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amberskywrites · 2 years

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Self-Care Days

Masterpost | AO3 Link

Fandom / Genre: Stardew Valley / Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Elliott/Male!Player, Elliott & Male!Player

Warnings: Implied/Referenced eating disorder, Implied/Referenced suicidal thoughts, Self-harm, Parental abuse, Child abuse, Abuse, Bullying (Everything here is stuff that the characters discuss, and are not currently going through nor doing but admit to doing in the past), lmk if I need to add anything else!

Prompt: Requested by @hartlee-sux :

Elliott x male!farmer. I was thinking that Elliott visits the farmer while they're working and their sleeves are rolled up/they're wearing short sleeves and he notices old scars. The farmer obviously doesn't mind them being on show and it leads to a conversation about both of their mental health and their struggles. Is that something you'd be okay with writing?

Summary: Sometimes, it's just nice to vent. Even on a good day.

It wasn’t often that Elliott visited the farm.

More often than not, it was the farmer who visited his shack or caught him on the docks or joined him in his trips to the saloon. And it wasn’t that Elliott didn’t want to go to the farm, he absolutely did, he could just rarely find the time to drop by as inspiration took hold and allowed him to make progress on his novel.

Though it had been a while since the farmer had last visited - okay, he’d last visited Elliott a week ago, but for Elliott, their time apart seemed to have lasted a month by now. Not that he’d ever admit to that aloud. The farmer didn’t need any more ways to tease him.

The break in the farmer’s routine, the lack of his presence even just for a few days, sapped Elliott’s motivation to write completely dry.

Curse the writing gods, making a busy farmer his muse.

So that’s how Elliott found himself visiting the farm for the first time in far too long. He had told Elliott to drop by whenever he wanted, though Elliott hadn’t ever taken him up on the offer. He was coming to the conclusion that he really should have.

Elliott remembered how rundown the farm was when he first arrived, the cabin falling apart and weeds overtaking the entire place as though they were kings of old conquering new land for their mighty empires. Now, though… now the farm looked almost unrecognizable in the best possible way.

The sign leading into it was much the same, and the farmer either just hadn’t gotten around to redoing it or he decided to keep the faded but nostalgic entrance. But beyond the wooden gate?

Elliott felt pride well up inside him, unable to suppress a grin at all the farmer had managed to accomplish in his time here. The farmhouse was in a far better condition than the one Elliott had seen pictures of when the farmer’s grandad still lived there. Most of the weeds had been cleared, new buildings had sprouted up and animals wandered around the growing summer crops.

He finally spotted the farmer, cutting down a tree a little ways down a path the farmer had made early on in his journey to becoming a farmer. Elliott remembered running into him that day at the bridge leading to the beach, and he’d excitedly shown the first person he saw a new path layout he’d received from Robin that day. At the time, Elliott wasn’t sure what to make of the brand new farm layout plans that the farmer had pushed into his hands to look over, nor did Elliott understand how the farmer was so excited over pathways of all things. Walking towards the farmer on the very same pathway Elliott had seen blocked out on a blueprint just months ago - almost a year now that he thought about it - there was a skip in his step.

The farmer didn’t notice Elliott at first, still working on cutting down the trees into smaller and more manageable logs, along with the stumps they left behind. But when he did finally notice Elliott, a smile so bright it put the sun to shame lit up his face, and a weight that had been on Elliott’s heart finally eased away.

“G’afternoon, Elliott!” The farmer said as he dropped his axe onto the nearest stump.

“Good afternoon!” Elliott exclaimed, sidling up to the farmer and taking another look around. It was hard not to, now that he was in the middle of the farm. They were in a tree patch that the farmer had complained about having to keep tidy over the past month, adjacent to a mini-orchard with some rows of trees looking close to giving fruit. At the end of the path they were on, Elliott could make out a seating area peeking through the trees with flowers surrounding the bench.

“This all looks incredible,” he said in awe. The farmer’s cheeks took on a pink hue, and he laughed lightly.

“Thank you!” He too glanced around, his smile full of complete and utter pride. “It’s really nice to see it all coming together, y’know? With how long it’s taken to get to this point.”

Elliott nodded, looking at the pile of wood the farmer was creating for a moment before looking back to the farmer. “I can imagine. Wanna show it all off with a tour?”

The farmer somehow perked up even more, a grin splitting his face. “Y’know? That sounds like a great idea!” He grabbed Elliott’s hand and pulled him along the path - not that Elliott needed much prompting to follow.

After a two-hour long tour of the farm - Elliott may have gotten sidetracked by the farmer’s baby cows and goats for a while - they finally retired to the sitting area Elliott had spotted before, and it was prettier than the glimpse he had caught the first time.

The farmer had a slight flush on his face and a grin, rolling his sleeves up as they settled on the bench. “Sorry about Mira,” he chuckled, “I wasn’t expecting her to go after your hair like that.”

Elliott slung an arm over the back of the bench, laughing gently himself and touching the place where said baby cow attempted to grab his hair. “It’s fine, really. Impossible to stay mad at something so adorable.”

The farmer hummed contentedly, slumping into the bench himself and closing his eyes, practically basking in the afternoon sun. Elliott took the chance to not-so-subtly look over the farmer.

He’d found his gaze lingering on the farmer longer and longer every time they spent time together. At first, Elliott would catch himself and correct his behavior - because, really, how gentlemanly was it to just stare at someone? - but after a while and catching the farmer doing his own fair share of looking, Elliott decided that it wouldn’t hurt to admire him occasionally.

He’d noticed the farmer primarily wore long-sleeves, even on the hottest summer days, and today was no different. But Elliott had never seen him roll up his sleeves before, and he found himself staring at the farmer’s arms.

The joy of the afternoon very quickly sapped out of Elliott the longer he stared at the farmer’s arms, and instead of fluttering like always when around him, Elliott felt it sinking. Littered across his arms were thin scars of all sorts of lengths, scars that didn’t align with ones that came from monsters in the mines. They were too clean to have come from monsters other than the ones Elliott knew could plague one’s mind.

The farmer peeked at Elliott through one eye, startled when he noticed Elliott’s intense stare trained on his arms. “Elliott?” Elliott finally tore his gaze away from his arm. “You alright?”

His eyes flickered between the farmer’s face and his arm, mouth opening and closing a few times as he tried to find the right words. The farmer tilted his head, frowning slightly.

Elliott finally seemed to give up on trying to figure out what he wanted to say and, hesitantly, rested a hand on the farmer’s arm, tapping just one of the many scars.

