Sdv Farmer - Blog Posts

Farmer having the time of her life after discovering a baby redhead Sebastian

So.. I've been cooking something today💥

This is Mareridt ( @ask-stardew-valley-au ) and her doctor boyfriend, I don't like him💕

They're so... Addams Family. 🔛🔝

(I have been accused of using AI, I am outraged. I spent five hours of my life on this.

that bottom corner bothers the heck outta me !!

there isn't enough space to fix it ☹

finally unlocked one of my new mods in game ♡ mod - law & order SV

STARTER FARMHOUSE DESIGN #1

✨ a small sims / stardew valley crossover ✨

Pleasant surprises with Elliott

Shane hates going out

Me and Harvey watching a movie :D

my stardew valley pookies….

Part 2 of Introverted Farmer

I made Farmer more anxious and shy (justs a tad) The timing is around spring and summer year 1. Maybe a gore warning? Just scars from the mines

Will not pass out in the mines, Refuses to. Out of spite and out of payment. 1.) What if it’s Harvey? Farmer hasn’t introduced themselves and it would be awkward. The only person that the Farmer trust is probably Linus, Robin, Marnie, and Willy. Trust that they are the first ones to get gifts once Farmer works out the courage

Probably won’t go to the Flower Dance in spring, it’s a bunch of strangers dancing. Why shouldn’t Farmer work on demolishing the rubbish around their farm? Get a good amount of wood, get stronger, and no need to small talk.

Only goes to Pierre’s shop right before it closes.

Finally goes to the clinic in Year 2. Safe to say that Harvey nearly had a heart attack. Farmer had to roll up their sleeves for Harvey to feel their pulse and lo and behold, scars from the mines. Not visiting the Clinic ever in their first year took a toll. The Farmer only had a med kit from Pierre’s to rely on so the deep gashes were just rapped with gauzes and Farmer called it a day. The scars just on Farmers forearms ranged from divets in their skin from the slime melting their skin to bites from bats to burns that never healed from getting close to the lava.

Thankfully the Farmers wounds never got infected and Harvey was too polite to ask about any other injuries. Maybe when after the Farmer and Harvey bonded more the Farmer will actually go to Harvey for help.

Not the last addition to this ‘series’ but the newest! Hope you enjoy these short little bits and pieces <3

🪼

First little drabble, let’s see how this goes! Not proof read so sorry for any grammar mistakes.

Scenario: Introvert Farmer in SDV

(Reader is gender neutral)

Introverted Farmer who accepts quest for the town people only to leave it on their doorstep the next day, with a little note attached to say leave the payment in their mailbox

Introverted Farmer who only tends to the farm in the late afternoon, just to avoid the possibility of having to talk to a town folk who might be walking by

Introverted Farmer who give the romance-ables (bachelors and bachelorettes) their loved gifts also by dropping it off on their door step. The note attached just says, “with care, The Farmer :) ”.

Some gift ideas:

Elliot getting rainbow shells in the late fall and early winter, just to remind him of the summer

Harvey and Leah getting Cranberry Wine in the fall

Shane getting hot peppers all though out the year

Introverted Farmer who’s first appearance is on Winter 3 (year 1) in the Saloon. It’s like a ghost sighting. The rumors of the new farmer coming to the valley were confirmed almost a year after their arrival.

I might make a part two to watch this because this is a nice idea but i need to brain storm a little bit more <3

OUR STARDEW FARMERS ARE BOTH BAKERS :3

Omg!! But mines not technically an farmer, he’s a bachelor ^^

HEYYY

my oc Samuel is going to join everyone on the ask sdv oc. Im going to go deep diving into his lore but here is what he looks like

the acc user is ask-samual . Also at. @ask-samual

he so pretty hm?

I do have rules tho!! So here we go

NO NSFW.

I am the only person working on this so please give me patience. I also have school coming up too. That’s it :)

the consequences of desire

Apple Music - Web Player

Read your Mind by Sabrina Carpenter on Apple Music

Song · 2022 · Duration 3:27

restorations // chapter three

read on ao3 here!

on my fifth day in the valley, i opened my mailbox to see a flyer informing me that a mine had opened up on the mountaintop. after grabbing my pickaxe and a few parsnips, i made my way up the mountain to be greeted by an older man with an eyepatch. 

he introduced himself as marlon and warned me about the dangers i’d face below. with the wimpy sword he’d given me to protect myself with, i swallowed my fears and descended. 

i’d already nearly exhausted myself on the third floor. just my luck, i’d supposed. i swung my sword wildly as a bat nearly knocked me off my feet. i reached in my pack for a parsnip, only to find that i’d brought only three with me, all of which i had already eaten. 

gone already? what is wrong with me today? i thought to myself. 

it suddenly occurred to me just how unprepared for the strength and energy that was required for this journey i was, leaving aside the simple fact that i had barely any of the required materials… my pickaxe was far too weak, my sword was falling apart, and i’d only just finished growing my first batch of parsnips (ninety percent of which i’d sold to lewis that morning). 

these are the reasons i gave myself as why it was okay that i’d woken up in Harvey's arms as he carried me out of the mines and into town, maru trailing behind him with a worried look on her face.

i floated in and out of consciousness as we walked past the large house on the mountaintop, past the old, broken down community center, and finally toward the door of the clinic where he readjusted our positions so he could unlock his door. 

i groaned as he cradled me in his arms and saw him look down at me, almost frightened. 

the last thing i remember before everything going dark is making eye contact with the doctor as he walked us across the threshold of his clinic.

–

when i opened my eyes next, i was in a hospital bed with Harvey leaning over me. 

he didn’t notice me open my eyes immediately so i just regarded him for a moment. i think he could feel my eyes on him after a moment because he suddenly remembered himself, his body covering mine in a way far too intimate for a doctor and his patient.

he tensed and i couldn’t help but reach up to touch his shoulder in an attempt to try to get him to relax a bit. he regarded my hand for a minute before meeting my eyes.

with a huffed breath, he whispered “hi. um, you got in an accident today. when maru found you in the mines, it appeared as though you’d been knocked out. by what, we still don’t know. i was able to repair all of your injuries without much trouble. do you have any insurance? i’ll need to bill you for the service.”

he paused for a moment before saying, “you know what? nevermind. let’s worry about that later. how much pain are you in? do you need more penicillin? i can get you some acetaminophen or maybe some benadryl but it’s a little late in the day–”

i was obviously still high as shit from the effects of whatever kind of drug the doctor must’ve put me under because in the middle of his diatribe, i brought up a finger to his lips and shushed him. 

he seemed surprised at first, maybe even a little rattled, but softened almost immediately. “you’re right. i’m sorry, Calliope. i’ve been hovering, and i should give you some time to rest. or, at least, some time to be alone. maru told me that you have plans tonight at the saloon.”

had i not been “up in the clouds,” as it were, i might’ve wondered why the town doctor had asked his colleague if i’d had plans tonight, but as such, i simply said “come with me.”

his eyes had wandered to where my fingers had landed following their personal space invasion but snapped back to mine as he processed my words.

“n-no. i.. i couldn’t. i wouldn’t want to intrude on you four. and.. i wouldn’t feel comfortable. the old man in the corner… you’d feel obligated to include me in conversation and it’d make you miserable,” he said, taking a step away from the bed, and, suddenly, the room temperature dropped noticeably.

“wait,” i said, sitting up (and immediately wincing), “it’s not going to be like that. i promise. plus, it won’t be four of us and you. sebastian’s not coming. something about a looming deadline. it’ll be me, sam, and abby. and you. hopefully. and i need someone else there so that i don’t get caught third wheeling! they haven’t admitted it… but there’s something going on there, i just know it…” 

as i conspired about a budding relationship between two of my neighbors, i turned my head and began chewing on my fingernails, a habit i’d picked up as an anxious eight-year-old and hadn’t been able to kick since. i had, however, not done it in public since fifteen. 

when i finally realized that i was, of course, not alone, i immediately pulled my fingers out of my mouth and felt my face get hot with embarrassment. i couldn’t look him in the eyes as i mumbled an apology.

his mouth parted in a small smile before saying, “don’t be. i think it’s cute.”

my eyes widened, my head snapping over to him again. “what?” i said. 

it seemed the doctor, too, was rendered speechless. he swallowed before pausing, as if to make up an excuse. finally, he said, “well! you are all patched up and free to go. let me know if you need anything else from me, Calliope.”

before i could reply, he turned on his heel and practically ran out of the room. 

minutes later, i walked out into the waiting room of the small clinic, after gathering my things and ensuring i looked decent enough for the outside world. Harvey was there, and appeared to be busying himself with various papers. 

i didn’t manage to catch his eye, but before walking out, i repeated my offer to him.

“just think about it,” i finally said. without a look back, i left the clinic, still in pain, definitely exhausted, and scared as hell that i might just fall in love after all.

the consequences of desire

Apple Music - Web Player

Some Place Else by MorMor on Apple Music

Song · 2019 · Duration 3:34

read it on ao3 here!

i moved to the valley in the spring. it was so full of life, and nothing like i remembered it. the people i met were kind - for the most part. this is exactly what i was looking for, i thought to myself. 

as i meandered around on my first day in town, i caught sight of him. clad in a forest green blazer and an orange… no, bronze tie, he sat on a bench in the park by the old, battered community center. i was tempted to approach him, but i didn’t dare. 

it’s true that i fall in love easily. my mother used to say i must have been blessed by aphrodite. it sounds great to fall in love like that, but the other part, the part no one considers, is the falling out of love. to feel my heart break over and over again was torture, so, before moving to the valley, i’d decided to lock my heart away, to keep her safe from harm.

so yes, i decided not to approach him out of a fear that i’d fall just as naturally as breathing. 

and it was easy, at first, to avoid him. he keeps weird hours, the doctor. so when i’d finally visited the saloon, on the first rainy day in the spring of my first year, the mayor asked me if i’d met everyone in town yet, i’d simply said no. i’d been busy. he’d understood, of course, but when he had asked me who i hadn’t met yet, i’d told him only to have him escort me to where he was sitting at the bar, sleeves rolled up, hair disheveled, and nursing a half-full glass of red wine.

“i’ll let the two of you get to know each other,” the mayor said with a smile before returning to the rancher sitting patiently at his table. 

i caught the attention of the barmaid and said “i’ll have what he’s having!” emily smiled and nodded before walking away. 

when i finally looked over at him, the doctor was already looking at me. watching me. he looked like he was running some calculations in his head.

i blushed before saying “what? do i have something in my teeth? oh, yoba, that’s so embarrassing!” 

he laughed quietly before shaking his head and saying “no. no. nothing like that. i was just trying to figure out why you hadn’t introduced yourself to me yet.”

my eyes widened and i stuttered out “i-i.. i’ve been busy! lots to do on that farm. i’m sure you’ve seen it. it’s hideous!” i paused and sighed before saying weakly, “no. no, not hideous. but. um. i’ve been busy. really.” 

