaped at him, barely believing your ears. Had he really been interested in you all this time?
“Oh,” was all you could bring yourself to utter. “Well… that’s good then,” you added lamely, unsure what else to say, though you were dying to ask how long he’d been wanting to ask you out.
“Besides, you’re lucky.”
“For what?” His words took you off guard, pulling you from your thoughts.
“That you have a mama that cares so much about you,” Baron said, once more playing with his straw. “I think it’s sweet.”
You nodded slightly, bringing your cup to your lips. “I guess I am pretty lucky,” you agreed, catching his eye for a moment, and it was his turn to flush, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks.
“So, how’d it go?”
There it was, the question you’d been expecting since you’d arrived. You were honestly a little surprised your mother hadn’t sprung it on you as soon as you’d walked through the door.
She was peering at you over the fan of cards in her hand, trying to act nonchalant as she drew another card from the pile before discarding one.
“How’d what go?” you asked, fighting back a grin at the sharp look she threw you in response.
“Don’t be coy, you know what I’m talking about,” she exclaimed, pursing her lips like she always did when you tested her patience.
Rolling your eyes in amusement, you leaned back in your seat, studying your own hand of cards. “It went well, we talked for a long while. It was really nice,” you murmured, smiling to yourself, that giddy feeling still fluttering in your chest and your mother grinned in return, pleased with herself.
“So, when are you going to see him again?” she pressed, moving one of the cards to a different spot in her hand.
“Who said I’m seeing him again?” you joked, earning you an exasperated look.
“I may be old, but I’m not blind, girl,” your mama huffed. “I’ve seen the way you two looked at each other when you thought no one was watchin’, and I’ve seen you smilin’ at your phone the same way every time it goes off. Who else would you be textin’ lookin’ like that, huh?” she pointed out and you quickly set your phone down, knowing she’d caught you.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, lifting your chin defiantly as you drew another card and winced, not drawing anything helpful.
“You don’t, do you?” your mom asked, raising an eyebrow at you, a wicked grin crossing her face as she laid her cards down on the table. “Gin!” she announced.
Knowing you’d been beat, you groaned, tossing your cards down. “Alright, fine!” you relented, dropping the act. “He’s coming over for dinner on Friday and we’re gunna watch a movie.”
“Oh, Netflix and chill, huh?” she countered smugly.
“Mother!” you yelped, your face aflame as she began to cackle, gathering up the cards.
“Up for another round?”
“Yeah, alright,” you sighed, checking your phone once more. “Just no more talk about my sex life,” you muttered.
“No promises!"
It was about ten minutes til Baron was supposed to arrive and you were rushing around, doing one last once over of your place before he got there, making sure everything was in place. When your buzzer rang, you nearly tripped over the coffee table as you ran to let him up, fidgeting as you waited by the door, pulling it open just as he ascended the stairs.
“Hey, I brought the food,” he said, lifting the plastic take out bag as evidence.
“And flowers?” you asked, grinning as you spotted the bouquet of wildflowers in his other hand.
“Saw ‘em by the side of the road and thought of you,” he murmured sheepishly as he handed them to you. “Though they’re nowhere near as pretty as you,” he added with a smirk.
“Charmer,” you replied, bringing the bouquet to your face to smell them, hiding your smile as you stepped aside to let him in. “Thanks for bringing the food, I’m starving,” you exclaimed, shutting the door behind you as he passed. “You’re much cuter than the usual delivery boy,” you teased, having grown a bit bolder since your first date.
“Well, that’s good to know,” Baron chuckled, setting the bag on your kitchen counter to pull out the takeout containers while you searched for a vase for the flowers.
“Fork or chopsticks?” he asked and you looked over to see him holding up one of each.
“Chopsticks,” you decided, filling the vase with water and setting it on the table.
Baron grinned at your choice, handing you the little paper sleeve and taking the plastic fork for himself. “Good, cause I’m hopeless with ‘em,” he chuckled.
“Soda?” you asked, opening the fridge to grab yourself a bottle, taking two at Baron’s “yes, please,” and rounding the corner to join him on the couch. Picking up the remote, you flipped through movies until you both agreed on one and pressed play, digging into your dinner.