The farmer looked to where Elliott was pointing and relaxed as he realized what had gotten Elliott so worked up. “Ah, those.”

Elliott cleared his throat, removing his hand from the farmer’s arm. “Obviously, you’re not obligated to say anything, but… but when did you… get these?”

He hummed, tracing the scars on his own arm for a moment as he thought. “I… used to cut throughout most of my teen years and a little bit into college,” he admitted. “I haven’t done it since the beginning of third year.”

Elliott’s brow furrowed, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking the most definitely not-his-business question he could ask: “Why?”

The farmer’s gaze flickered over Elliott and he tilted his head again. Elliott was quick to rush out, grimacing at his own rudeness. “Sorry, sorry- that was insensitive, you don’t have to share.”

He shook his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind sharing. But, it’s… not the easiest thing to digest when someone tells you. Are you in a good enough headspace to hear?”

Elliott nodded. “Yeah, I am.” Really, he hadn’t been in a bad headspace since moving to the valley. In a writing slump, sure, but his mental health had gotten so much better since moving here. “What about you, though?”

The farmer smiled reassuringly. “I’m good.” He took a deep breath. “Alright! Feel free to stop me at any time if it gets to be too overwhelming, okay?”

Elliott nodded again. “Same goes for you.”

The farmer shifted on the bench into a more comfortable position, and Elliott followed suit, knocking their knees together lightly as the farmer considered where to start.

“Okay. So. My dad was, most of the time, a good man. He treated me well when it was just the two of us, and when he was sober. Until around junior high, there were days he’d get egregiously aggressive drunk. So I’d have to walk on eggshells around him. It wasn’t until middle school that he finally started dealing with it, seeking help and going to AA meetings and all that. He got better.

“My biological mom, on the other hand, was terrible. Not the worst mother to ever exist, but she was still abusive. To both me and Dad. She was…” He drummed his fingers on the back of the bench, pausing for a moment to think on how to phrase it. “She was controlling, to put it simply. Overbearing. She was never physically abusive. Never hit me or Dad, never threatened to hit us. But she micromanaged our lives, and from what I’ve been told, she only started to get like that after she married Dad. She… cut him off from most of his friends and family, and after they finally got divorced Dad once told me that he was scared of her because for the longest time he thought he needed her, and if he lost her he’d lose everything.”

He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Sorry, getting off track a bit. So. What she did to my dad, she did to me. I wasn’t allowed a phone until high school, she would control who I was friends with and if I made friends with someone she didn’t like, she’d threaten to take away certain things. Once, when she found out from a teacher that I hung out with someone in class that she despised, she destroyed my favorite stuffed animal as a ‘warning’. When I got my phone, she’d randomly go through it so I could never really do anything on it.

“And, because Dad was scared of her leaving him if he stood up to her, he never stood up for me. I had… I had no control whatsoever over my life. I couldn’t do anything without mom always breathing down my neck. Then, one day, I was helping Dad cook dinner on the rare night that mom was out with her friends and accidentally cut myself. I had ignored Dad’s warning about cutting toward me and sliced my hand a bit. Not seriously, and it still hurt, but… it was my choice to cut toward myself. And then I had this… sort of sick realization, that this was a way for me to have control over something in my life.”

He looked down at his arms and sighed heavily. “Mom… never found out about this. She bought all my clothes, and they were usually long-sleeved, so they were easy to hide from everyone. My parents finally divorced my junior year of high school, and… and mom got full custody of me. Didn’t allow contact or anything. Threatened to bring him to court if he tried. Then I went to college, still cutting as a way to control something in my life. Because mom even dictated what I should major in, and threatened to stop paying my tuition if I tried to do anything against what she said. I’ll be honest when I say the only thing that stopped me from committing suicide was my dad. My dad and his new wife.

“I managed to contact him without mom knowing through a friend of mine. I didn’t ever tell him that mom was worse than when he was married to her. But then one day in my second year, I wasn’t careful and that friend who helped me contact Dad in the first place found out about my self-harm. And. And they told him. They told my dad and stepmom - Mama - about my cutting and…” He clenched his fists, and exhaled slowly, a little shakily. “And they were stunned. Worried. Furious. After they found out, and since I was technically an adult, they helped me get away from Mom. I dropped out of college and moved far, far away, and cut all ties with Mom. At one point she tried to get the police involved because she thought I was missing, but threats of a restraining order got her to turn tail real quick.

“Mama and Dad helped me get onto my own feet, and I got a therapist, and it was hard, y’know? But I slowly got better. I relapsed twice, and I’ll admit, sometimes I’ve wondered if it’s really worth it, trying to heal. Actually healing. But I got better, and I’m getting better every day. I haven’t cut in years, I’m in control of my own life, and that wench is out of my life for good.”

The farmer took a deep breath and laughed, shaking his head. “Sorry- that was. A lot. I didn’t mean to dump all my emotional baggage onto you like that.”

Elliott, who had listened to him silently the whole time, sympathy and despair and anger boiling just under his skin, grasped his hand and held it tightly. Elliott shook his head.

“Don’t apologize. I’m- you’re right, that was a lot. But I’m happy you told me. And it makes me happy to know that you’re doing better.” He took a deep breath, shifting his hold on the farmer’s hand to intertwine their fingers. “I… I also have had my fair share of struggles with mental health.”

The farmer squeezed his hand, rubbing small circles into the side of Elliott’s hand. Elliott smiled slightly at him. “Throughout school, I… I always had problems with other students. It was difficult for me to make friends, no matter how hard I tried. The friends that I did make weren’t… the greatest. They were, plainly said, toxic. I’ve had ‘friends’ who would mock me, belittle me, and then pretend to be my friend for an easy grade. It took a major toll on my self-image, and on my mental health. My parents began to take notice after a while, but when they tried to intervene I was so nervous about becoming an outcast in school that I lied and then cut them out.

“The bullying continued, I continued to lie to my parents… and I just went into denial about everything. Denial, and a shut-down of sorts. At the time, I thought, that if I just ignored it, and pretended to feel nothing, then it would be over sooner. But I was miserable. Eventually, it started to take its toll. Because pretending could only get me so far, and it was a flimsy way of trying to deal with everything. My grades began to drastically drop, and I could no longer hide that things were wrong to everyone else because it started to bleed into my physical health.