“oh. okay. well, good, then. i was a bit worried you were avoiding me–oh my. how rude of me. i haven’t even asked your name yet. do forgive me, please,” he said before looking down at his glass.

i flushed before saying “um, i’m Calliope. it means ‘beautifully-voiced,’ but my singing is about as impressive as my farm is right now… anyways, my friends all call me calli. you can call me whichever you prefer!” i smiled, slightly embarrassed of how i’d just rambled on about my name’s etymology to the man who had figured out that i was avoiding him. “um.. what’s your name, doctor?”

“Calliope is a beautiful name. i’m Harvey, the local doctor. although i suppose you figured as much calling me ‘doctor’ and all. um. it’s lovely to finally meet you, calliope.” he smiled at me, and his moustache bristled against his upper lip. not that i noticed. i didn’t notice his moustache or his stocky fingers tracing the rim of his glass or how his forearms looked with his sleeves rolled up.

i didn’t notice even one of those attractive qualities. how could i have when i was captivated by his eyes. the way his thick glasses magnified his eyes just enough that i could see that his eyes weren’t brown, they were amber. amber, my new favorite color.

when i eventually pulled my eyes away, i felt… lonely. but this was the problem, wasn’t it? i couldn’t get to know Harvey because i couldn’t fall in love because i couldn’t get my heart broken again. so, in favor of protecting myself, despite my heart’s desires, i paid for my drink, got up from my stool, and said “good night, doctor.”

i thought i heard a disappointed sigh before he responded “good night, Calliope.”

on my third day in pelican town, i walked home in the rain, alone.

hi everybody!!! new fic alertttt!!! this is coopted from my original harv drabbles so worry not. more of that cutie pie to come ;)

beating the heat

…this is just straight smut. pls be advised. (mdni!!!)

It was the week before the wedding, and you were both… excited, to say the least. You sat together on your couch avoiding the summer heat.

“Farmer,” he said.

“Yes?” you replied, looking over at him.

He made eye contact with you and traced your cheekbone lightly with his fingers. “Farmer…” he said again, but this time gutturally. 

You suddenly understood what he wanted. But. Why let him have it so easy? You decided to play with your food, just a little. 

“Yes?” you said before batting your eyes slowly.

“Farmer. I.. I want you,” Sam said quietly.

“Hmm…” you pretended to think about the offer before saying “I dunno… It might be too hot out for me to touch you.” You said with fake disappointment. 

Then, “you know, it might even be too hot for me to be wearing all this heavy farm-wear…” You said before unclasping your overalls and letting the straps hang at your waist. You could feel Sam’s eyes glued to you as you pulled off your bulky tee shirt as well.

You fanned yourself briefly and said “Whew! Much better.”

Sam gaped at you and adjusted himself.

You saw him not-so-subtly adjust and smirked before saying “What, Sammy? Is there something you need?”

He flushed bright red before shaking his head and saying “n-no. No. I don’t need anything.” He knew that you liked to play this game sometimes and let you take the lead.

You stalked toward him before leaning down and tipping his chin up toward you. “Nothing? Hmm. A shame, really. I was going to ask if you wanted to use your favorite toy. That way I don’t have to touch you, and you get what you really want. Isn’t that what you want, my love? Some relief for that poor, aching cock of yours?”

Sam nodded his head vigorously into your hand before stuttering “Y-yes please, ma’am. That’s what I want. I want that so much.”

You smirked again and left the room, returning a minute later with the cock ring the two of you picked out together. It came with a remote, so you could have total control over him without even being in the same room together.

Sam was already breathless with the thought of you controlling every part of him. You sat down in the plush chair across the coffee table from him and instructed him to take off his shirt and pants. He did so immediately, discarding them behind the couch.

You looked directly at his tented boxers, and felt a little bad for the man. You were depriving him of some damn relief. He was to be your husband! You owed him this pleasure.

You crossed the room to kneel at his feet, but not before kissing him sweetly. “Now, be a good boy for me, okay? Listen to me, and I promise I’ll make you feel good.” 

Sam nodded eagerly in response.

As you rolled down his boxers, you watched his dick hit his stomach from arousal. You tsked and said “someone’s excited, hmm? Seems like you might deserve a little reward.” 

He trembled and nodded “Please. Please?”

You smiled and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. He groaned in response. 

You grabbed the toy from the coffee table and unwrapped it. “Do you want it, baby?”

He nodded rapidly.

“Be a good boy, and use your words, Sammy.”

He shuddered. You knew he liked this game just as much as you did. “Yes, please, ma’am. Please, let me use my toy. Please. Please,” he said before throwing his head back on the couch.

He seemed very anxious to play, so you acquiesced to his request. After spitting on the toy, you, carefully, pushed it down to the base of his penis before strapping his balls into the toy as well. 

He was panting now. “I- I need it. I need you, farmer. P-please. F-fuck. Fuck me, please.”

You stood up and asked “do you need restraints, or can you promise not to touch yourself for me, Sam?”

Sam shook his head and said “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“I know you will,” you replied before kissing his forehead and returning to your chair across the room. 

“Are you ready?” you asked him. 

He responded instantaneously. “Yes. Yes. Yes, I’m ready, ma’am.”

You smiled again and turned on the toy to its lowest setting. Over the sound of the vibrations, you heard Sam moan softly. He really was enjoying this. You loved seeing him like this. Yoba, it was starting to get you off. 

Slowly, as he adjusted to the rhythm of the toy, you pulled off your own clothing, leaving the two of you both completely nude. Sam awoke from his trance to find you this way and shifted in his seat.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Are you- um. I- Uh.”

You traced patterns on your thighs and asked Sam “what do you want, my love? Tell me.”

He inhaled sharply before asking timidly, “Wi-will you touch yourself? I want to watch you. W-watch you make yourself feel good. I mean. I- uh. Fuck-” He shuddered again from the toy’s stimulation.

You chuckled before saying “Yes, my love. Whatever you want,” and opening your legs to give him a better view. 

You started by caressing your inner thighs, and, when that felt like not enough, you stuck your fingers in your mouth then trailing them down to your core. You brushed over your clit and shuddered in anticipation. “Fuck,” you whispered before briefly dipping your fingers into your hole. You sighed, and Sam squeaked from the other side of the room. You had been so wound up, you’d forgotten that he was there, struggling in silence. 

You immediately pulled your fingers away and picked up the remote again. 

“Did you like that, Sam?” You amped up the power on the toy. “Did me playing with myself arouse you?” You upped the power again. “Did it make your pretty cock pulse?” Up the power.

Sam yelped. “Y-Yes.. Yes. Fuck. Yes, ma’am. Fuck!” 

You upped the power once more, to the highest setting before setting it down next to you and plunging your fingers back into yourself. “Mmmm. I bet it did, you slut. You like watching, huh? Your dick hardens just thinking about me pleasing myself, doesn’t it?”

Sam yelped, louder this time. “FUCK! Fuck. Fuck y-yes. Yes! You.. FUCK. You pleasing yourself.. It gets me off. Fuck! Fuck. Farmer. Farmer, pl-please. Please come here. FUCK!”

You played with your clit for a minute more, just to make him squirm, before crossing the room to finish him off. 

He was gasping for air by the time you reached him. “Baby. Baby. Please. Please. Fuck. Fuck me, please.” 

You petted his hair and his head fell onto your chest. “Farmer…”

You smoothed out his hair before kneeling at his feet again. You spat on your hand and began to pump his neglected cock. His reaction to your touch was immediate. His whole body shuddered, and he moaned your name. 

You kissed his tip before opening your mouth and taking as much of him as you could. He wasn’t very girthy, but his length more than made up for it. You pumped him again, covering as much of him in you as possible. 

He whimpered, and you knew he was close. “Farmer…” he squeaked out. “Fuck. Fuck! Please…”

You had saved this as your final trick… You removed your lips from his length and attached them to his balls, sucking lightly. This was his favorite. The first time you were together, he came as soon as you slightly grazed his balls. He’d been embarrassed, but you’d known that this secret would come in handy when he was close to finishing. 

While your mouth sucked at his balls, you used your hands to pump him applying slight pressure. He was very vocal when at his limit, and this was it. He whimpered and groaned and shook and before you could come up for air, he had tapped your shoulder indicating he was about to cum. 

You immediately reattached your lips to his cock and cradled his balls in your hands. You squeezed lightly, and he came in your mouth. 

“Ah– Ah. Fu-Fuck. FUCK! Oh- oh Yoba.. Farmer…. Farmer..” he was out of breath, and, as you swallowed his cum, it was all he could do not to pass out from the sight. You kissed his thigh as you removed the toy. You then rubbed his thighs before standing up to g​​et a towel and some water for your lovely partner. 

Before you left, though, he grabbed onto your hand, looked you in the eyes, and said, “Farmer, I really, really love you. You know that right?”

You smiled and kissed his hand. “I love you, too, Sammy.”

OKAY UM YES. LOL. my first time writing a full-length scene I hope it is okay n i hope y'all like it LAWL ! lmk if u have any suggestions or anything i am new at this so any advice is awesome !! thank u :3

everyone's blond husband <3

When you first met him, you were a bit overwhelmed by his “pep.” The boy with the spiky, blond hair who always wore a smile despite his ever-healing lip piercing. He did have a wonderful smile. No wonder he was always showing it off. It made you smile to yourself, just thinking about it. 

In your first year on the farm, you were swamped with work. From chopping down trees to make room for sprinklers to trying your best to fix up the old community center in the middle of town, you’d just barely make it into bed on time every night. This meant you had barely any time to meet your neighbors, much less get to know them. Your over excited neighbor, however, seemed to have made it his mission to spend as much time with you as possible.

One day, in mid summer, when you were replanting melon seeds, his shadow darkened your property. You’d heard him coming before you saw him; he’d been humming to himself a song he’d been writing for his band. He had asked you, in the spring, what genre of music you liked and you’d tried to answer in a way that he would’ve approved of: “hi-energy dance music.” He seemed to accept this answer and promptly started writing such a song with his long-time best friend.

“Hey,” he said as he approached. 

You greeted him without looking up from your field, “hi, Sunshine.” 