“This was such a good idea,” you sighed, tucking your feet up under you and getting comfortable, inching closer to Baron until your knee pressed against his thigh and your elbow brushed his arm. Despite the brief contact, warmth suffused you and you carefully kept your eyes on the television, only chancing a glance at Baron out of the corner of your eye.
Unable to stand the silence any longer, you cleared your throat softly and set your nearly empty take out container aside. “Can I ask you something?”
At your question, Baron set his food down as well, a hint of a smile on his lips as he turned his attention to you. “Yeah, shoot.”
“Would you still have asked me out if it hadn’t been for my mum’s interference?” you wondered, the thought having plagued you for the past several days.
Baron looked thoughtful. “I figure I would’ve eventually,” he murmured, his dark eyes finding yours in the dim room, the light from the tv dancing across his face. “I’ve sorta had my eye on you,” he admitted, his grin twitching as his gaze flicked down to your lips and back up.
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” he replied, huffing a soft laugh. “Just waitin’ for the right time. There was something I had to finish before I could let myself get… involved. A two year relationship I had to end,” he murmured.
“Oh–” you breathed, the news hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I… had no idea.”
Baron shook his head, a far off look crossing his face for a moment before it was gone. “S’alright. It was always meant to end there,” he mused cryptically before he took a breath and his grin returned.
“What about you, Miss I-don’t-care-how-cute-he-is-I’m-not-gunna-hit-on-him-just-because-I’m-single?” he taunted and your mouth fell open.
“That was–! I didn’t–!” you spluttered, feeling your face flare hotly.
“Admit it, you had a crush on me,” Baron teased, a playful light dancing in his dark eyes.
“I think you’re imagining things,” you replied lightly, managing to keep your voice even.
“Oh, am I?” You could feel Baron shift toward you, his brows lifting in challenge, leaning in til his breath ghosted across your cheek. “You’re awful cute when you blush.”
“And you’re not as sweet and innocent as my mama seemed to think you are,” you countered, your lips tugging into a grin.
Baron shrugged, still hovering in your space. “Maybe not, but I can be sweet when I wanna be,” he drawled, his voice sending a tingle down your spine and your breath hitched in anticipation.
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he breathed, but before he could capture your lips, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in, kissing him first, sending his eyes flying open in surprise as your lips caressed his eagerly.
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you countered breathlessly, your grin turning giddy and Baron shook his head in disbelief, an amused huff bursting from his lips.
“Guess we both owe your mama a thank you,” he chuckled, pulling you closer, his hands squeezing your hips, and you laughed, cupping his face with your hands, stroking his freckled cheek with your thumb.
“Guess we do,” you agreed, unable to tear your eyes from his face. “She’s never gunna let us live this down though,” you pointed out and Baron shrugged.
“Can’t say that really bothers me much,” he teased before his lips were once more on yours, his tongue hesitantly delving deeper, rolling languidly against yours.
Wrapping a deceptively strong arm around your waist, he swallowed your soft gasp as he lowered you to your back, not once breaking the kiss as he trapped you beneath him, the movie playing on forgotten while you lost yourself to his embrace.
You may owe your mother a thank you for pushing you and Baron together, but you definitely weren’t about to tell her how good a kisser he was.
authors note: hi, hello! pls bare with me as this pretty much the first/second fic i've ever written!! <3
Chapter 1:
It’s been 2 weeks since your Grandma was moved from the hospital into a nursing home. 2 weeks since you had last seen her. There was always something about the thought of a nursing home that made you immediately panic.
You had called your Mom every single day for the last 2 weeks, getting updates on your Grandma. Every single time you’d call, she’d get more frustrated.
“Why don’t you just go visit her yourself?” she’d ask with annoyance in her voice.
“Mom, you just don’t understand. I don’t think I can see her in a place like that. Every single time I think about coming to see her, I have a panic attack. I can’t find it in myself to go. I don’t know what you want me to do. What am I supposed to do?” you lashed out, feeling the pit in your chest starting to stir.
“I’m not giving you any more updates over the phone, if you want to know how she’s doing, you can come visit her yourself. I’m done playing these games with you” she shouted.