“I had no motivation to take care of myself. Skipping meals to avoid talking with my parents, to avoid my so-called friends at lunch. My hygiene began to deteriorate, too. It was just… so hard to get out of bed every day.” Elliott was silent for a minute, taking a deep breath and grounding himself. “Eventually, my parents had had enough. They did care a lot for me, but I had just been shutting them out and refusing any help they could have tried to give me. So, around junior year of high school, they decided to move. We moved to Zuzu city, I went to a new school, but I wasn’t better at all. They thought that my first school, and the people there, were the problem. And they were. But, by that point, it was no longer a simple fix.

“My parents forced me to see a therapist, after a couple of months at the new school went by and no improvements were shown. I didn’t… it took me a while to start opening up. I did eventually, though. My therapist suggested giving some kind of creative activity a try - any creative activity I could think of. I tried different kinds of art, music, gardening, writing… When I tried writing, I ended up liking it more than I thought I ever would. I liked it more than I certainly ever did in school as well. So, I continued with that. And… and things slowly got better. Writing was my escape for the rest of high school, and I went to college as an English major as a result of my enjoyment. A lot of my earlier works were vent pieces, and when I first wrote them I was still somewhat in denial of how things were.”

He took a deep breath and offered the farmer a small smile. “I’m much better now, happier. Sometimes I do have the occasional bad day, but that’s to be expected. Writing has helped me, so much. But so have the people I’ve met since getting help. Like Leah! I met her in the city and we just clicked, and while she moved to the valley before me we still remained friends. She was a huge help, alongside my parents, encouraging me to continue writing and always cheering me on.”

The farmer gave Elliott’s hand one more squeeze and a small laugh. “That’s great to hear,” he said. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do on bad days?”

Elliott hummed softly. “The most I end up doing is getting out of bed, getting dressed, and brushing my teeth. Sometimes I read my favorite book, and sometimes I’ll write a vent piece, but when those are too exhausting I’ll just sit in bed and try not to think. What about you?”

“My self-care days come early when it’s a bad day. I can’t exactly neglect my chores, so on the bad days, I get them done as fast as I can and then spend my day in the kitchen messing around with recipes because it gives me something to do, and even if I make a monstrosity it usually ends up being fun and still something that I can control. When that’s too much, I’ll sit in the animal pens and spend time with them for the day.”

“You have self-care days?”

“Mhmm. Mama told me about them. Every other Wednesday is a self-care day for me.”

“Why Wednesday?”

The farmer shrugged. “Pierre’s closed on Wednesday, and there’s no way I’m buying from Joja if I can help it. So, I usually don’t have too much of a reason to go into town on Wednesday unless I want to go talk with someone.

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you have any self-care days?”

Elliott shook his head and sighed, once again slumping into the bench. “I didn’t even consider them, now that I think about it. It does sound like a good idea, though.” He hummed softly. “Don’t really know what I’d do, though. Because my bad days aren’t self-care days. They’re just a way for me to make it through the day.”

The farmer tilted his head. “Well, when you think of a self-care day, the perfect activities to help you relax, what do you imagine?”

Elliott stared at him for a moment before a soft smile appeared on his face.

“Honestly?” The farmer nodded. “Doing anything with you.”

The farmer’s cheeks dusted red, but he grinned nonetheless.

“Y’know, I can get behind that.”

#stardew valley #sdv elliott #stardew valley elliott #stardew elliott #elliott stardew valley #sdv #sdv player #stardew valley player #amberskywrites #tw self harm #tw suicidal thoughts #tw eating disorder #tw abuse #tw abusive parents #tw child abuse #tw bullying #ambersky

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many-faces-of-adrian · 1 month

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For fellow console users!

#stardew valley #sdv #concernedape #concerned ape #trying to wait x3 #I’m a switch player #chrome book isn’t compatible with steam xP

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ryllen · 1 month

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good morning stardew update 1.6 community

how do we feel about egg gorger alex [ x , x ]

INSTANT banned from coop duties fsh

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kagoutiss · 21 days

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pelican town, ‘72

#stardew valley #stardew valley spoilers #sdv #sdv spoilers #grandpa #mister qi #mr. qi #idk how dates work in stardew universe im just bullshittin #i love qi’s huge fucking eyebrows you dont notice them at first but theyre there #(gives our collective grandpa a ponytail) i think he had one. whatever #’why isnt mister qi blue’ my hc is he is blue from long-term iridium supplementation #and was originally just a regular person #but also it’s nice to see ur fav be like a normal human color #if u read tag essays tho consider this:#qi discovers secret to immortality (consuming iridium in a specific manner)#wants to share discovery with his farmer (player’s grandpa) and in that way. they will have all the time in the world to build #a perfect farming/business empire whose legacy will last forever and ever and theyll be 2gether forever #but it turns out. like a lot of normal people would. his farmer does not want to live forever #and obv he doesn’t #in an attempt to try not to ever lose the thing that means more to him than anything else in the world. qi inadvertantly ensures he will #because his farmer is dead. and he’s going to live forever #but. it’s kind of ok. because he has infinite money and was able to figure out how to talk to his dead bf #and now YOU help them fulfill their joint goal of making the farm’s legacy last forever #smile. heart #sobbing

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citrlet · 1 month

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because i was asked for what mods i use, i decided i'll just make a whole post!

most of everything here is pretty cottagecore/naturey~

under the cut because my game is heavily modded this list is long!!

visual

medieval buildings

way back pelican town

seasonal cute characters base / expanded / east scarp

all cuter animal replacements

vibrant pastoral 1.6 (temporary fix)

overgrown flowery ui

medieval craftables

dynamic night time

cottagecore fences

lamps

gwens paths

animated gemstones

foliage redone foliage only

rosedryads fairies

elle's town animals

sve facelift

more grass

medieval dnt

flowergrass and snowfields

expansion fish redesign

clothing / hairs

more accessories and stuff

cozy scarves

hoods and hoodies

vanilla pants and skirts

the coquette collection

seasonal hats

ani's colour collection

improved and new hairstyles

kyuyas hairstyles pack

furniture

idalda furniture recolor

h&w outdoor furniture

h&w fairy garden furniture

west elm furniture

nano's retro style furniture

asters big furniture pack

gameplay / mechanics

cjb cheats menu (just to walk a little faster)

cjb show item sell price

greenhouse gatherers

craftable mushroom boxes

advanced casks

lumisteria serene meadow

growable forage and crop bushes

cornucopia more flowers / more crops

atelier wildflour crops and forage pack

wear more rings

tree transplant

passable crops

no fence decay redux

multi yield crops

crop fairy

challenging community center bundles

better chests

automate

spawn supply crates on beach

expanded storage

bigger backpack

blue eggs and golden mayo

better ranching

npc map locations

data layers

expansions

stardew valley expanded

east scarp / lurking in the dark / never ending adventure / always raining in the valley

lumisteria visit mount vapius

misc

jen's cozy cellar

cozy farmhouse kitchen

asters walls and floors megapack

wrens expanded greenhouse

cuter coops and better barns

nicer sewer

also recommended

hudson valley buildings

elle's seasonal buildings

seasonal fences

ridgeside village

immerisve farm map 2

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley mods #stardew valley mod list #stardew valley mods list #i just know some players are probably like apalled i've modded it so much haha #i just downloaded a load of these today #i wanted to dive headfirst into a fairycore style playthrough #i also used to have ridgeside installed but i think im going to take a break from it #with the other expansions things get a little too overwhelming for me real quick