This was a nickname you’d started calling him after he’d lost at pool for the seventh time in the three weeks you’d known him. You had always known him as a ray of sunshine, but when he lost at pool, he seemed to get downright depressed. The nickname was born from insistent teasing, but after a while, it became a pet name of sorts.

The boy rolled his eyes when he heard the nickname but you could swear you saw his cheeks tinge pink in the afternoon sun. 

“Whaddya need? I have about fifty more seeds to plant today, but then I can hang out if you want,” you said, face buried in your work.

“Hmm,” he said. Then, “can I help? I dunno how you want me to plant, but maybe I could water some of them? …if that’d be helpful, I mean.”

You looked up at him. “Yea. Yea, that’d be great. Thanks, Sunshine,” you said and smiled at him.

He smiled back at you and picked up the copper watering can that had been discarded early in the morning when you found your crops ripe to be plucked. 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

About an hour later, you had both finished your chores, and you were sitting on your porch while he stood in front of you. You leaned in just enough to examine each of his features closely. He was quite beautiful, you thought to yourself. His silver lip ring, his enormous blue eyes, his golden hair, covered up today with a baseball cap. You reached over and pulled it off his head. He started. 

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

You shrugged before saying “I wanted to see your face better.” You reached up to brush his hair out of his face and smiled. Suddenly, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward him. You were about to say something, but he kissed you, and it felt like you were on fire. He was maybe the third person you’d ever kissed and, by far, the best one. 

He smiled brightly and said cheekily, “alright. I gotta go. Mom’s making dinner and she needs me to swing by the general store before she can start cooking.” He looked you up and down before simply saying “bye!” and turning on his heel.

HEHE hope u like it is my first sam post :3

lil Harvey drabble

it's late at night when you arrive at the clinic. harvey's at his desk, which you find peculiar. he's usually quite good about a work-life balance, even if he lives twelve stairs above his workspace. you knock on his door, but before hearing a response, you walk in. he looks... tired. you can see on his face that he's had a hard day. he looks up when you walk in and you see him relax a little.

he says, "just a minute. i've got to finish this report before I can close up for the night."

you nod, and sit down in front of him. you've never noticed how big he is before. he's handsome. a thought you've had before, but never one you'd really spent any time thinking about.

finally, he looks up again. he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. you instinctively reach over and grab his hand in yours. your embarrassment is instantaneous. you attempt to pull your hand away, but he's already intertwined your fingers together.

you look up at him. he's already looking at you. the way he's looking... it takes your breath away. he's handsome.

"i think you're very pretty, doctor," you say, matter-of-factly.

he goes red immediately.

oh shit. "have I made you uncomfortable? I'm so sorry, doctor. i- it was never my intent to do so. please forgive me, i-"

you suddenly look down. he hasn't extricated himself from your hold. you look back up at him, blushing crimson. "doctor?"

"yes?"

you take a deep breath and say, "you're still holding my hand."

he looks down and back up at you again before simply stating "i like holding your hand."

HEHE i hope u like i just write wtv comes to mind SO IG this is it atm >:)

In case you didn't remember/know Marjorie is a mermaid and after many MANY dramas they're now happily ever after~

I'm still very soft for them *scrims*

Maybe I'll randomly start posting here art of my farmers and some shenanigans kjahsdkjgas Anyway this is Chibó Fernandes, the 5th character I made for this game and he is an absolute menace-

QUICK WHILE HES DISTRACTED STARING AT THE FRIDGE MARRIAGE PROPOSAL GO

i like to think that ppl come to farmer for comfort or jst to genuinely hangout... requesting sam coming to farmer's house in the middle of the night as he confides in them w hot chocolate / coffee / tea 👉🏻👈🏻

apple cider

pairing: sam x reader

wc: 1.6k

tags: MILD hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, they are friends here!!

synopsis: sticky summer nights always make you feel a little restless.

a/n: its been 2 months with no sam fic!!!! here is my sincere apology hehe. title from apple cider by beabadoobee. this ask is so cute anon mwa mwa

Nothing ever truly rests during the summer; not even during the night.

Fireflies flicker and fly, weaving through the sparse grass beds sprouting from under your porch. The dark is hardly dark, your eyes have adjusted to the sparse light emanating from your dingy porch light. Your cardigan is haphazardly thrown off, draped over the hand-carved trellis. Bare feet meet the grass; damp and cool against your heated skin.

Energy thrums through the air, electrifying it with the undercutting buzz that leaves you wide awake. The season leaves the nights tepid, leaving your skin sticky. 

You can’t sleep; not one bit tuckered out after a whole day toiling the fields. Though your mind is blissfully blank, your hands are preoccupied with bringing your mug to your lips.

The cacophony of crickets chirping echo through the flat farmlands of your property. It’s quiet, peaceful. Yet you are wide-eyed and awake, sipping on  herbal tea—a mixture of herbs from your crop beds—in the hopes you can knock yourself out. 

You are hyper aware of your surroundings, unable to pull yourself into the sleepy state you want. You feel the sheen of sweat drying on your skin, the warm summer breeze tickling the nape of your neck, the sweet smell of almost-ripe melons growing on your farm. The rhythmic sound of trees swaying with the wind.

The odd sound of a twig snapping is enough to pull you out of your reverie. 

Your gaze snaps to the side, past your mailbox and to the dark path leading to town. Eyes adjusted to the dark, you see vague impressions of familiar surroundings. You drag your eyes to and fro, scanning.

A head of blond hair flashes through the otherwise dark veil of night, lamplight catching the brilliant golden hues of it. Doubting your eyes you furrow your brow; squinting your eyes, shifting on the porch steps, aiming to get a clearer look. Your mug is forgotten on your lap.

The figure shifts, tilting their head upwards and towards your direction. Then blue eyes lock with yours, the warm light of your porch lantern illuminating his expression. Recognition dawns on your face—

“Sam?”

Sam stops mid-step, face contorting into shock that outdoes your own. He flails, struggling with his words as to why in the world he’s caught on your farm in the wee hours of the night.

Both of you freeze, staring at each other in silence. Your fingers tighten then loosen around your mug. A tight line is made out of your lips.

“What are you doing?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“It’s not what you think!” he holds his hands up in immediate surrender. “I was walking, and—and, my mind was blank. I just followed the path, I swear.”

You blink, once then twice. “Sam—”

“And–and,” he blabbers, “I guess… your farm was the best bet… The safest.”

That eases the nervous pitter-patter of your heart. It’s rare you get anyone on the farm aside from Lewis this late. You’re relieved, perplexed by his skittish behavior. It goes against what you already know about him. 

Your eyes crinkle whilst you squint up at him, giving him a once-over. Like this, he reminds you of a teenager caught red-handed, eyes practically bulging out of his head with anxiousness.

An amused chuckle slips past your lips before you register it, smiling. “Sam. Can I speak?”

Sam turns back to face you, finally still. It gives you a clearer look at his appearance. Wild flaxen locks are tapered down by the beanie shoved over his head. His shirt is inside out, hanging awkwardly on his frame. He looks like he just rolled out of bed. 

“Oh—oh yeah… my bad.”

A hand goes to pick back up your mug. “You’re good.” You take a sip of your tea. “Plus, I’m not bothered.”

“Oh…” Relief lets his shoulders go lax with a puffed breath. Then he looks back at you, conflicted on his face. “Hang on...You think me walking into your private property is—nothing?”

You snort. “You’re the last person I’d think would be worried about that.”

Sam paces, rocking back and forth on his heels, sporting a grim frown on his face. His gaze drops back down to the path, kicking at the pebbles. You wince internally; he doesn’t seem in good enough shape for jokes. It tugs at your heartstrings, a deep sigh pulled from your mouth and out into the humid air.

“Kidding. But it’s really no biggie.” you wave off. “Come by whenever. I’m always restless during the summer.”

He stares, breathing uneven and nervous. “Seriously?”

You nod, unusually calm in the face of his supposed trespassing. “It’s a me problem. It’s too humid to sleep comfortably. I even get more tired once I wake—”

“No, I mean,” he interjects, eyes wide. “I can come over? Anytime?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, rolling the muscles in your shoulders. “I’d love your company.”

“But what if you’re busy?”

“You’ll have to help me in the fields, then.” you tease, eyes crinkling. “You’ve got good legs for it already.”

A grin cuts through the grim lines of his face, “Are you 100% sure?”

You nod, eagerly. “Mhm.”

“Ah,” he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “That’s good. Super good. I wanted… well, I was kinda hoping to see you too.”

“Well now you’ve seen me.”

“Yeah, I’m glad. But ugh—I dunno, I guess my head’s a little messed up right now.” He runs a hand over his face, a frustrated groan along with it. 

You watch him. There is never a part of him that keeps still, even now. 

Maybe that’s why the words seem to come out so naturally when you’re with Sam. The restlessness—always grasping, bouncing, and shifting. “D’ya wanna come inside? Maybe it could help.”

“Yes, yeah. I want to.” he replies, instantly but then he double takes, checking in with you. “Can I?”

“I invited you too,” you laugh, pulling yourself up. “Calm down Sam, you’re fine.”

“Come in,” you call, pushing open your door. You do not turn and wait for him, traveling through the dark with the familiarity one has only in their own home. 

You hear him pulling off his shoes by the doorway, then the padding of his feet trailing after yours.

Humming, you switch on your lamplight, propping it up on your kitchen table, pulling the chair back for Sam to sit in. You set your mug down on the opposite side.

The cabinet creaks when you swing it open, revealing your countless containers of seasonings and spices collected over the seasons. The rich smell of all of it mingling together wafts through your nose. 

A pack of apple cider bottles stands by the cinnamon sticks, a welcome gift from months ago you haven’t gotten into yet. 

You tilt your head back to glance at him, finding him sitting statue-still in your chair, then turn back to your cabinet.

“I have some apple cider, you want some?”

His eyes snap to yours, “Oh, yeah.”

Nodding, you tiptoe, grasping the glass bottle by the neck from the far end of the cabinet. 

You sit the bottle down on the counter, popping off the cap with the flat edge of a knife. The cider fizzes, bubbling up until the neck then reducing. The sharp fruity scent of carbonation and apple mingles with the humid air. Sam takes it from your outstretched hand with a murmured ‘thanks’.

You sit opposite him. With your legs pulled up to your chest, you wiggle in your seat, leaning your cheek against your knees. Your eyes low as you cradle your own drink in your hands. Sam takes slow sips of the cider, the bubbles painting the edges of his lips then fizzing away. 

It feels natural to watch him like this, like all normal neighborly decorum has flown out the window, making room for this—whatever this silent companionship may bring. 

Curious, you break the veil of silence. “So what brings you here?”