Click.
“H-hello?” you call out. You look down at your phone and your screen has gone black. She actually hung up on you.
Letting all of the air out of your lungs, you put your phone down, and go sit down on the couch.
You look at the clock and see that it’s only 12 in the afternoon and you feel exhausted all of a sudden. Granted, you’ve been awake since 5AM with crippling anxiety but who’s counting?
Walking into your bedroom, you climb straight into bed, wrapping the blankets around yourself before falling asleep relatively quickly.
–
Your dreams, or nightmares for that matter are filled with horrible visions of your grandma. Her calling out for you. You run toward her but the hallway is never ending. It’s on a continuous loop.
Just as you reach her room in your dream, you jolt awake.
You wake up in a cold sweat. The clock reads 2AM. Your heart is pounding, you feel weak, and you’re trying to catch your breath. You look around your room to try and find something to ground yourself and spot the stuffed bunny your Grandma got you when you were 7, that you’ve held on to for all of these years. 22 years to be exact.
Marshmallow is hanging on by an absolute thread. He has holes riddled throughout his entire grey body, his pink nose is so fainted, that it’s no longer pink. His stuffing is balled up, so much so that he is limp and can’t sit up on his own.
You remember the day your Grandma got this for you like it was yesterday. She took you to your home town fair and helped you win him during a game of ring toss. You hugged her like she had just won you the lottery.
In this moment, you realize that regardless of how scared you are to see her in this place, your time with her may be limited and you need to go see her. 2 weeks is too long.
–
Some hours have passed and it’s now 5AM and you haven’t slept since you woke up from your nightmare. Visiting hours don’t start at the nursing home until 9AM, which means 4 more hours to kill.
Climbing out of bed, you slide into your slippers that match Marshmallow. Grandma got those for you last year for Christmas.
You head into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, always the highlight of your morning. The only thing that really gets you out of bed, for that matter.
Once the coffee starts brewing, you realize you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. You’re sick to your stomach but know you need to eat something.
You place two pieces of sourdough into the toaster and decide that even if it’s just buttered toast, it’s something. Something is better than nothing.
As you pour yourself a cup of coffee and add your usual; 2 sugars, splash of cream, your toast pops. Placing the two pieces of sourdough onto your favorite olive green plate, you butter them both and then head to sit down at your dining room table.
–
You’re sitting in the parking lot of the nursing home that your Grandma is now living in. You’ve been sitting in the parking lot for 15 minutes and counting now.
Again, your heart is racing, the pit in your chest is growing as each minute passes, and you can’t catch your breath.
You’ve started crying, you’re hyperventilating and can’t stop. Trying to remember the breathing techniques you’ve been taught numerous times by your Mom, none of them can come to mind. Your vision is starting to go hazy.
Knock, knock, knock.
You jump and then immediately look to your left and find a man staring back at you. His face etched in panic. He gives you a small smile and points his finger down, signaling for you to roll down your window.
Hesitating, you say through the window, “I’m sorry, I don’t feel like talking right now.” you look at him and shake your head and then look away.
He raises his voice just enough for you to hear him through the window, “U-uh, ma’am, I-I’m sorry, I can just see that you’re having a, uh, panic attack. I just wanted to try and help ya, if that’s okay?” he gives another small smile.
You somehow find it in you to push the window button and you slowly watch it roll all of the way down before looking at whoever this man is on the other side. The sunlight is hitting his eyes in the most mesmerizing way, reflecting green and brown back to you.
“Hi, I’m Baron. Keeping your eyes on me, I want you to inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 4 seconds, exhale for 4 seconds, and then hold it again for another 4 seconds. Don’t worry about the counting, miss. Just work on the breathing part for me, hey?” he says, never breaking eye contact with you.
You nod your head, having nothing left in you to give him a response.
“Alright, take a deep breath in for me,” he says as you inhale.
“1…2…3…4”
“Hold for 4 now please, miss,” he says as you look at him, trying to keep focused on his eyes.
“1…2…3…4”
“You’re doing great, exhale for 4 now,” he continues.
“1…2…3…4”
“Hold for another 4, one last time for me, please” he says softly. Never letting his smile fade.