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nomazee · 1 year

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pry your way in

sebastian (sdv) x gn reader

word count: 4.7k (oh my god)

content: mutual pining, ROMANTIC TENSION, aggressive pining on the reader’s part, do they kiss or do they not, social anxiety (can u TELL), embarrassing situations, comedy (maybe) (hopefully) (maybe you’ll get a little giggle out of this and swing your feet around), so much build up, the slowest burn you could possibly get in under 5k words

notes: oh HEY guys so i went crazy again and i don’t think i’ve ever written so much in one sitting. this is insane. look at what this game has done to me.

part 1 part 2 (you are here) part 3

<><><><><>

All you need to do is drop off these stupid eggs in Gus’s fridge. That’s it. In and out and then you can go home and pretend that you did not stare at Sebastian for almost an entire straight minute in the doorway of the saloon.

He’s too busy playing pool, you think, and from the brief (many) glances you’ve taken at them, it looks like he’s pretty close to beating Sam. Your heart goes out to the blonde. One day, for sure, he’ll be able to get more than three balls in an entire game against Sebastian.

The fridge door is open now. No one notices you except for Emily, who gives you a kind nod and a smile. You don’t know if you should be upset by the fact that no one really talks to you whenever you go to the saloon unless you talk first, or if you should be incredibly relieved. It’s leaning to the latter, because you don’t think you could handle being looked at right now especially by Sebastian because good god the jellyfish thing was so embarrassing and you really hope he’s forgotten about it because oh my god you actually almost puked all over his shoes and what is wrong with you and—

“Farmer!” Oh god. It’s a woman’s voice. It’s Abigail, and despite the fuzz in your mind you can tell by the timbre of her voice and the fact that the shout came from over by the pool table. You managed to get two eggs in the container in the fridge before being ousted. Good job. You hope Gus’ extreme ginormous 24-egg omelet is worth all of this.

If you tried really hard, you could have played it off as if you didn't hear her at all. But then she’s walking over to you and you hear her footsteps and they’re light, friendly. Unfortunately, that does nothing to stop you from freezing up and feeling every individual cell in your body go taut.

Maybe she’s going to kill you, or something, because maybe you did actually puke all over Sebastian’s sneakers nights before this and your mind just blocked it out. Oh god. Well, this town was nice while it lasted. You hope they’ll bury you in a nice spot out of courtesy.

Turning to face Abigail, you manage to give her a shaky sort of grin and wave. “Oh. Hey. I didn't know you were here.” You are such a liar. And a bad one, probably.

“Yeah! Me and Sam and Sebastian.” You nod at that. A pause, and then, “Hey, are you busy tonight? We were wondering if you wanted to join us. We’re playing pool, but— um, it’s mainly just those two playing. They’ve got a rivalry going on.”

She looks back at them and watches, amused, and you do the same for a moment. Sam is in the middle of making some big joke-y scene, throwing his head back and groaning and swatting at Sebastian while the other man just barely ducks away from his attacks. They’re laughing, and elbowing each other and you look away before either of them notice that you’re watching with the intensity of a wild deer.

“Oh, I don’t know. Thank you. I don’t want to come if not everyone wants me to join.”

“Everyone does,” Abigail tells you, and she’s really telling you. With purpose. There is something in her eyes. Something imploring and meaningful and her lips are quirking up in some pretty and teasing smile, and you’re wondering what’s so different about the way Pelican Town people are raised to make them carry so much weight in their eyes. So much weight that it makes you dizzy. And nauseous. And now maybe you’ll puke on Abigail’s shoes, instead.

“Okay.” It comes out as a whisper from your shaky mouth. She only smiles brighter at you. You register that you’re still behind Gus’s counter and there are drinks being shaken and poured just steps behind you. “Okay, I’ll be over in a second.”

Great, she tells you, and then she’s turning around and walking away with a little jump and you might throw up because why did you agree to this? You did not plan on talking to people this evening. Not at all. And you’re wishing so hard that you had just dropped these eggs off in the morning. This is the type of stuff that happens when you don't just drop eggs off in the morning. Just your luck.

You shake your head, as if maybe it’ll rattle your senses into being ready to spectate a pool game and talk with people for at least half an hour. And Sebastian. You don’t think you could handle the intensity of just sitting next to him. You might throw up again. All over the pool cues and the fuzzy cloth of the pool table. And maybe Sam’s shoes. Everyone’s shoes are getting thrown up on this week.

Eventually, you make the walk out from the counter and consider just leaving through the door and telling Abigail later on that you just felt sick and needed to go home. It wouldn’t be a lie. You are a person of half-truths, most definitely.

But you don’t, because you like Abigail and you want her to like you too. By the look of everything she’s done for you, you’re fairly certain that she does like you, or at least more-than-tolerates you, and you would like to keep it that way instead of burning down all of your Stardew Valley relationships in a slow, painful fire. (And okay, yes, maybe it’s a benefit that she’s friends with Sebastian. So what.)

You blink. You’re in front of the three of them. Abigail and Sam are smiling at you and Sebastian is giving you a look. What is it with the people in this valley and their looks?! You have yet to be able to decode any of them. This is rough. So rough. You’re falling back into the uncomfortable feeling of otherness. Of just-barely-not-fitting. Like squeezing between a desk and a wall. Every other day you are walking through just fine, and the other days you are squeezing between this town and the people and everything you have yet to learn.

You might puke. You’re not making it out of this saloon alive.