Sam runs his tongue over his bottom lip, catching the stray drop of apple cider by the corner. His gaze goes faraway, eyebrows furrowing automatically without him aware. He’s silent as he thinks over your question, face contorting.

“Just—something at home, I guess. I wanted a breather.”

You swirl the string of your teabag, looking up from under your lashes. “Family stuff?”

“...Yeah, family stuff.”

You hum, voice low. You have a faint idea on what he’s talking about. Sam’s father, Kent, has been having a difficult time adjusting back to civilian life after being discharged—you heard. 

Your eyes track over his form, his shoulder hunched and lower than you’ve ever seen them. Under the low light of your kitchen table, you pinpoint the signs of weariness marking his face—eye bags under his eyes and a perpetual wrinkle in his brow deep enough you see the shadow of it under his mess of hair. 

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t feel like it,” you simply say. 

You look out the windows, eyes tracking the swirling the flickering lights of lightning bugs outside. Gaze low as you stew in silence. Your fingers tap idly at the table. You feel calmer, sleepier. That persistent buzzing under your skin dissipating into the boneless way you sit. 

There will be more sticky summer nights like these, you’re sure. Maybe he’ll share what’s on his mind then but right now, you’re quite content with the silence. It cradles you like a refreshingly cool gust of air, tapering the heated expanse of your skin. 

“Maybe next time,” Sam murmurs, staring into the steaming cup. “When I come over again.”

A smile unfurls on your lips when he raises his head to look at you. “When you come over again.”

homecoming | sam x reader

word count: 3.2k

tags: hurt/comfort , family struggles , reader and sam are married , set somewhere in year 2 (kent is back) , oneshot , intimacy

synopsis: Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.

a/n: i love sam but the allure of angst is too hard to resist!!! sorry babe i still love you 😔

Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.

Your feet are bare as you linger at the entrance of your room. The dimmed light of the living room washes away the darkness of the hour. It's late, the air is cool and damp smelling of night dew—you take a deep inhale. It feels thick as you breathe it in, like smoke is clouding around the room, restricting your breaths.

Sleepless nights were not unusual in your household. Before you married Sam, you hardly slept—the satisfying ache of collapsing into your sheets after a day at the mines was an addiction you couldn’t get enough of. 

Now, you earn enough to afford coming home before sunset. No longer having to worry about how you’d afford the next day. And if you are being completely honest, evenings spent with Sam are far more addicting than the sting of a day’s work. 

The ache is still there. It comes with the profession. Though not anymore the dull humming ache in the muscles and joints of your arms and legs, but a bone deep ache settled deeply curling around your chest. 

Somehow, it stings even more.

It is as if it drags over your heart, catching on every ridge and edge of your bones. Daring to fill your lungs with ichor—hardening like stone around your ribs. No amount of stardrop you swallow can ever relieve the stinging soreness. 

The cushions of the old second-hand couch groan and squeak as you twist and turn atop of them. Perhaps as restless as you are. The light flickers—on, off, on. 

It doesn’t scare you, but it makes you uneasy. You’re long over the notion the farmhouse was haunted, but nights like these make that conviction waver. The nape of your neck prickles—like a person is staring from behind. Sam isn’t here to tease you about ghosts nor curl his arms around you in mock protection. 

He hasn’t been here in hours, hasn’t been present in so long. It feels wrong. It feels like an omen. Your fingers find the back of your neck, brushing over the vulnerable skin. 

You hold a tassel cushion tightly to your chest. Your knuckles whitening with the strength of your grip on it. The strength of your heartbeat is so loud you’re convinced it would be heard without the pillow to muffle the sound. 

Little Vincent is sound asleep, snoring softly away in his dreamland. He looks like the epitome of innocence under the quilted blankets of your bed. It's soft, worn and covered in stitched cartoon-y lions and tigers. A temporary parting gift bundled up in his dinosaur backpack from jodi. Before he came to live with you and his older brother. 

The separation was painful. there were tears—for both him and for his mother. 

(Sam stood next to you then, gripping at your hand so hard you felt it prickling with numbness. You didn’t dare look up to see the tears you know are there, the crystalline tears dripping down his lash line. 

It would’ve made the teardrops in yours fall over too. You’d stay strong for the both of you.)

The entrance door to the farmhouse creaks open and you immediately know it’s him. Relief floods your whole body—to your fingertips to your toes. He's safe, and home at last. You stand up and hurry to him, throwing the pillow to the ground, before the door creaks shut.

The air goes still, calm before the storm. The anticipation before potential terrible news.

(You expect there will be. You can tell by the way Sam slumps, like the weight is physically bearing down on his shoulders.)

Sam is still at the doorway, slumping over you when you wrap your arms around him. He smells of sweat and the cloying scent of rubbing alcohol—something must’ve happened, you think. It smells like the clinic.

The paper bag in his hand loses from his grip, it falls unceremoniously to the ground with a dull thump. You pay it no heed, mentally accounting to pick it up later. Though you note that it lands right over your ‘home sweet home’ doormat. Fitting.  

“Sammy.” you greet him with a chaste peck on the cheek. He barely has the energy to hug back, more so stay steadily upright on his feet. you both sway slightly, suspended in the tranquility of the moment.

You try again, slowing the movement of your lips. “Welcome home, my love. you there?”

His lips move against the skin of your neck, a whisper of a greeting. It is enough for you.

Sam retracts his face from your jaw. There are blue-purple eye bags under his eyes, like bruises. The trademark twinkle in his brilliant green irises have dulled to nothingness. He looks so unlike himself like this, older than his years and so unbearably tired.

And you wish, with all your heart, to take his aches away. To wash them away like ink in water. 

You pull him into the living room with you, the skin of his wrist enclosed in the firm guiding grip of your fingers. He's fragile like this, this sunshine of a man reduced to a shell of his usual demeanor. 

He trails slowly behind you, silent. You say nothing, either; choosing to focus on the rhythmic sounds of your footsteps padding against the floor. In the living room, you dim the lights to a mere whisper of light. 

These days, when he comes home, you’ve built some sort of routine.

You drag him down to you, spread lying down on the length of the couch. Your thighs frame his hips as he melts into the warmth of body. He lays on top of you, his cheekbone against your chest. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, as he presses his ear to the epicenter of your chest—the sound of your heartbeat quieting the swirl of thoughts in his mind. 

You gently remove the woolen beanie nestled on his head—revealing the stringy oily mess of hair under. A sign of how little care he has been sparing himself after his father’s homecoming. You feel your lips downturn into a frown. He hasn’t even been using that hair gel you like to tease and groan about. 

(You lied when you’d say you hated it. You don’t, never did. 

You miss it. You miss the things that make him, him.)

You don’t hesitate in running your hands through the softness of his hair. Your fingers scratch gently on his scalp, eliciting a soft sigh from your weary husband. Eyes watch raptly as his shoulders unwind and ripple. The tension in them melts away with the deft caress of your hands.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. Like a knife twisting. You love him, you love him.

Moments pass, the silence is almost comfortable when you ask, speaking it to the silence of the room. There’s a wavering lilt in your voice reassuring him. You aren’t going to push him for an answer. He doesn’t need to respond. Him being safe, home and warm in your arms is all you ever want. All you’ll ever need.

“How are they?” 

(The first night, you and Sam stayed the night in his family home. squeezed in his twin bed with Vincent curled up by his ribs. The little boy couldn’t bear sleeping alone that night, not with the anxiety of his father being back making him pace a mile a minute.

The air in the household had shifted that day.

In the dead of the night, the fire alarm went off—a blaring loud beeping sound from the kitchen. Totally harmless, a malfunction. A disturbance to sleep more than anything.

Except it was not.

You still remember the blood-curdling scream that came from Jodi and Kent's room. The panicked sobs of Jodi as she tried to calm her terror stricken husband. 

You remember the way Vincent clung onto you, like a koala to a tree. You cupped your hands tightly over his ears—he didn’t need to suffer the consequence of it.

Sam removed the fire alarm and Vincent from the house the next morning.)

His voice is hushed when he speaks. A pin could drop and be more clearly heard. “Mom's… getting better.” 

Not getting worse than she already is.

You plant a kiss on the crown of his head, lips soft and adoring on his skin. You ache to take his burden, to take his share of suffering. 

It hurts sometimes, to be right beside him but feel so faraway. Yet like this, feeling every curve and edge of his body—you can convince yourself that it doesn’t.  

“Is Vince asleep?”

“Yes,” you reply, tucking a blond curl behind his ear. His head unconsciously tilts to the room where his younger brother rests. Ever so protective of him even like this. 

Continuing you say, “He was looking for you,” you thread your fingers through the short blond strands at his neck. Sam untenses slightly in your arms, his arms going limp at your sides. “He's been fidgety lately. Restless.”

“He usually is.” his feeble attempt at a joke. Though the rasp in his voice only makes it sound resigned. You purse your lips, eyes tracking back to the cedar wood of your bedroom door on the other side of the room—and the sleeping child behind it.

You stroke Sam's hair, thinking. “More so than usual.”

(You know why. He knows too. Kent wasn’t the same when he returned from the war. He was vulnerable, not the fragile type but vulnerable in the way a ignited bomb threatened an explosion.

Vincent wasn’t either—grown much more from that thumb suckling toddler when he left.

“My dad is coming home soon,” Sam confides in you on that day on that day on the beach. Him standing a few feet away from the shore line, and you; next to him.

“This isn’t how I wanted him to grow up,” his voice cracks with vulnerability. “I—I want him to have a better childhood than I did.”

“He will, Sam. He will.” I know you’ll make sure of it.

His eyes are red-rimmed and raw when he looks at you. All you wanted was to wipe that anguished expression off his face.)

He is silent. All is silent. Tranquility is like a honey thick syrup poured over your chest, smeared all over the expanse of your body. The soft sounds of your synchronized breathing is the only sound you can bear to hear. It makes your eyes droop, the lethargic feeling dulling your senses.

Your hand reaches for his, intertwining your palm with his long-fingered one. You relish in the familiar feeling of his calloused fingertips, earned from afternoons spent with his guitar. His skin is warm, warmer than yours. You give his hand a tentative squeeze, he squeezes back.

“Mom told me to say hi to you both for her,” he tells you, his breathing slow and deep. “She misses him, and you. She’s coming to visit as soon as she can.”

“Vince misses her too,” you sigh, craning your head forward to peek at the top of his head. “It's affecting him, I can tell. Penny's getting worried. She tells me he hasn’t been himself at school.”

All that Sam can manage is a deep intake of breath, then a softer resigned exhale. There isn’t much nor enough for him to say. Your free hand goes to smooth down his back. The muscles there are tough—bunched up and tense.