“1…2…3…4”
You release the breath slowly, counting to 4 in your own head.
Your heart slowly begins to return to a normal pace, you’re no longer sweating, and your eyesight has gone back to normal.
“How are you feelin’ now, miss?” Baron asks.
“Actually, a lot better. Thank you for that. The 444 technique is one I know, but I was so far into the panic attack that I-I just couldn’t even think of it. I appreciate you for noticing me and helping me come out of it.” you say, matching the small smile he had on his face earlier.
Looking back into his eyes, you realize this man is extremely handsome. His brown hair is about midlength, a little messy in some places but it adds to his charm. He’s wearing a sky blue dress shirt, white undershirt, and a black leather coat with some black slacks. He has what looks to be a travel bag on his shoulder.
“Not a problem at all miss,” he nods at you and then adds, “hope you have a good day.” he says before standing back up to start heading toward the main entrance.
Before you can even think, you’re shouting, “wait!”
He turns back around and looks at you, “yeah?” he says, a little confused.
“Can you remind me of your name again? I can’t remember anything when I’m in one of those episodes…” you say, remorse written all over your face.
He walks back over, sticks his hand through the window and holds it there.
“Baron, Baron Lamram. It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss.”
You extend your hand to him and shake his hand.
Baron’s hand feels soft but firm. You feel the warmth from his hand as it sends a jolt of electricity throughout your body. He nods his head at you one more time before heading toward the front door of the nursing home.
You decide that maybe now is as good of a time as ever to go inside and finally see your Grandma.
–
Walking up to the large building, you look and immediately feel the pit lingering in your chest.
Deciding to ignore it, you finally start walking through the entrance. You make your way to the front desk where the security guard asks who you’re visiting and to see your photo ID.
After getting checked in, you walk toward the elevators and head up to the 4th floor.
Once the elevator arrives, you walk in and the doors close behind you.
The sense of dread fills the entire elevator. It wraps around you like a thick fog. The smell of the nursing home infiltrates your nose. A mixture of cleaner, air freshener to mask the smell, and other things you aren’t really sure of. You continue trying to keep your focus on your breathing, trying to think of anything else other than this smell.
As the elevator doors open, you find yourself hesitating. You feel like you can’t move but before they are able to close again, you end up taking a step out and find yourself on the 4th floor.
The sign in front of you says rooms 400-450 are to the left so you head toward the left, searching for room 444, where your Grandma should be.
As you make your way down the hall, you notice all of the decorations on each of the doors. Some have butterflies or little decorations. Some of the doors are open and you can see inside of their room. The decorations make the place feel a little bit less like a nursing home and more like an apartment complex.
Each room has a lock box right next to the door, you assume for medications or maybe even mail.
After walking down the hall for a few minutes, you finally make it to room 444. Your Grandma’s name is on the door with little lady bugs decorating the entire door. She’s called you her bug since you were little. Lady bugs are special to the two of you. She has string lights around the door frame which your mom had put up for her.
You pause before you let yourself go in. You need to keep yourself together, you cannot let her see you like this.
After taking a deep breath, you head in.
The smell of your Grandma’s home immediately hits you, the second you walk in. You see your Grandma sitting by the window, looking out into the garden. Of course she got a room right by the garden, you wouldn’t expect anything less.
She is humming to herself as she sits there knitting, not even looking, but her hands working meticulously.
You continue to stand there and watch her as she hasn’t noticed you yet.
Her room is decorated just like her home, fairy lights everywhere, dream catchers, she has her throw blanket that usually sits on her couch on her bed, her random knick-knacks placed throughout the room.
You have a small smile on your face and let out a happy sigh.
“Sweetie?” your Grandma calls out.
“Hi Grandma! How are you doing? I’m sorry it’s been so long. Just so caught up with work these days.” you lie.
“My love, I’m so happy to see you. I’m doing well! Do you like the set up? I’ve been working hard to get this place to feel like home.” she smiles back at you.
She pauses her knitting and stands up, coming over to give you a hug.
Wrapping your arms around her, tears begin to well up in your eyes. You give your Grandma the biggest squeeze back, whipping away your tears before they fall.