“Hey, farmer!” Sam greets you, and your chest is struck with endearment over how everyone calls you farmer. Maybe it’s just because they forgot your name, but you can’t seem to mind it at all. “Are you joining us?”

“Oh, just for a bit,” you tell him. You can’t help the smile that takes over your face, warmed and sheepish. “And then I should go. But I’m a big fan of watching you guys argue over pool. Really, it’s very captivating.”

Abigail chortles, taking pleasure in the playful sarcasm you’ve adapted to. When Sam and Sebastian both follow suit in their own little laughs, your defensive habits slip away the slightest bit. And you can’t seem to find it in you to hold onto them.

“Less of an argument and more of a…” Sebastian pauses with a teasing glance at his friend. Your heart stops for no reason other than you being stupid and in love, and it only chokes you up when he directs his stupid stupid pretty eyes right at you. “More of Sam being a sore loser. It’s an easy win on my part, really.”

A snicker escapes you, undignified in how easily you let it out and how it threatens to reverberate against the walls of the game room. You’re holding onto yourself for dear life, trying to ground yourself in some attempt to maybe keep some of your dignity before it’s worn away through the course of the evening.

But Sebastian has this prideful simper on his face and it’s like he’s happy to make you laugh. Maybe it’s the loving delusions running through your head. But you let yourself dream, just for a minute.

Stupid boy. The urge to kiss him is slowly hurtling its way through your entire system, and it’s starting with your respiratory tract judging by the way you can’t seem to catch a breath. Stupid. Boy.

“You can sit down, you know,” and he nods his head to the pair of chairs behind him. “Stay a while.” His eyes are filled with a stupid teasing glimmer and you might pull him aside just to kiss that expression right off his face.

You won’t. Obviously. Because look at what happened last time you let your inhibitions run free. (Absolutely. Nothing.)

Maybe I will, you want to say, stay a while. Maybe I’ll stay forever.

You take a seat, and Sebastian is still leaning against the table with his pool cue in hand. He is looking at you, hesitant, with his mouth slightly open like he wants to say something. Before he can, Abigail interrupts.

“Wait, let me take over for you!” She says, rushing forward to steal the cue from him. “I want to play! You guys, like, totally monopolize the table every time we’re here.” Abigail’s eyes flit to Sebastian, then to you, and she continues, “Next time, let’s just play the two of us. You and me, farmer.”

There’s another big, stupid smile stretching your face taut and you hope none of them notice your cracked, drying lips. They’re peeling open from how much you’re grinning tonight and how much you’re not moisturizing them. “Of course.”

Sebastian is left with nothing in his hands once Abigail turns to aim her cue and hit the white ball (poorly) in an attempt to keep up Sebastian’s winning streak. With her and Sam occupied, you are left with the black haired man standing aimless in front of you. Again. And his eyes are trailing you, with purpose and a goal to speak. Again.

You throw his words back at him with, “Well, sit down. Stay a while.” And he does. And your stupid mind is wondering if maybe him following you so easily means something. Stupid stupid.

“How’s, um. Your stomach,” he asks, stunted pauses littering his voice as he tries his best to look at you. You don’t know what he’s talking about, and it must show on your face because he’s clarifying, “From the ceremony last week. I haven't seen you since then so I figured you must’ve been sick.”

Sebastian is prying. Not in his words, but in the way he’s looking at you. Really, really looking, and this feels like a repeat of last week and you are reliving a million and one things that you would rather never relive again.

Your palms are suddenly cold and you’re avoiding his gaze, body stiff with guilt. You’d been avoiding him for a week and you honestly hadn’t even noticed. It was like a subconscious response to humiliating yourself in front of the pretty boy that you’ve liked for weeks now. You hope he doesn’t blame you for that, somehow.

“Right. Um, I was fine. I’m fine now, I mean. I turned out fine. Sorry for all of that,” your feet are shuffling against the ground and you drag patterns into your pants to comfort yourself. “It was kind of embarrassing. To have you walk me home and then suddenly get sick. I really am sorry for that.”

“Don’t even worry about it.” There’s a sureness in his voice. When you find the courage in your lungs to turn and look at him, you’re met with a furrowed brow and steady eyes. It’s overwhelming you with ten different feelings, many of which are yelling at you to KISS HIS STUPID FACE. “Seriously. It wasn’t embarrassing, either. Things happen. I’m just glad you’re okay, now.”

Sebastian ends it with another one of his chest-aching, brain-melting, palm-sweating smiles and he’s doing that stupid thing with the corners of his mouth. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it, and that’s what frustrates you the most. Maybe you should tell him, but he would take it the wrong way and stop doing it and you wouldn’t survive without seeing that stupid smile. As much as it makes you want to tear your hair out if you look at it for too long.

You give him a firm nod. The rest of the night is easy conversation. You have one drink. Really, you make sure of it, because you haven’t gotten intoxicated in months and you really don’t want to see what drunk-you does in Stardew Valley in front of the sweet townspeople and the stupid pretty man in front of you. Said stupid-pretty-man follows suit, only having a pale ale and indulging in shirley temples for the rest of the night. (You punch yourself for finding it endearing that he likes such a sweet drink. Urgh.)

It feels like a parallel universe of the Moonlight Jellies celebration of last week. One where you are a much less awkward person (but, really, there’s just barely a difference between now and before), and where you offer to walk him home instead of the other way around. Your stupid infatuated heart skips a stupid beat when you ask him if you can walk him back, but it quells when he gives you an easy smile and agrees. You pointedly ignore the voice in your head telling you that he sounds almost enthusiastic.

Sam and Abigail wish you goodnight, and they’re both beaming at you in a silly way that makes you follow suit. Giggles bubble in your chest and you don’t even know why. You think they must just have those kinds of personalities, and you really couldn't be more happy to seep into it.

You don’t hold Sebastian’s hand on the way back. Not at all. In fact, you don’t even feel the urge to. You totally, totally don’t look at his hand swaying between you and fight the instinct to grab it and trace your fingers across his palm lines and the dips of his knuckles and all the scars he’s collected in his youth. You. Do not. Feel that way at all.

It’s easy conversation, yet again. It’s almost impressive how, even with how easily you seem to do the most mortifying, awkward things in front of Sebastian, you still slip into moments with him where you can talk like you’ve known each other forever. God. Something about this town. You can’t tell if you want to catch the next operable bus out of here or stay here forever. You feel that way often, actually.

Before you know it, you’ve cut through the city and ended up in the mountains and in front of his house. The lights are off. It must be super late, then, if everyone’s dead asleep like that.