He shifts between your thighs, baring down heavier on your pelvis. Even as tired as he is, Sam is restless. Always has been, whether it be on his skateboard or with his guitar. You ignore the growing ache in your lower back—it is not your moment, but his. The warmth of his weight on top of you overpower any discomfort you have.

Twirling the stray curl at his neck, you finally ask. Fingers featherlight against his shoulder.  “How… is he?”

Sam stiffens above you, the lean line of his body rigid. He’s clearly distressed with talking about his father. You suck a breath through your teeth, knocking your leg gently against his, giving your silent push for him to continue.

“I can't even lie,” he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away. “It isn't good, Doc Harvey says dad’s got PTSD from the war. It's triggered by loud sounds. Remember the time he woke up because of the fire alarm?”

You nod, curling your fingers around his. You try to provide him any semblance of comfort—to reassure him. You love him, always. 

It's painful to see, to watch what he’s going through only by the sidelines. 

Sam looks up at you from your chest, eyes blurry with exhaustion. His jaw tensing ever so slightly, you see the patchy blonde stubble starting at the jut of his jaw. The wrinkle in his brow growing more prominent at the mention of his father. It's a fresh type of wound, raw and open. You dance around the topic, like poking a sleeping lion that threatens to attack at any given moment.

“We’ve transferred him to stay in my old room. He’s been holed up there most of the time. The nightmares are keeping mom up. He wakes up screaming most nights." Sam rasps, squeezing your fingers. He speaks lowly against the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the heat of his body bleeding through it and into you. 

His voice dissolves into a pained crack when he speaks. “It sucks.”

“It will get better, we can get through it,” you sit up slightly, elbows bent behind you. Sam's been out the whole day. You assume he must be starving and tired. “Do you need anything?”

Sam doesn’t let you up, though. He tugs you back down under him with the gentle pull of his arm. You still in his arms, looking down at him.

“No,” he pleads. “just… stay with me, okay? Let's stay like this, please.”

You swallow, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

You wish you could ease his worries. You wish you could tell him that it’ll be alright and he would believe it.

You love him, more than life itself. Like you are a planet that orbits around him, the sun. You show him so everyday—and will continue to do so with everyday that will come. 

You just wish he’d be more selfish with you.

If he falls, you’ll piece him back together. Glue his bones together with your hands, relying on the familiarity of his being. Anything, you’d do anything.

The matching mermaid pendants resting over his and your collarbone symbolizes that.

“I want to help you, sam. You take all this burden up on your own. please?”

He sits up, back hunched over you. A dim shadow of him filtered over you. You follow him, like you can’t bear to be apart from him. 

“You are, you always have,” Sam softens, gazing at you so reverently you could sob. He looks at you as one gazes at master paintings, like he is in wordless awe of you. 

The room is dark with night. If you strain your ears hard enough, the cooing of the owls filter through the cracks of your windows. The moonlight is scarce, you can barely see the expressions painting his face. Though, you’re sure your expression is as lovesick as his. Practical hearts in your eyes as you stare.

“Looking after Vince is more than I could ever ask for, honey.” he whispers, pinching the hem of your sleep shirt between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“No Sam,” you murmur, taking his face into your hands. your hands frame his face, warming the cool skin of his cheeks. Desperation fills every movement in a plea for him to understand. “I meant you.”

You inhale, relishing the smell of sweat, mint and rubbing alcohol on his skin. The scent smells so comforting, and so familiar. 

You hope he finds that same solace in you as you do with him.

“I want to take care of you,” you say more firmly, stroking him on the skin of his brow bone. “Won’t you let me?”

He stares at you, enveloping your hands with warmer ones. You sigh contentedly at the feeling. They sear into your skin, warming you with the righteous heat of his devotion. 

To you, he is the sun and you have the sun right in the palm of your hands. You know he won’t ever burn you, nor leave your skin red and raw from his intensity. His rays are gentle, a featherlight whisper of a kiss on the expanse of your body.

But the sun never stops shining. It is steadfast in its duty to provide. You worry, will he explode in a grand supernova or crumple into a black hole? 

Either way, you will never allow it. You’d rather douse the sun in the water of the ocean to hold him in your arms. Maybe then, he can finally rest soundly. 

You feel his thumb rub back and forth on the back of your palm, silent and considering. The brush of it melting you against him like a contented cat. A smile graces your lips, you can wait.

Though you do not need to. Sam turns his head and kisses your wrist. His nose bumping into the crease of your thumb. You feel honeyed warmth drip down your heart, collecting in the cavern of your chest.

That's all the confirmation you need.

(There are some days his words fail him. The days his mind is bursting with ideas, so much so it’s difficult for him to convey a singular thought.

That's alright. Perfect, even. Sam has always been better at expressing himself through actions.)

“I love you,” you kiss his forehead, then over each of his eyelids. You want to kiss every inch of his skin until there is nothing left to cover. “so, so much.”

You press your lips to the corner of his. Opting to speak your promise against his skin, to tattoo your undying love into the smooth expanse of it. 

Sam tilts his head, causing his lips to brush completely against yours. He presses them firmer against yours, the taste of spearmint gum heavy on his tongue. You lick the seam of his lips—let me in, let me in. 

“I love you too. more than you know,” he gasps, tearing his lips away. His breath puffing warmly against the skin of your cheek. He declares it as if he’s running out of breath, and it is his final words. A willing sailor drowning in the deep ocean that is you. “More than anything, more than life itself.”

You press your forehead against his. Your eyes meet the depthless green of his. The twinkle is there; flickering and faint but present.

Love is what brought him to you. It’s what keeps bringing him home to you every night. You want to be his refuge, his comfort, his partner for life. 

Your eyes shut, eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Share the burden with me, Sammy. I can take it.”

At the end of the day, he is all you want. All that you need. If it takes him time, you won’t mind. even if it takes centuries.

Sam captures your lips again. Murmuring his agreement greedily against you. You love him, you love him and he loves you. 

You are the one he comes back to, his spouse. The greatest love of his life. Home isn’t the farmhouse you’ve built a life in—

It’s you, always has been you.

cliff talk | sebastian x reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: sebastian brings you on a ride.

tags: emotional hurt/comfort, slight angst, dialogue heavy, sebastian and reader have a heart to heart

a/n: i never thought i'd be writing for the emo boy but here i am. hope you guys liked this as much as i liked writing this! :D

Like the green rain phenomenon or the cute little junimo creatures that live in the community center, there’s always something new to experience in the valley. As odd as it might be.

Hunched over, tending to your crops—is like living in wait, the calm before the storm, the thrum of anticipation as you await the next exciting thing.

Like today—now.

“Ah, there you are.”

The garden shears in your hands are dropped into the thick down crawl of growing fruit. You look up, squinting your eyes due to the warm beat of dying sunlight.

“Sebastian?” you pause, looking up at him from your spot amongst growing melon vines. Your overalls smeared with dirt and damp with sweat—this is the last state you’d want to be seen in.

“Hey farmer,” The keys dangling from his index finger jingle as he gives you a close-lipped smile. “Wanna go for a ride?”

—

The place Sebastian stops at is quiet.

But not in the way most people think—the valley is never quiet, birds chirping, the breeze singing through tall grass and the rustle of branches swaying slowly. You’re aware of the sounds in the recesses of your mind. 

The view is breath-taking.

The sun set long before you arrived on Sebastian’s cliff side spot. It’s cool and grassy, ticking your ankles as you walk through the field. The air, no longer warm but a cool breeze that you greedily inhale.

You stop right before the edge, there’s a big drop that you'd rather not slip and fall into. Zuzu city lay just under the horizon, a smatter of light in the otherwise now-dark forest. A cluster of flashing lights that remind you of stars—that have fallen and gathered from the night sky.

“Amazing, I know.” Sebastian says, a few steps behind you. He’s leaning against his bike, staring at the same view as you. “Zuzu city is miles from here, but there’s so much light—you can see it even from high up.”

You fold your arms, turning your back at the view—facing him. “Well, it is nicer from afar.”

Sebastian gives you a look, then nods his head to the grassy patch behind him. “Mhm. Let’s sit?”

You settle down together, side by side. You, him, and his motorbike beside him—there’s barely any space between your legs. You feel the warmth of proximity—so close. What you’d give to bridge that gap once and for all.

“Want a drink?” he asks, pulling out a beer bottle from his hoodie pocket—your brow raises, a miracle it didn’t break on the way. “Only got one though.”

You shrug, taking the bottle. It’s warm—warmed by his body heat. “S’okay with me. We’ll just have’ta share.”

He looks at you, eyes momentarily flickering to your lips as you use your teeth to pop the bottle cap off. “I guess we do.”

—

The beer is settling warmly low in your stomach, loosening every tightly wound muscle in your body. You feel weightless, the edges of your mind made fuzzy. 

“I’ve been savin’ up a lot,” he suddenly says, picking absentmindedly at the blades of grass underneath him. “Almost have enough too. Once I do, I’m skipping outta this town on my bike.”

You nod your head. “It is a pretty cool bike.”

“Mhm,” he drawls, patting the side of his motorcycle—almost lovingly. “It’s gonna take me all the way to Zuzu city.”

“Zuzu city,” you repeat slowly, feeling the sound of the words in your mouth. It’s unpleasant, Zuzu city is a place you’d rather leave behind. You look down at the view of it, squinting. “Why go there?”

He pauses, inhaling the cool night air deeply. His fingers itch—like they’re searching for the comforting hold of cigarettes he so enjoys. 

A part of you wishes you didn’t ask. Difficult conversations and cliff sides don’t mesh well together, you think. You don’t dare move a muscle as you wait for him, your eyes drifting back to the glittering light-filled view of Zuzu city.

“It’s suffocating here—everything about the valley,” he replies mirthlessly. “I live in the basement of my mom’s house for fuck’s sake. I know how she looks at me, like she could’ve done so much more to make me less of a shitbag. Maybe she could’ve, I don’t care. It’s way too late now.”

A low whistle escapes past your lips. You swirl the beer bottle loosely in your grip. “I see…”

Sebastian narrows his eyes at you, scoffing. “You’re pretty shit at comforting words, y’know that?”

“Harsh,” you look at him quizzically, shoving the beer bottle into his hands. He accepts it immediately. “What do you want me to say, Seb?” 

“Nothing,” he smirks, downing a generous gulp of beer, the bottle is a little less than half full now. “‘m just teasing. Don’t gimme that look. I didn’t want comfort anyway, I’ve had enough of that. I want you to tell me the stone cold truth.”

“Promise not to get pissed off?”