“Let’s sit down, shall we?” you say before gesturing to her to sit back down. You sit next to her in the opposite chair.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Hi ma’am, sorry to bother yo-” a voice calls out before stopping immediately.
You look up and see a familiar face. Baron.
“Oh hi sweet Baron, right at your usual time, are we?” your Grandma says, sounding enthused.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ms. Paulette!” Baron says as you notice he always has a smile on his face.
“I’d like for you to meet my granddaughter, Baron! Isn’t she lovely?” she says while gesturing toward you.
“We’ve actually already met, Grandma. Long story.” you let out a small laugh.
“It’s lovely to see you again, even if it’s only been about 10 minutes.” he also lets out a small chuckle.
“I’m here to drop off your medication to you again, I put it in the box for the nurses but just wanted to stop in to say hi to ya, Ms. Paulette. It’s always a pleasure.” he says before starting to head out of the room.
“Bye, sweet Baron. See you at our normal time next week?” your Grandma says.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, miss. Nice to see you again.” he nods towards you and then heads out the door.
“Now, what is that all about, lovely granddaughter of mine?” your Grandma asks, letting out a small giggle while getting back to her knitting.
“I’m not too sure, grandma. I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?” you say, shrugging.
Once when I was in undergrad, someone described something as “problematic” in class and our professor was like, “That’s cool, but ‘problematic’ doesn’t really mean anything. It means that the thing you’re describing has a problem, and in and of itself that’s not bad. Art, especially, should always have problems, or else it’s not interesting and not art, either. It sounds like you’re trying to say that this is bad, but you don’t want to say ‘bad.’ Is that right?”
So from then on whenever one of us called something problematic, he would make us talk it out until we could name the “bad” thing we were hinting at. In this particular class, 7/10 it was some type of oppression, and the remainder was like, “I’m uncomfortable because this is very new/confusing/pushing boundaries that made me feel safe.”
Once we stopped calling things “problematic” and stopping at that, class got way more interesting and... we all had to say, like, “that’s racist” or “that’s misogynistic” or “ew capitalism gross” out loud, which a lot of us had never done in a classroom before. Or we had to be like, “Uhhh... I’m not sure what’s so bad?” and confront our own beliefs and that was maybe even more useful.
Anyway. Whenever I see the word problematic, I can’t help but think of this professor being like, “Good starting point, now let’s get specific.” I think when we have to commit to saying “that’s ___” it requires a lot more careful thought about the truth and impact and complexities of whatever we’re claiming. Sometimes there really is some bullshit afoot, and also sometimes it’s art, and it should be full of problems, because that’s what art is.
When you break something of Steve’s, he has to reassure you it’s okay.
pairing: steve harrington x byers!reader
words: 1.8k
contains: established relationship, angst (tooth rooting fluff ending dw), mention of an estranged relationship with a parent, lonnie byers just generally being terrible, emotionally abusive parent (nothing graphic, just alluded to), no use of y/n, female reader, pet names (honey, baby).
author's note: thank you to @babyluxbeat for this request! i hope i did it justice!! i made it sort of inspired by family lines by conan gray as it is a very byers coded song in my opinion
to be added to my taglist | masterlist | requests page
Watching Steve play guitar was starting to become one of your favourite pastimes.
Over two months ago, your boyfriend had randomly decided to learn how to play guitar. You’re not sure where it had come from but you had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with Eddie Munson.
And so, he sat on your bed idly strumming the guitar he had brought over—his fingers dancing around the strings and chords. You watched him, unable to stop the smile from tugging at your lips.
Steve notices—because of course he does—his ears turning a little red but he doesn’t stop. Just looks back at you with a gentle expression and big brown eyes as he continues the gentle playing of the guitar.
Falling in love with Steve Harrington wasn’t something you had intended to do. It had just happened. You had gone to meet Will at the arcade to walk him home and Steve had been there too, apparently to pick up Dustin. He offered to take you and Will home—you had insisted you would be fine but Steve wouldn’t take no for an answer.
It became a weekly thing after that—you’d turn up at the arcade to meet Will and Steve would already be there waiting in his beloved beamer.