Crickets chirp and buzz in the air. You and Sebastian stop walking in the middle of the large dirt patch that takes up his front yard. Now, you’re looking at each other, and he’s giving you his awkward stupid gorgeous downward grin. You hope that you’re giving him something at least half as pretty, with the way you feel your lips stretch and crack again. You really need to get lip balm from Pierre’s.

“It’s so late,” you mutter, because you don’t know what else to say and your heart is melting and slipping right out of your chest and onto the soil. “I guess I should go home.”

You hope—cross-your-fingers-say-a-prayer type of hope—that he hears the hesitancy in your voice. That he realizes you don’t want to leave. That he sees the fondness in your eyes and how you’re trying to soften every defense mechanism you’ve ever learned in order to pry into him, now. And you hope. Cross your fingers and say a prayer. That he wants that, too.

He hums a thoughtful, quiet sort of hum. Sebastian doesn’t move towards the door, or bid you a goodnight, or nod along and tell you he’ll see you another day. He waits. He is looking at you and prying you open and trying to gauge your reaction. To what, you don’t know, but there’s a static feeling in your head that tells you to wait and find out.

“Right,” he says finally. His voice and his mouth curl carefully around the word, and it’s there again—the pauses, the hesitancy. You see your habits in him and you are aching with the need to find out what he means. What this all means. And you’re feeling stupid, and so you wait, too.

“I think I feel bad leaving you to walk home,” Sebastian tells you. He’s speaking slowly, but not in a degrading way. It feels more like he wants the words to float to you and sink into the pores of your skin. And they do. They do, and it’s embarrassing, because now you’re sweating and hoping (again) that it doesn’t show on your face or your hands or the twisting of your fingers. “This is really far from the farm, you know.”

“I think I would know,” you respond, teasing and lighthearted and acting like there isn’t a saturated yearning weighing down your body right now. “I can manage. I’ve been in the mines, you know. Seen all the monsters down there and everything.”

He lets out a stupid breathy laugh and shakes his head. You hate how he acts so nonchalant, like it’s not obvious that you’re fighting the instinct to pick him up and shake him around like a bobblehead until his skull pops right off his neck. “Right, because there’s totally monsters down there.”

“There are! You can come with me one day. I’ll prove it to you.” And it’s risky, to entertain that kind of thing, the concept of you two spending time together alone, where no one can see. Sebastian takes that as a challenge, apparently, because the diffident tilt of his lips turns smug and he’s saying,

“Then maybe you’ll sleep over one day.”

Stttttupid boy. He’s stupid. The stupidest man you’ve ever met because now you’re really, really holding onto every last shred of your self-control. The thought of you in his house, with you both sleeping in the same twenty-foot-radius of space is making you heat up more than the valley’s summer sun. A frog croaks in a nearby bush. Nausea pools in your intestines.

And you’re a terrible person, really, because even though you’re sweating and lightheaded from the heat you’re entertaining the thought of you both sleeping in the same bed. And it’s ridiculous. Really. You’re both adults who are perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed without it meaning anything. Any particle of logic that enters your brain is vaporized by the heat of it. Your stomach is twisting and you swallow around the lump in your throat.

He’s watching you. Still watching. Waiting for something to happen. The look he’s giving you is bordering on defensive, as if he’s anticipating a rejection. Stupid man. By now, he should realize you’re not prone to giving him rejections, of all people.

“Maybe I will.” By some grace of whatever higher power is listening, you choke out the last puddles of your strength into a hopefully-confident tone of voice and the last words you have left in you for the night. It’s not a rejection. You hope he understands that. And he does. Oh, he has to understand what you mean by now, because he’s biting his lips and still. Looking at you. And waiting. All he does is wait. And you glance down and see his hands twitching at his sides. And you are going to do something. Something.

Oh, god. You’re thinking, Oh, okay, this is what this is, and he’s doing his stupid smile and the corners of his lips tuck in and you’re staring at them again. Really, really staring at them. You hope he notices. Your fingers are twitching now, too, almost aching with the need to hold something—to hold him and his twitching hands and spin them around in yours like a fingertrap. You want to get stuck and woven together, just for a moment. An aching, hurting, burning, devastating moment.

It’s all you want. It’s all you’ve wanted for weeks now. And there’s a heat in your chest and your fingers and your head. Fingers twitching, eyes unblinking, and hands sweating; you wait. Wait for him to come closer. For him to do. Something. Soon.

It’s an impossible task for you. You are not one for initiative. Never have been, not since you left your stupid office job and took up your place on this stupid farm and fell in love with this stupid man. Initiative is a daunting, horrifying, overwhelming concept, and all of your ambition has been drained from you ever since you planted your first parsnip in the ground.

But but but. And this is how it always goes with you and Sebastian. But but but. There’s something about tonight. Something about tonight and the last week and the week before and the seasons before this that have carved this open wound into the middle of your diaphragm. Without even knowing it, Sebastian has clawed his way between your lungs and made an uneasy home in your heart. It’s disgusting, and maybe you’ll cough up all this adoration right on the doormat of his family’s house.

How long has it been? How long have you both been standing here like idiots and waiting and breathing and staring? How long? You are asking yourself too many stupid questions. Initiative. You think of it again—and now your hands are on Sebastian’s shoulders and you don’t have half the mind to wonder when you stepped closer.

You are not slow in your movements. Not at all. You are urgent and desperate and aching, but you give just enough time for him to pull away. In the back of your head, you wish that he’ll pull back and leave you empty and cold. But there is a warmth seeping through the cloth of his hoodie and tonight, you are stupid.

You’re staring for just a moment before you close your eyes and surge forward slow enough for him to stop you, but fast enough that he won’t get the chance to look at your embarrassing, longing, yearning face before you kiss him.

Because that’s it. You’re kissing him. You’re kissing him, with your hands gripping his shoulders with bruising strength, and with your feet planted into the ground to stop yourself from either floating or flinging yourself into the lake. You’re kissing him. And he’s not pulling away. And his hands reach to touch your elbows gently. For a moment, you think he’ll shove you down and run away, but his fingers are tapping along your arms, leaving a buzz in your bones and your head and your heart.

You. Are kissing him. You are. You fucking. Did it. Joy floods your buzzing body and you hope he can’t hear how loud your skull is vibrating, how intensely your chest is rattling. Or how heavy your hands have become on his shoulders and how much you’re pushing back against him to get further, to pull him into you and you into him and pour in everything you’ve ever felt straight to his lungs. You’re kissing him.