Sebastian clicks his tongue against his teeth, then smiles. “Depends on what you say.”

“Wow, guess I’ll have to lie.” you joke.

“Hey—”

“Kidding.” You laugh softly at his pinched expression. His eyes narrowed—lacking any real aggression—at you as you poke harmless fun. 

You grin, slowly turning back to the view. “You won’t find yourself there,” you say simply, taking a slow sip of beer, the smoothness of it running smoothly down your throat. “Believe me, I’d know.”

Sebastian turns to face you, irritation spelled out in every feature of his face. 

“Smartass…”

“Hey, you asked for the stone cold truth,” you lift your fingers into air quotations to emphasize your point.

“Tch. Tell me this then. If I can’t find myself there, or here in the valley. Where the hell do I go?” 

You pause, clicking the bottle with your nails idly. He’s irritated obviously. But you think more frustrated and confused than anything.

You sigh, then smile. The valley hasn’t been the kindest to its resident shut-in.

“Mid-life crisis at 24,” you tease gently, poking at his side. Sebastian shoots you a heatless glare. “Don’t worry too much Seb, your hair is gonna turn gray.”

“Ha-ha,” he replies sourly. “You talk as if that isn’t the same reason you moved to the valley.”

“Hey, I gave a generous amount of my life to Joja,” you snort, shifting your feet into a better resting position. “I paid my dues over there before I found some semblance of peace here.”

“I can’t just sit around and wait my whole life.”

“Then don’t,” you reply simply. “God knows I wish I followed my dear old gramps’ footsteps sooner.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Yep. It isn’t. It does get easier though.”

“You say it so easily.”

“Sometimes, it just is.” you reply. “Only sometimes, though.”

For all you remember, your grandfather absolutely adored the valley, though he couldn’t convince you in the height of your angsty teenage phase to do the same. You’re long past that now, life didn’t go as planned and you ended up right where your grandfather said you would be.

Funny, how fate works so mysteriously, so weirdly.

You shake that thought away, turning to Sebastian—who has the same contemplative expression as you.

He’s silent, thinking. His fingers grasping and twirling the drawstrings of his hoodie. “You never told me the story.”

“Well,” you purse your lips, handing him the bottle. He drops the drawstrings to grab it.  A wordless agreement between the two of you to share what remains of the liquid. “You n’ver asked.”

“I wanna hear it,” he says, looking at you at the corner of his glittering obsidian eyes. “please?”

“How polite,” you laugh, he lightly hits you on the back of your head with his palm. “Ouch. No need to be rough w’me, I’ll tell you.”

You clear your throat with an obnoxious ahem. “Once upon a time…”

“—C’mon farmer, stop messing around. I wanna know your story,” he interjects, and it almost sounds like a plea. “No theatrics.”

Your lips flatten into a grim line. He’s being unusually insistent on the topic. But now that you think about it, you haven’t told anyone why you moved into the farm. Not your mother, not your father, and definitely not anyone else in Pelican Town.

Sebastian may be your first, you think to yourself—innuendo unintended.

You hug your arms closer to your chest, the cool draft sliding over your skin—making you shiver. No better way to battle the uncomfortable situation with an even more uncomfortable conversation. You take a deep breath.

“I was a fresh graduate when I started working at Joja—worked my way up from customer service to marketing. Crazy, right?” you chuckle, though it sounds hollow even to you. “All the pretentious proposals I would write and those useless meetings that’d take forever. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t hate my 20 year old self for starting at Joja. 5 years down the fucking drain when I quit. Let me tell you, it’s the best decision I made in my stupid corporate slave life.”

Sebastian says nothing, he hands the bottle back to you, which you take a generous swig of. You grip the bottle tightly around its neck, the warm feeling of alcohol loosening your tongue. 

You exhale deeply through your nose. “I was in my cubicle when I just ‘bout had enough—by the way, I hate that they’re called cubicles, I felt like a number in some executive’s spreadsheets instead of a living breathing person.” all that talking and your throat itches for more of the sweet burn of alcohol—you oblige it with another weighty gulp. “Grandpa left me this letter, told lil’ old me not to open it until I really, really needed to. Now that I think of it, he knew.”

Your voice cracks by the end of it. Your tongue feels way too thick for your mouth. And your eyes blur—there seems to be twice as many stars as usual.

Sebastian stays quiet, reflective even. Though his hands have stilled, and he feels closer than he was earlier. It’s warmer, you think.

If he asks, you’ve decided you’ll blame it on the alcohol.

—

You and Sebastian talk for hours after, the bottle of beer being passed between the both of you too often. You feel a tad tipsy—having drank the lion’s share of beer. Your head lolls onto your arms as you talk about everything then nothing. 

There’s a fair moment of silence that blankets the two of you after—certainly not uncomfortable. You feel Sebastain knows the fact more than anyone. He seems to thrive in the quiet moments.

“I don’t think I’m leaving the valley any time soon, though,” he says softly, breaking the tranquil silence. 

So he’s been thinking. “Why so?”

He shrugs his shoulders, taking the final sip of beer that finishes the bottle. “Something’s makin’ it worth staying a little longer.” His eyes meet yours, albeit for a second—before he refocuses on the cliff side view. 

Ah, you understand.

Suddenly, alcohol isn’t the only thing making you feel so warm. You thank the stars for the dark, for hiding any warm pinkness in your expression. You smile, more to yourself than anything. Taking the bottle from him, brushing your fingers over his perpetually cold ones.

The bottle is lighter than it was at the beginning of the night—your shoulders too, less achy, less stiff. With all that weight off of them, you can afford to be less wound up. 

You tip the bottle over the grass, nothing but a single drop comes out. You watch it fall and drop into the grass. “Good. This something thinks you’ll come to like it even.”

Sebastian tilts his head, a tentative smile playing on his lips. “That’s presumptive.”

You shrug, smirking. “I have a sense for this type of stuff.”

“Really now?”

“Mhm. I don’t just lie for no reason. And my senses are telling me you’ll be alright.”

You hear the silent hitch of his breath, the momental widening of his eyes and the tremble in his jaw. It saddens you slightly, no one has probably reassured him of it before.

God knows you needed some while working at Joja, you’re just returning your dues to the universe—and to him.

He laughs softly, and bitterly. His fingers twitch again—for that darn cigarette. “God, I sure hope so.”

Sebastian will be just fine, you know that. And it’s about time he knew it too.

Sebastian likes frogs. Emphasis on the word likes.

He appreciates them, they do good for the environment. They eat up all the nasty flies that buzz around the mountain lake, too. He doesn’t have to worry about mosquitos snaking on his blood while he smokes. It’s just a plus that he finds them cool and interesting.

Which most people find weird. Sebastian thinks it’s weird that they find it weird. Frogs aren’t going out of their way to bother people.

Yes, he likes them. They’re his favorite animal, certainly.

But favorite is not enough for him to want to smooch a frog.

“Sam, I’m not gonna fucking kiss a frog.”

“C’mon! It’ll be like the movie!” Sam teases, insistently shoving Sebastian to the frog innocently sitting on a park bench. “Who knows, maybe it’ll be your very own froggy princess—”

“Didn’t the girl turn into a frog when she kissed it,” he shoots back, elbowing Sam backwards in the gut. The blond lets out an overdramatic hiss of pain, bent over and clutching his stomach. “Abby, back me up here.”

“I never watched that stuff,” Abigail shrugs, watching with amusement. She makes no move to help at all, comfortably resting against the wide wooden posts of a fence. “Watched a lotta cartoons though. Phineas and Ferb is my jam.”

“Not about the movie,” Sebastian grits exasperatedly. His brows knitting together in frustration “The frog.”

“Mhm, go on,” a cheshire-like grin on her face. “Kiss it, Seb. A big smooch right on its slimy mouth.”

Sam eggs him on, the pain of being elbowed magically disappearing. “Do it! Do it!”

Sebastian presses his lips tightly together. There’s no use resisting once Abby and Sam band together. They’re a force to be reckoned with like this—demanding and overbearing. Sebastian exasperatedly wipes a hand over his face, shooting the poor frog a sorry look.

Sam pushes him one more time, he gives him a stony glare in return. “Fuck—alright! Stop being so damn loud, you’ll scare it away.”

The frog in question croaks slightly, like it senses the trio talking about it. He gives it a wary glance.

As he slowly approaches, Sebastian can hear Abby and Sam’s satisfied sniggering behind him. They roped him into doing another stupidly outrageous thing for the umpteenth time.

He sighs, he really needs better friends.

Mustering up all his courage, he bends down, almost eye level with the frog, resting a hand on the wooden grain bench on where it’s perched upon.

He screws his eyes shut and goes for it.

Sebastian’s lips connect with the frog’s slimy, almost rough skin. So fast and featherlight that it can barely be considered a kiss. Cold against his lips. He pulls back immediately after, wiping any residue off his lips with the back of his hand.

The frog jumps, croaking with,what he assumes is, alarm.

“See?” Abby laughs, ruffling his hair good-naturedly. “No princess in sight. You didn’t turn into a frog either!”

“Man,” Sam snickers, patting him roughly on the back. Sebastian groans with every smack. “It would’ve been cool though, if you turned into a frog. We’d have a frog drummer in our band!”

Sebastian shoves his unruly friends off. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s get going. The frog is probably traumatized.”

“You can check that off your bucket list,” Abby teases, a smirk playing on her lips. “Kiss a frog before I die. We’ll tell the story for generations.”

Sam howls with laughter, Sebastian feels absolutely mortified.

Before the trio could make any move out of the park, a cloud of green smoke curtains the frog, so thick and so unusual. Sebastian unconsciously backs away from it.

“What—woah,” Sam says, more mezmerised than shocked at the green smoke pouring out of the frog Sebastian kissed. “What is that?”

“The fuck if we know, Sam!”

“Boys, boys, shut the fuck up. Look.”

Abigail points at the fog. It grows and grows, stopping and dissipating once the whole bench is covered with the green mist.

The frog is gone—disappeared into thin air. Instead, a not-so-frog shaped person sits. You blink up at Sebastian slowly.

Woah, woah.

He feels his heart accelerating—for all the wrong reasons. An unusual thumping sound that vibrates all throughout his body—his fingertips, his stomach, his toes. Where there should be fear and panic and definitely fear, Sebastian feels exhilaration.

You’re pretty.

It’s also pretty horrifying for him to think—and feel.

You blink slowly—a frog-like trait that cement his suspicions. You’re staring up at him as he stares back down at you, curious meets bewildered. “…”

His eyes are wide, scanning each and every part of your now not frog-like features. Sebastian feels cold sweat dripping down his forehead—a stark temperature difference to the heat in his cheeks. “Oh—oh shit.”