You started showing up earlier so you could spend more time with him—so you could sit in his car a little longer and talk without the presence of Will or Dustin there to butt in. Then, one day he suggested you two go into the arcade together.
You hadn’t realised it was anything special until much later. Until Steve eventually admitted that he had given Will and Dustin twenty dollars to play Dig Dug for the entire evening. Paid them a further fifteen dollars to not interrupt as you two played foosball. Steve had let you win. You had smiled and told him not to go easy on you. But you still won. You figured he was just terrible at the game but really he just liked the delighted look on your face every time you scored a goal.
And later—he had made a tactical choice to drop Dustin off first. Will seemed to sense what was happening before you did, thanking Steve for the lift and racing inside before Steve had pulled up the handbrake. It was quiet then—until Steve broke the silence by asking you out. On a real date. That Saturday. The “yes” slipped from out of mouth before you could second guess it.
Seven months later, you were still wondering what you had done to deserve a guy like Steve. Even Jonathan was starting to like him.
“Steve!” Your mom called from the living room, pulling you out of your thoughts about your boyfriend strumming the guitar in his lap. “Could you help us with the—”
Your mom doesn’t even have to finish her sentence before Steve is setting the guitar aside and getting up from your bed. “Coming Mrs Byers! I’ll be right out.”
“I told you to call me Joyce—”
Steve smiles at your mom’s comment before he bends down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back. She probably needs help with TV again.”
You smile before your eyes dart to the guitar.
“Can I have a go while you’re gone?” You ask as Steve walks towards your bedroom door.
“Sure thing,” he says. “Just be careful, yeah?”
You nod as you pick up the guitar carefully. Steve smiles fondly at the sight before he leaves your bedroom to go help your mom.
You look down at the guitar in your lap and try to recall what you had seen Steve doing. Try to copy his movements. Find the chords on the neck of the guitar but it was a lot more fiddly than Steve had made it look.
But you tried anyway, a look of utmost concentration on your face. It sounded awful. You stopped, pausing to try and tune the guitar by twisting one of the turning pegs. You kept strumming to see if it sounded any better when—
One of the strings suddenly snaps. The noise—the whip of the string makes you jump. Your eyes widen as a feeling of dread settles in your gut.
“No, no, no—”
Deep down, you knew Steve likely wouldn’t care. The logical side of you knew that. He had mentioned the strings being a little rusty only a few days ago.
But the side of you that was raised by Lonnie Byers? Well, it had taken the wheel and was making breathing suddenly difficult.
You remember being five years old. Maybe younger. That age before Will was born when you ran wild while Jonathan followed quietly. You had been playing dress up, your mom letting you borrow one of Lonnie’s suits which you forced Jonathan into the blazer of. You wore the tie like a bandana and demanded Jonathan walk the plank. Pushed Jonathan into the small inflatable pool outside just as your dad had come home from work. You hadn’t known that it was your dad’s best suit. You hadn’t known how much it had cost.
All you knew is how angry he got when it was soaking wet and covered in dirt from a day of playing.
Growing up, you had learnt how to tiptoe around Lonnie. How not to ruin things or break things that belonged to him. It happened anyway—you were a kid, of course you broke things from time to time. And while your mom reassured you it was fine, kissed your head and told you not to worry—you knew the argument that broke out that evening was because of you. Because you had been careless enough to break something.
Even now—years after Lonnie had moved out and stopped sending birthday cards—you felt the need to be careful. To not break things. To not be careless with things that weren’t yours.
And so, the snap of that guitar string awoke something in you.
You felt the tears before they began to fall. Felt the burn in your lungs and tightness in your chest. Your hands shaking as you tried to fix the mistake that—in the moment—felt irreparable.
Your eyes, still burning with tears, flickered around your room for something that would fix this. You briefly wondered whether glue would work or even a copper wire. Anything that could fix what you had broken. But just as you set the guitar down onto the bed and let out a shuddering breath, your bedroom door opens.
“Think you need a new aerial for the TV,” he tells you, kicking the door shut behind him before he walks over to his jacket slung over your desk chair, rummaging for his car keys. “I’m just going to head to the hardware store to get one before your mom misses an episode of Cheers if you want to come with—”
He stops, finally looking up when he hears a small sniffle. And when he sees you—perched on the edge of your bed with tears falling down your face, he feels his chest tighten.