And he’s warm. So warm. Unexpectedly so, and you feel your entire body heat up in innocent adoration and you want his fingers to curl around your forearms and ground you. His hands shift, and for a minute you think he might pull away, but now he’s dragging his fingers in small paths up your arm, above your elbow and brushing your shoulders. Ggggggggod. God. You’re gonna scream into his mouth and slap him. Stupid man.

In reality it lasts for a second, but the rush of feelings and thoughts and screams and cries that overwhelms your body makes it feel like it’s an hour. (At least ten minutes, maybe.) You wonder how he feels. You wonder if he’s trying to pour everything into you through this, too; or if maybe, he’s a normal fucking human being who is just kissing you to kiss you without all the grandeur and flourish and waxing poetic. Unbothered, you realize you won’t mind regardless of which it is.

Your eyes are closed, and you hope his still are, too, because if he opens them and sees you you might throw up all over him. For the fortieth time this week.

“Sebas— oh!”

And. There’s a voice and a distressed exclamation. It’s Robin. Holy shit. It is his mother.

The man you just spent an hour kissing (read: five seconds max) takes a moment to realize what just happened. You, on the other hand, have a ridiculous supercomputer in your head and you have long since figured out what just happened. You cannot believe this. This is embarrassing. A trip back to Zuzu City is well deserved now.

“I’m— so sorry. Oh goodness.” Robin is being way too polite. You’d thought for sure she would’ve yelled at you and banned you from coming to the mountains ever again. You already kissed goodbye to both Sebastian (literally) and your mining career. And half your fishing career.

Sebastian’s face is flooded in color. It’s soaked in red and radiating heat that you can feel even with the ten-foot distance you had placed between yourselves. He’s not looking at you or his mother, eyes instead fixed on the patch of torn up dirt behind you.

Finally, you process that Robin is the one apologizing to you, which is ridiculous and you wish she would’ve just pushed you into the river and screamed at you instead. You wish these people would’ve been a lot meaner to you already, and then maybe you would have never worked up the gall to kiss the man you’re stupidly in love with and cause this whole ordeal.

“I’m so sorry,” and you’re the one saying it this time. You turn to look at Robin fully and resist the urge to fall to your knees and beg for her forgiveness. Tonight, you committed a mortal sin—giving her son a big fat heart-stopping kiss on the mouth right in front of their house—and you can only be forgiven by death, and death alone.

There’s a confused look in her eyes, almost worried, and you think you might be actually shaking enough to launch yourself into the stratosphere like a space cannon. Instead, you channel the energy into completely turning yourself around and running away from the both of them.

Disastrous. This night has been disastrous. You would’ve rather actually puked on everyone’s shoes instead of going through whatever the hell that was. You’re never going to catch a break in this stupid town with these stupid people and stupid Sebastian and his too-sweet-for-her-own-good mom.

When you get home, you’re panting in exhaustion from sprinting across the valley, and your nerves and head are still buzzing and your lips are still warm from Sebastian’s being completely and willingly planted on them for about ten whole seconds. Your brain is too fried and melted to even consider the implications of everything you both just did, but you can’t seem to care.

You’re embarrassed. Wholly and utterly humiliated, and for a moment you cross your fingers and pray to whoever will listen that you won’t be a topic of discussion during Robin and Sebastian’s family dinner with everyone else.

You take a moment to catch your breath (an impossible thing) and finally collapse into your bed. You’re staring at your ceiling for what feels like hours, but you have a very poor sense of time and don’t trust that judgment at all. Everything settles in your head like mud shaken in a jar of water. And you smile. Dear god. Despite it all, you’re smiling and giddy and laughing to yourself, riding a high of schoolgirl-type-infatuation and post-kiss-adrenaline the weird, cruel excitement of the night.

You kissed him. You kissed Sebastian. You. Fucking. Did it.

The rest can be worried about tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that. Maybe even never, because you are absolutely going to avoid everyone and move in with the wizard instead, living in isolation for the rest of your life. But for now. You swing your feet and giggle like a twelve-year-old and replay the kiss in your head. Over and over. Like a sleep aid. You fucking did it.

#stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian sdv x reader #sebastian stardew valley x reader #stardew x reader #stardew valley fanfic #sebastian sdv fanfic #sebastian stardew valley fanfiction #sdv x player #sebastian x player #sdv x farmer #stardew valley x player #stardew valley x farmer #sebastian x farmer #stardew valley #AAAAA I DID IT

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peacherinerag · 1 month

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As someone who plays stardew valley on console, I have never EVER experienced this much fomo and jealousy in my life

#peacherine rants #stardew valley #sdv #concerned ape #stardew valley 1.6 #sending my thoughts and prays to other sdv console players we will survive #but seriously I hope everyone who has the update is enjoying it!!!!!#the update genuinely looks amazing

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disco-infern0 · 1 month

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me watching people play the new stardew valley update but i play on mobile

#stardew valley #stardew valley update #1.6 update #sdv #mobile and console players unite

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peeweekey · 1 month

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sweet like

word count: 1.5 k

synopsis: love confessions are not easy, having nosy neighbours isn’t either—but loving sam is different, it’s as easy as breathing.

a/n: samson my beloved, youre allergic to pollen but accepted my bouquet anyway. 😔❤️

edit: sweet like is now on ao3! here

today’s the day, you’re really going to do it. no ifs or buts.

you swear you will, but damn if it isn’t messing with your head. it’s definitely the nervousness or heat stroke symptoms causing the overly-conscious way you regard all other shoppers in pierre’s general store. you feel the uneven, erratic thrum of your pulse underneath your skin.

your hands are cold and clammy and disgustingly sweaty as a bright bouquet of tulips, poppies, sweet peas and fairy roses is unceremoniously slid across the store counter and bundled into your arms. the smell is dizzyingly perfumed. pierre doesn’t bat an eye though the knowing glint just tells you that he knows.

you and sam have been friends for as long as you started living in the valley. he’s a literal ball of sunshine compacted into a 5’10 body, and he’s sweet—maybe at times a little sloppy and forgetful but those quirks make him all the more lovable—to you.

and you admit yes, you did have a crush on him—and after watching his band’s performance in zuzu city, it got even worse. suddenly the ignition jump started the thrum of your heart—beating at race car speeds at the mere mention of his name. restless and anxious

so, here you are, buying a bouquet (one you could surely make yourself, but according to abigail buying this exact one is town tradition) at 10 am in the morning, in front of all your nosy neighbours.