“Uhm… ribbit?”

-

Another thing he blames on Sam and Abby—his horrifying attraction you; the person, not the frog.

He checks that off his metaphorical bucket list, too.

8:05 | SAM

word count: 3.2k

summary: sam’s ten heart event with a twist.

tags: winter, developing relationships, fluff, swearing, cuddling, hiding from his mother in his bed lol

a/n: this spiralled out of my control and into 3k words… enjoy!

it’s cold.

the fleece coat you’ve bundled yourself in cannot protect goosebumps from forming from the biting chill of the valley’s winter nights. your breaths come out in cloudy puffs of air, the heat slowly draining out of every exhale. it’s dark out, poorly spaced lampposts providing the bare minimum amount of light to navigate.

you got sam’s letter earlier, a clumsily written note that was stuffed haphazardly into your farm’s mailbox—the yellow lined paper he used, all crumpled and ripped.

meet me in front of my house! at 8 pm, i’ll be waiting. there’s something i want to tell you.

the ending sentence is somehow even more sloppily written compared to the ones before it. as if he was debating whether or not to add it in, but ultimately decided for it—it’s funny to imagine him hunched over his desk, stressing over what to write to you.

well, you won’t deny feeling excitement over the possibility of whatever sam has to say. if the subtle skip in your step is anything to go by.

you walk through the silent night of the town, it seems like everything’s frozen in place during the colder times of the year—everyone’s safe at home, toasty under their covers and you’d imagine thoroughly enjoying going to bed at 7 pm.

you do too, sometimes. there’s less to do when the ground is too frozen to plant any crop.

there’s a lot more free time out of the farm during the winter. you’ve really started integrating yourself with the townspeople—helping haley find her bracelet, befriending sam’s prickly coworker shane, and even discovering a shadowperson named Krobus in the town sewers. it really is starting to feel like home.

walking, you cut the corner passing by emily and haley’s house—and there he is.

he looks devastatingly handsome all dressed in winter clothing. his regular denim jacket switched out for a dark woolen coat, his pants are unripped and, surprisingly, not smeared with dirt.

though what you like most about his winter attire is his hair. those wild golden locks are laid flat under a woolen beanie—a stark difference from the spiked updo he usually does (though you like that one too). the tips of his hair are slightly curled upwards, revealing that family trait of curly hair.

you creep closer, just watching him wait for you—the way he folds his arms in an attempt to warm up, and the little shuffle he does on his feet. you laugh softly, he must’ve been waiting a while—just like you have for him.

sam turns at the sound of your laugh, his body unconsciously tilting towards you, like a magnet’s uncontrollable attracting to metal. “you made it,” he breathes, his nose, ears and cheeks pinkened by the cold.

you nod, unable to stop a bashful smile from forming on your lips. “i made it.”

a big grin splits his face, mimicking yours. underneath the lone lamplight he looks jaw-droppingly handsome. you feel yourself become warm just in proximity to him.

“i wanted to talk to you in private,” he says. sam’s buzzing with energy, surveying the dark streets before meeting your gaze with his. “it’s kinda cold out here though… i, um—i can sneak you into my room…”

your heart skips a beat, like you’ve skipped a step on a staircase. “what?” you croak.

your eyes catch onto him wringing his fingers, a nervous habit you can’t help but always notice (not because his hands are nice and interesting to look at, not at all).

“you don’t wanna?”

“no!” you inhale, trying to alleviate the twisting sensation in your gut. “i do wanna, ahem, lead the way.”

sam smiles at you, dimples and all. he leads you towards the tiny bedroom window in front of his house. the window is already open—you assume that’s where he jumped out of to meet you.

he climbs through the window with minimal effort, landing on the flooring with a dull thump!

you raise a brow. “have you done this before?”

sam stretches his hand out to you, waiting. his smile turnt sheepish. “i mean, i think we were all rebellious teenagers once.”

you resist the urge to snort—sam’s nervous, you can tell. he doesn’t have his quips and jokes tonight. and he’s shy, but eager. like a puppy, excited and curious about the world.

“o-kay,” you say, one hand in his hand the other set firmly on the windowsill. “make sure i don’t fall please.”

sam nods, eagerly. the curled ends of his hair shake along with the motion as he does.

how endearing.

you tighten your grip on his hand, hauling yourself through the small window, trying your damn best to not make any sudden noise. which is successful for the most part, only a tiny huff of exertion escapes you.

annoying, yes. but the chill of winter burns through any energy you have faster than other seasons.

your feet connect with the wood of his floor, hand still clasped in his and the chill merely at your back. it’s warm inside, with him.

his room is the same as it’s always been when you’d visit before—shelves, band equipment, posters—but the ambiance is different. a little more charged with tension so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

sam does not bother turning on his light, you don’t mind it all that much. but it takes some effort to avoid tumbling over stray objects that clutter his bedroom floor.

“look, I know I’ve been about nothing but the band for a while now…” he starts. “but I don’t want you to think that’s all i’m interested in.”

you chuckle, clasping your fingers behind your back. “it certainly takes up a big chunk of your interests.”

he pouts, literally pouts. it must be the love bug you caught because you think it’s just plain adorable. “i’m really trying over here!”

“sorry!” you grin, “okay, continue.”

“well, um… shoot, this is kinda hard, huh?” he forces an awkward chuckle. “and nerve-wrecking… but what i’m trying to say is…”

“i’m really happy that we’ve grown this close, and well…” sam looks at you, he’s stupidly red—the color spreading all over his face. “i—i’m just wondering, do you think of me as… just a friend?”

your breath stutters, and you feel yourself blushing before you can do anything to stop it. you stare at him as he does with you. the two of you locking eyes for a second, it feels like it’s just you and him in the world.

you feel your shy admittance at the tip of your tongue. no, you’d say, you’re more than that for me, if you want to be.

sam smiles at you, shy but so, so overwhelmingly bright—it’s blinding. your head is running a mile a minute when you finally get the courage—

“sam!” you hear jodi’s groggy voice from outside the door. your stomach drops with dread. “somebody’s at the door! go and check please?”

you lock eyes once again, this time for entirely different reasons, and with entirely different feelings.

“oh my god, sam,” you whisper hurriedly, panic gripping you. “your mom doesn’t know i’m here—what do we do—”

“hold on—” he replies, with the same sense of urgency as you. “okay, okay—i have a plan, just trust me, ‘kay?”

you think you might break out into a cold sweat. you look at him quizzically, “what?”

sam gives you an apologetic smile with that stupid beautiful face of his, he moves forward, grabbing you by your wrists, and moving you with him—towards his bed.

“sam!” you hiss, alarms are blaring in every corner of your mind as sam all but drags you under the toasty covers of his bed. he lifts the blanket and stations you by the edge, covering you in the blanket—which is now a lumpy mess.

this is his childhood bed you’re in, where his mother and brother are just by the door.

and his mother is calling him.

“i’ll get this over with quick,” he says to you, already heading towards the door of his room. “hang on tight, ‘kay?”

you breathe a sound of agreement, way too jittery to formulate any proper response as you quieten under the covers.

though the sheets do feel nice, and smells overwhelmingly of that specific cologne he uses (stolen from joja inventory, he told you once). you will yourself not to relax and melt into the sheets so fast. instead, you listen for each and every sound that may give hint to whatever the hell is happening.

there’s a commotion that you can hear happening, the door swings open, the hinges creaking along with it—this whole surreal experience feels a little like the confrontation part of a horror movie, the helpless victim hiding and the heavy footfalls of the killer.

though in your case, it’s not one set of footsteps, but two.

“what are you two doing here?”

“you’re the one who called us over, remember?” you can recognize the band’s shut-in pianist’s voice from anywhere. “you were all like, stop skipping practice, seb.”

sam’s voice is oddly pitchy when he responds. “…well, tonight’s no good!”

you hear the other person huff, you strain your ears harder to listen. the huffing person clearly fed up with the strange behavior sam’s putting out right now.

“my mom and vincent are asleep,” he adds hurriedly. “they’d wake up—”

you resist the urge to groan, stifling your mouth under a sweaty palm. jodie was just speaking to him minutes ago, there’s no way they’d buy that. he cannot be a more obvious liar.

thankfully they gloss over the fact. “sam, why are you acting so damn weird?” sebastian asks, straightforward as ever.

“yeah,” the other voice adds. feminine but strong. which you now identify as abigail’s, you hear a pinch of impatience in her voice. “and why are you red? did you sit outside in the snow or something—”

sam chokes, which he tries to conceal as an odd sounding cough. abigail pauses mid-sentence. the shift in the atmosphere is palpable. you screw your eyes shut, hearing the rapid rate of your heartbeat. it’s so loud you’re almost convinced the trio can hear the thumping from your hiding spot under the sheets. this is it, they’re going to discover you.

“oh, oh i see,” abigail grins. “on second thought, i wouldn't risk catching all those germs. i’m feeling starved, let’s hit the saloon, seb.”

the aforementioned man grumbles, seemingly puzzled by the sudden switch in abigail’s attitude. “huh… why?” abigail must have whispered something to him—you can barely hear over the muffle of sam’s blanket comforters. “ugh, alright. fine. you owe us one, sam.”

“oh, of course! mhm, yup,” you cringe at the immense awkwardness of sam’s response, feeling the overwhelming urge to pull out your own hair. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? now shoo! wouldn’t wanna get you both sick or somethin’…”

“huh?” sebastian replies, rightfully puzzled as they’re forcefully pushed out of the room. “why would we see you tomorrow if you’re sick—”

“well seb,” abigail says smugly. “let’s just say sammy here is taking care of some important business—”

“okay, bye!” you hear the door click shut. to your utter bewilderment, sam shut the door in their faces.

the room is deathly quiet, the air is stagnant and stuffy. once you feel it safe enough, you crane your neck out of the blankets to check over him. to trace any lingering feeling the sudden visit might’ve given him. sam’s got his back rested against the wood of his door, his back slumped.

“i—i wasn’t expecting that,” you say quietly from your hiding spot on his bed. peeking the top half of your face, watching the door carefully. “kinda nerve-wracking.”

and embarrassing.

“i know—i’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “i didn’t expect them coming over.”

“sebastian said you invited them for practice, though.” you point out.

“maybe i did,” he admits, creeping closer to you on the bed, even if he’s guilty and embarrassed. “i totally forgot—i mean, i was really nervous! my mind blanks when i get nervous…”

sam stops right by the side of the bed, as if he’s waiting for your permission to get in with you—in his own bed. and to be perfectly honest, you really want him to.