“Honey—what’s wrong?” He asks you gently, big brown eyes searching your face for an answer.
“I b-broke it,” you sob out, sniffing as you look up at him—tears falling down your cheeks and suddenly feeling five years old again and scared Lonnie was about to yell at you.
Steve looks at you for a moment, perplexed but then his eyes move to the guitar on the bed—to the single broken string and understanding begins to spread over his face. Steve knew you well enough to know why you were upset about breaking something of his and fuck—he wished he could take it all away. Every yell, every fight, every punishment. Wished he could find Lonnie Byers and make him sorry for making you scared to make mistakes.
“Baby, it’s just a guitar string,” Steve says gently, stepping in front of you before he sinks down to his knees. Hands finding your shaking ones and bringing them to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “It was going to break at some point. Don’t worry about it, I can replace it.”
“But I—”
“Hey, hey,” Steve hushes you with a kiss to each palm this time. The action makes you look down at him—his eyes full of love and patience. Two things you had never seen your father look at you with. “Don’t you apologise for breaking something that you didn’t mean to. You don’t need to do that. Especially not with me. I can replace it. It’s you who I can’t replace.”
Your heart thumps in your chest. Steve’s sweet words like honey. Your nose twitches as you try not to smile.
Steve notices—the way he notices everything you do—and smiles as he reaches up with one hand to wipe away your tears. Hating the fact that they had even fallen in the first place.
“Don’t worry about it, really,” he tells you in a voice so soft that you couldn’t help but feel the weight in your chest lift. Just a little. Your breathing slowing as you blink away tears. “You don’t have to be scared to break anything of mine. Unless you break my heart. Then I might have a problem.”
The comment makes you laugh. A wet laugh that makes Steve beam as though it was his favourite sound in the world. As though he had won a million dollars, climbed the tallest mountain or ran a marathon. Your laugh as precious as gold.
”C’mon,” he murmurs with a small smile, standing up as you sniffle and wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your cardigan. “Let’s get this aerial for your mom and then we can go to that bakery you like and get the biggest cinnamon bun that we can find.”
You nod, allowing Steve to pull you to your feet where he wiped away your remaining tears with gentle hands.
”Can we get extra icing with the cinnamon bun?” You ask him quietly.
”Baby, we can get whatever you want,” he tells you—leaning in to brush his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. One that said he was sorry for what you had experienced in the past. One that promised your future would be better. That broken guitar strings meant nothing to him when it came to you. He pulled away from the kiss to smile down at you. “I‘ll buy you a year’s supply of icing if it makes you happy.”
”You’re ridiculous, Steve Harrington,” you tell him with a smile that made him feel a million things at once.
”Ridiculously in love with you, Byers,” he says, leaning back in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Now c’mon, we have a cinnamon bun with our names on it.”
If your father knew you were in love with the stable boy, he would probably send you somewhere far away. To another Kingdom, perhaps. Somewhere like Glacorien where you had heard tales about how it was so cold that travellers frequently froze to death on their journey there. Or perhaps Vervos which was so far away that no one had dared to venture there in well other a century.
You were already in trouble with your father for asking to learn how to sword fight instead of learning embroidery. You were also in trouble for being late to a ball that had been thrown in your honour. The reason for the latter was because you had been with said stable boy and had lost track of time. It was only because your younger brother had covered for you that you had avoided a Kingdom wide search for your whereabouts. The downside to being a princess meant people tended to notice your absence.
And yet, despite the risk you poised to yourself and to the stable hand—Steve—you still found yourself falling into his arms. You'd follow him whether he would go. Even if that meant following him into Thornbloom Forest.
"But my father said it was dangerous," you mutter to Steve beneath your breath, your fingers digging into his arm as you let him lead the way through the dark forest. "He said there were ogres and banshees and—"
"—banshees?" Steve repeats with an amused look back at you thrown over his shoulder. "The King is simply trying to scare you, your Highness. There's no banshees."
"Oh," you breathe out in relief as you step carefully over a root. "But what about ogres?"