you clutch the flowers tighter to your chest as caroline cranes her neck to take a peek. slowing down as she restocks the shelves. shameless, these people are sharks to blood when it comes to gossip.

you shoot her a wary glare, lips pursed together. pushing open the door to the shop, the little entrance bell rings with your exit.

after your realization, you see the world through rose-tinted glasses, the skies seem brighter and clearer, with soft fluffy clouds suspended in them. the breeze is soft and refreshing, while the sun is a comforting warmth at your back.

not even a few steps past the stardrop saloon do you feel any different.

adrenaline pumps through your veins as you see a flash of familiar spiked-up golden hair in your periphery. you feel your breath stutter as you reflexively stuff the delicate bouquet in your pack and snap it shut.

you turn your back, clutching a hand to your chest—you feel your heart racing underneath your fingertips as well as the heat rising up your skin. it’s fine, you reason, you’ll play it off as sunburn.

you slap at your cheeks, encouragingly.

the aforementioned man, skates towards you, calling your attention. turning, you nod your head in greeting, offering him a less than wobbly smile.

you wait until the skateboard skids to a stop, sam stops a few feet from you. his breaths slightly labored from the effort, he’s still as bright and cheery as ever

“sam,” you cringe as your voice cracks into an awkward pitch. he perks up at the mention of his name, giving you an enthusiastic wave. you swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“hey farmer,” he smiles, sam sets one of his feet down from on his skateboard. “it’s really bright out today. what’cha up to?”

“i was looking for you, actually.”

“and i’m here!” he replies before sheepishly adding. “that’s a coincidence. i was going to go visit you—well, before i forgot.”

“really,” your stomach traitorously flutters. “what for?”

“to give you something,” he says breezily, sam digs around in his pant pockets, seemingly looking for something. “i swear i have the thingy in here somewhere..”

you watch as he fumbles around looking for the thingy. Your mind drifts to the scrunched up bouquet sitting in your pack. you hadn’t expected running into him so soon—

maybe, you think. you aren’t as ready as you think.

“ahh, here it is!”

sam fishes out a rectangular shaped object from his back pocket, its slim and clear. you tilt your head in curiosity and he smiles wider.

“a cassette of the band’s song,” he tells you, grabbing your limp hand to stuff it into your palm. “listen to it! you have a cassette player on your farm, right?”

the momental brush of his hand against yours has you stumbling over your mess of thoughts and feelings. it is a little pathetic, to be acting like a lovesick teenager again—you groan to yourself. “yeah, i do.”

the cassette is light in your palm, the hard plastic case is covered in sharpied lightning bolts and smiley faces—along with the careful engraving of your name. the hand drawn designs are wonky and childlike (you suspect he asked vincent to draw them), but it’s yours.

he made this for you.

you feel the giddy warmth spread all throughout your body—concentrated in your chest and stomach which twists with some emotion you’re too confused to name.

“i couldn’t find you after the performance,” he confesses. you peek up from the cassette at his face—his cheeks are bright pink with bashfulness. “it was too crowded, i wanted to give you the first sample recording.”

standing on willow street in front of his family house with the sun beating down on you, sweat dripping down your temple, flowers haphazardly stuffed into your backpack. you’re literally buzzing with energy—the warmth, inside and out, is making your head spin.

you feel your mouth moving before you can even register what you’re saying, feverish words tumble out.

voice a tad strangled, you rasp. “sam.”

he looks down at his skateboard, his attention; short and slipping away. “yeah?”

“be my boyfriend.”

“sure!” he pauses, processing what you said, his eyes whip back up to stare into yours—wide and so, so blue. “waaait.. wuuh—”

“i was—uh, do you want to know why i wanted to visit you today?” you ramble on, tracing the cassette case edges with sweaty fingers. the beat of your heart is a resounding thumping sound in your eardrums. “actually, this is not how i planned things, but got nervous, you make me nervous.”

you shrug off your backpack, the heavy weight of it that once was grounding you groaned as it hit the ground. you open the flap and produce the now crumpled flowers—stems bent and broken, petals missing but the smell is still overwhelmingly sweet. you hold out the bouquet to him with shaky fingers, the cassette held in your other hand clasped behind your back.

“—i wanted to make this a little more special…” you sigh nervously, eyes squeezed shut while your bottom lip is chewed between worrying teeth. “it’s all crumpled, sorry…”

“i think this is plenty special already.”

you feel as he moves closer, plucking the flowers out of your hands. now, there’s barely any space between the both of you. your eyes snap open, mouth slightly gaping as he takes a long sniff full of flowers.

your heart sings for joy as he does—but the concerningly wet sneeze he lets out makes you furrow your brow in realization.

he’s goddamn allergic.

your eyes widen, reaching for the flowers. “sam, you’re allergic to pollen!”

your fingers barely brush the stems when he pull the flowers away from you. sam laughs, bright and pure—one that sounds like it came deep from his gut. you flush deeper in embarrassment, and a little in confusion.

“so? you gave me these. i like them!”

“i can’t believe it slipped my mind,” you cringe. “don’t keep them! the stems are all twisted and broken anyway.”

he sneezes again, shaking his head petulantly, his nose pinkened with irritation, a small sound of mortification exits your mouth. how can you be so forgetful?

digging through your backpack, you grab the small pack of tissues you usually use to dab off sweat easily. you take one out of the pack and stretch it out towards him.

instead of your offered tissue, sam grabs you by the wrist, tugging you to him. you follow with not much of a fight, a confusing mixture of nervous and giddy energy you’ve become. he holds you still against him, his arms coming behind you to wrap the both of you together tightly.

you go limp against him, head buried his shoulder. you think, you fit together perfectly.

“by the way, i like you too.” he murmurs into your hair. “a lot more than you think i do.”

“even if i forgot you were allergic to flowers?”

he snorts, leaving a chaste peck on your forehead, you feel your cheeks flush. “especially because you forgot, it was kinda funny.”

your head shoots up, nearly bumping his chin. “sam!”

he laughs and you can’t help but smile in return. your gaze returns to the sky, and suddenly you can’t quite recall what you were so worried about. really, life in stardew valley has never been so bright.

(and if you see some of your neighbors watching at the corner of your eye, you shut your eyes to ignore them.)

#writers on tumblr #stardew valley #sam stardew valley #sdv sam #sam x player #sam x reader #x reader #cross posted on ao3 #key’s-vault #sdv #stardew

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