“kinda ruined the atmosphere too,” he looks away from you, eyes downcast and melancholy. “i had this whole thing planned too, and i, just… ugh…”

your eyes soften. “sam, it’s really fine. okay, maybe a little shocking but you know it’s not enough to scare me away.”

he looks down at you, worried. his eyebrows are ever so slightly pinched—you wish you could run your fingers over it, and smooth it out yourself.

“plus,” you murmur, reaching over the small amount of space between the two of you to clasp his wrist. “i’m not just gonna leave… just tell me what you were going to say—before the… interruption.”

that gives you the final push to gather your courage to tug him into bed with you. sam follows, flopping onto the empty bedding next to you without a fight. for a moment, it’s just the two of you, side by side, slowly huddling closer and closer for warmth.

and sam is warm. he’s practically radiating comfy heat you wish to burrow into—or wrap yourself around. the perfect bed-partner for winter nights like these.

you find yourself becoming addicted to the feeling.

sam angles his body towards you. you on your back and him on his side, it feels intimate and special. and for some reason, it feels familiar—like you’ve always belonged by his side.

“i think you know already,” he tells you, his eyes are not clear in the dim light but you know, there are practically hearts in them. “that i like you.”

you giggle softly. “and i think you know the same about me.”

sam tentatively grasps your hand, the freezing fingertips thawing under his careful touch. the caress of his hand on yours sends tingling electricity down your spine, your whole body feels alert—alive.

he speaks again, but this time his tone is a whisper of what it usually is. “stay awhile?”

“yeah,” you swallow, squeezing his hand in your grip. a small smile on your lips. “yes, i want to.”

“good,” he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the edges so softly and the dimples on his cheeks deepen. there really is no one else who can compare for you. “hey, you’re really cold… let me warm you up?”

you turn to your side, facing him. at this angle, your faces are mere inches apart. you can trace every dip, line and curve of his face, and he yours. your hand tingles with the overwhelming urge to reach for him and squeeze.

“it is cold,” you agree. “i’d very much like that.”

“phew,” he softly sighs. sam drags his fingers up your arm, stopping at your elbow. wherever he touches, a whisper of him lingers on your skin—a bone deep imprint you yearn for him to spread all across your skin.

you roll into him with little to no effort at all. sam drags you to his chest, your ear perched right above his heart, you can hear the steady thump! of his heartbeat from underneath. sam winds his arms around you, intensifying the heat you feel by tenfold—it’s not uncomfortable at all, though. you like it.

your bodies fit perfectly together, just like puzzle pieces. a mess of limbs tangling together. the warmth of him making you shudder in honey-like delight. it feels syrupy and soft and warm wrapped in his arms.

his hand at your back travels downwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake you feel even through the thickness of the fabric separating the skin of your back and his fingertips. his hands feel rough and calloused at the small of your back—from playing guitar and his skateboarding incidents—but you enjoy the feeling.

you trail your fingers under the thick fabric of his jacket and shirt, feeling the smooth skin underneath—the action has no deeper meaning than you wanting to feel.

sam’s uncharacteristically quiet. his breaths are slow and long, like he’s on the verge of sleep. yet his arms are wound tight around you—like he never wants to let go of you. your nerves make you feel like a slow simmering soup. warm and slowly cooking over the fire.

you two stay entangled for a while, in comfortable silence. sometime during the night you’ve matched your breathing to his, and he pulled you somehow even closer to his body.

but, a thump comes from his window, a light tapping sound. soft but persistent. the two of you opt to ignore it, in favor of snuggling closer to each other. yet the taps continue, and become louder and faster.

disrupted by the noise, sam mournfully throws the covers from over him to check, untangling himself from your grip. leaving a very him-shaped indent on the bed left in his wake. you groan, sticking your bottom lip out, you miss the warmth of him already.

“oh shit.”

the expletive makes you sit up in his bed, the comforter draping off your middle. you can make out the shape of him even with the dimness of the light—sam’s back is towards you, and if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks like he’s shrinking into himself a tiny bit.

“what is it?” you whisper-shout to him.

he slowly turns to you, wide eyed, his shoulders stiff. sort of resembling a kicked-dog. sam bows down his head—with what you think is shame, for what reason, you can’t tell. rubbing your eyes of sleep, you furrow your brow, craning your neck to look out the window behind him.

abigail and sebastian are there, waving wildly at you. your eyes widen. abigail and sebastian are waving at you with smug smiles plastered on their faces.

your stomach drops for the umpteenth time that night. you honestly feel too horrified to speak.

you bury yourself under the sheets, a feeble attempt to conceal your mortification. so that’s why abigail was playing along with sam’s urgent ramblings—she knew (not that sam was any good at keeping a cool facade, he is totally incapable of lying smoothly). you groan, you feel like a rebellious teenager again, only the part where you get caught and utterly humiliated.

outside, you can hear the loud roaring laughter of the duo through the glass, alongside the awkward, embarrassed chatter of your newly-minted boyfriend. (not technically official, but the title succeeds to relieve your horror by the tiniest bit)

still, you stay put. through the mortification and embarrassment you still stick yourself to sam’s side, or more literally, on his bed—because you know, there’s no other place you’d rather be.

you spare another glance out of the covers at the trio—to your surprise, sam’s beat you to it. looking at you with heart eyes and the most lovesick expression (you’re pretty sure yours looks the same).

you know there’s going to be a lot more explaining to do in the morning. but it doesn’t matter to you, not right now when you’re in sam’s bed on the verge of sleep.

not when you feel so warm.

a/n: shoutout to the ass trio for making an appearance in the fic! i love you abby and seb.

salmonberry season

Spring is winding to its end in Remoria Farm—Ambrose likes the tartness of salmonberries, and Milene likes him.

original characters, Milene & Ambrose (!!!) ; farmer/farmhand

Ambrose thrives in the valley.

Milene knows because she watches, always watches him. She knows that he hums to the beat of cheesy love songs while watering parsnip seedlings. That he likes to lie in the chicken coop and cuddle the hens in his arms when he thinks she isn’t looking. The townspeople that laugh brightly when talking to him—they like him, it’s obvious by the way his arms are never empty from a trip to the town, there’s always another pot of soup or a jar of pasta sauce.

Most of all, though he can’t recognize it himself, Milene sees the bright spark in his eyes.

She remembers what they looked like before they moved to the valley, dull and unfocused and so far away. His office job in Joja made him slowly waste away. Now, the green in his eyes shine whenever he wrangles a particularly fussy fish, or when the two of them stand side by side in the kitchen, following televised recipes that leave the house smelling deliciously of caramelized onion and garlic.

Even now, when they sit under a thick branched tree away from the hot midday sun, Ambrose keeps the twinkle in his gaze. Sticking side by side, they share a handful of spring salmonberries—handpicked by Ambrose himself. The berry is sweet and tart, sticky and viscous all over her fingers and lips. She wipes the red stained juice smeared on her fingertips off on the hem of her shorts.

Absentmindedly, Milene reaches to pluck another pea-sized berry from him, but he twists his body away, hiding the salmonberries with a faux frown. She stretches her arm farther, reaching for the berries, resting her other palm on the grassy bed below. She shoots him a puzzled look.

“You had your share,” he says. Milene raises a brow. “The rest are mine.”

Huffing, Milene reaches again, her arm bumping his shoulder. Ambrose, this time, fully turns his back to her and protectively cradling berries to his chest, making the reach unsuccessful. She scoffs at his childishness and pokes him in the side.

“Selfish.”

Ambrose wiggles his eyebrows, aiming a smug smirk at her. “And you’re a leech,” he replies just as fast. “If you joined me in picking berries we’d have more, but you didn’t. You get what you get.”

“Excuse me,” she forcibly rests her weight against his back. Ambrose breathes on a wheeze as she leans over him. “I’d assume you’d be able to do something as simple as that on your own.”

Milene can hear the smile in his voice. “Picking berries is not simple.”

“Putting up with a brat like you isn’t simple either,” she replies dryly, pinching at his ear. “What did I do to deserve this? You’re breaking my heart here, I’ll have to go back to my dingy apartment in Zuzu city to save some face.”

Ambrose stiffens, his back ram-rod straight, his lips pressed into a line when he looks back at her. Milene sits back, the sudden change in atmosphere making her heart rate spike—did she say something wrong?

Milene rests a steadying hand on her chest. Damn this man for making her emotions run all over the place.

His hand flexes and rubs absentmindedly at the denim of his overalls. A nervous tell of his, for what reason he is buzzing with nerves she can’t tell.

“—Ambrose,” she can hear the high pitchy quality in her voice, she cringes inwardly. “You eat a rotten berry or something? What’s up?”

Small steady streams of light filtered through the branches shine on them, Ambrose turns his head back and looks her directly in the eyes.

“Don’t say that,” he says under his breath, Ambrose speaks it like a secret along with a long suffering sigh. Like he’s been hiding the sentiment for a while. “Don’t say that you’ll leave.”

Oh.

Immediately, Milene feels the giddy swing of her stomach, the knotting and unknotting of her gut as giggles slip past her berry-stained lips. Ambrose fixes her with a weak glare, more of a pout if anything.

His posture is significantly more relaxed when he goes to chastise her. “Dude, not funny—”

Milene takes the opportunity to pluck a salmonberry from his hand while his attention is taken away. “Very funny. Hilarious even.”

His frown deepens as she pops the berry in her mouth, but she knows better. The twinkle in his eyes are bright, overwhelmingly so. The sight makes her heart swell and threaten to burst out of her chest. It’s honestly kinda terrifying.

“There’s nothing for me in the city,” she murmurs, pressing her thumb and pointer together, they stick together with berry juice. “I won’t leave, ever.”

Ambrose snorts, bringing two berries into his mouth, his lips stained red along with it. “What if there’s a drought and we lose all our money?”

“Hell no,” Milene entertains his inane imagination. “You wouldn’t survive without me. You’d die of loneliness, or starvation.”

“Gee Milene, you really know how to cheer a guy up.” he deadpans.

“Not trying to cheer you up,” she smirks. “It’s just the plain simple truth.”

He narrows his eyes. “Okay, but what if—”

“No,” she interrupts, waving her hand. Milene tucks her feet closer underneath her, staving off the brunt of the summer heat.

She rests her hand by his side, studying his face intently. The curve of his nose, the slope of his cheeks and the cut of his cheekbones, his eyes—his eyes that glitter and shine like emeralds.

Milene thinks that she can stare into them forever.

“Besides,” she shrugs, “I like to watch you. You’re happy, I’m happy too.”