Steve simply shrugs. "They're harmless."
"Harmless?! Steven—"
"—Your Highness—"
You scowl slightly at the formal title. It sounded so unnatural from his lips.
"—I told you to stop calling me that. My name will suffice."
Steve smiles a little and then he says your name. Your name had never sounded so good than when it came from Steve's lips, his voice sweet like honey and making you forget all about royal duties and about your father who would never approve of your lover.
"What did you want me to show me again?" You ask as he pulls you into a clearing, the moonlight slipping through the trees to cast a ghostly glow on the ground beneath your feet. "Or was this a rouse to get me alone?"
Steve finally stops walking, turning to look at you with a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. "That's always the goal, my lady."
His words send warmth surging through your body that you try your very best to ignore.
Steve seems to sense how affected you were by his words but decides not tease you any further. For now.
"I found something," he tells you, stepping away from you before walking towards an old oak tree. "And you have to promise me you will not tell a soul about what you see."
"Steven, what could you possibly—oh, gods—is that a—a dragon egg?"
Your eyes were wide, staring at the large, blood red and golden egg that Steve had pulled from beside the oak tree and now held carefully in his hands. You knew it to be an dragon egg from the scaly exterior and from its colouring but still—you couldn't quite believe your eyes.
"It is," Steve confirms, gently turning the egg over in his hands. "I found it this morning. By the river. I knew it would not survive near water and so, I took it here. Where no one would look."
"But Steve, what about its mother—"
"Killed," Steve tells you solemnly, looking up at you just in time to watch the way your eyes soften, the way your face falls. "Your father—the King—saw her on his morning ride. And—well, you know your father's attitude towards dragons."
You go quiet, your eyes on the egg in Steve's hands as try not to think about what your father did to its mother. Try not to think about all the barbaric things your father had done to other beautiful creatures that he deemed too threatening to belong in his kingdom.
You realise then why Steve had bought you here. You could see it in the way he was looking between you and the egg.
"Steven, you cannot be serious. We cannot raise a dragon—"
"—but do you not see that this could be our way out of here? Out of this Kingdom? They would chase us on horseback but dragon back—"
"—you have lost your mind? Dragon back? Do you even hear yourself? A dragon is not a dog, it could kill us—"
"—it wouldn't kill us if it saw us as its mother—"
"—and what of my family? My brother—"
"—he could come with us. Dustin adores dragons."
You could hardly believe what Steve was suggesting. Raising and attempting to tame a dragon in order to escape the Kingdom? It was nothing short of insanity.
And yet—
And yet you couldn't help but wonder if it would work. You couldn't help but hope that there was someway you could be with Steve. But he was stable hand. He wasn't a Prince nor was a Duke or an Earl or even a Viscount. He didn't have a penny to his name. And yet you loved him enough to hope that his insane plan would work.
"If this does not work Steve—"
"—then at least we tried," Steve says, placing the egg carefully into his satchel before stepping closer to you until his hands were gently cupping your face.
"I cannot stand by and do nothing anymore. I hear things. People talk. Your father wants you to be wed by your twentieth year and I cannot—will not—stand by and let it happen. I cannot fight, I cannot shower you in riches and I cannot give you anything that you don't already have. But I can love you until my last breath and I can do my very best to get us somewhere I am just Steve and you are just my lady."
The words make you feel everything all at once. You feel scared, frightened, even a little terrified. But you also feel determined, feel a passion and love that ran so deep that it lived in your bones. And before you could second guess the plan, before you could let doubt creep in—you accept the plan with a fierce kiss to his lips. A kiss that he returns with equal enthusiasm—his hands in your hair and yours fisting into the front of his shirt.
"Is that a yes to the plan?" Steve asks the question against your lips—a little breathless as he pulls away, his honeyed brown eyes meeting yours.
"Yes," you breathe out. "We'll keep the egg safe. Raise the dragon until it's fully grown and then—then we'll go somewhere where they can't find us."
There's a look in Steve's eyes that you don't quite recognise—hope, maybe—before he's pulling you back in for another kiss as the moonlight shines above you. The egg—the key to your future—safe in Steve's satchel.
dividers by @saradika-graphics
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