ssaeri

[ssaeri]

mine, too. I miss him lots. thanks for reading!!

for your eyes only

☆ tags: elliott x gn!reader, elliott and farmer are married, he writes love poems for his spouse and is told to monetize them, oh boy is he not happy about that ☆

You pat your pig's backside encouragingly and coo as it digs its snout into the ground, unearthing yet another truffle that you add to your basket. Can't believe you were worried about this one being the runt of its litter—it's quickly proving to be one of the fastest learners, taking to truffle hunting like a duck to water. It'll do just fine with the rest of the adult pigs.

Taking care of the farm by yourself has always been a gargantuan task, but as the years go by, everything grows bigger—the coops, the barns, the ponds, the crops, the expectations—and exhaustion wears you down to the bone. You sigh and push to your feet, ready to head into the nearest coop to collect more eggs. Collect animal products, drop them into churning machines, harvest and sell. It feels like the cycle never ends. Against your neck, the small mermaid's pendant slides on its chain, another reminder of your absent husband. An extra pair of helping hands made the daily work light; you wonder if it's selfish to ask him to stay home more often.

"I know, I know," you say to your angry chickens once you open the door. You miss your husband, but these girls like to remind you that they miss him more. "He'll be home soon. Bear with me, okay?"

After giving each of them pats on the head, a motion they accept with reluctance, you dig around the hay for eggs. The large chicken and dinosaur eggs are easy to spot, but for the delicate duck eggs, you prod every corner with your fingers until you come across something warm and smooth. You push away your hens as they peck at your hands. The ducks are fine with you. The chickens, however...how in the world did Elliott win them over?

Outside, your dog barks. A single warning to the intruder before the tone shifts into excitement. Someone familiar, then. Maybe Marnie is stopping by to give you some hay like she mentioned last night. With winter approaching, any addition to your reserves is appreciated, and you're already wiping your hands on your overalls to greet her.

"Hey, Marnie! I'm just in here—"

You stop in your tracks when the visitor raises his head, though he's not exactly a visitor. Elliott smiles as you draw close, ignoring the horde of chickens now lining the fence for his attention. Their wings flap, clucking loudly as they hit each other.

"Good morning, my love," he says over the noise, as if it really is the start to a normal day. His thumb reaches out to rub at a dirt smudge on your cheek. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Just some leftovers and coffee," you reply, dazed. Your husband tends to have that effect, and after two weeks apart, you feel it more than ever. You lean into his touch, comforting against your wind-blown skin. "I thought you were coming home tomorrow?"

"I decided to come back early. The office didn't need me today, anyway."

"You should've messaged me! I would've picked you up at the train station," you say. Behind him sits his traveling suitcase, the wheels speckled with mud from being dragged through the road. He steps in front of it. "Why don't you go get unpacked? I'll be done soon."

He leans his elbows onto the fence, tilting his head until his fiery hair spills over one shoulder. "You're rather quick to dismiss my presence. If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're unhappy to see me," he says, though his words hold no accusation. It's merely a way to boost his ego when you reassure him. After all, you practically radiate by his side. "Would you like me to help?"

You glance at the dress shoes, the slacks, the spotless cardigan that he's already shrugging off to reveal a clean pressed button-down. Not exactly farm-friendly attire. "No, I'll be alright by myself."

"I could go change really quickly," he offers in a suspicious rush.

You search his expression then, and underneath the joy of being back, there's...something. You squint, unable to make it out. Sure, he must've missed you, but this feels like it runs deeper than that. When you give him a nod, he hurries towards the house, your dog chasing and barking at his heels. True to his word, he's back in minutes.

The chickens are much more cooperative now, and you roll your eyes at how they parade around your husband. They even hop around the coop, showing him where they've hidden their eggs from your intrusive searching.

"Thank you, dearies," he says to the hens. You swear they swoon.

"A real heart breaker," you deadpan. "Have you told them you're married?"

He chuckles, taking your hand as you move into the barns next door. While you lay out new hay on the feeding bench, he unhooks the stools and milk pails and sets them on either side of the door. It's hard to believe that just a few months ago he barely knew how to approach your animals, let alone help you with the chores.

He whistles lowly, and the first cow trudges to his station, ready to be milked. You get settled at your own station. One of the newer goats skids to the front of the line, eager to be let outside. It's not quiet in the barn—it never is, not with twelve grown animals waiting for their turn—but when you call Elliott's name, he looks at you. His ponytail needs to be retied.

"So why'd you come home early?" The young adult goats don't have much milk, just enough for a small container. You pat its hind leg, and it runs into the crisp autumn air with an excited bleat.

"I missed the atmosphere of our farm. The fresh air of the valley is good for my creative soul, unlike the bustle of Zuzu City."

You only raise your eyebrows, and he sighs from your all-knowing gaze.

"You read me a little too well, my love."

"I sure hope so, after all this time together. Did something happen at the office?"

Since the release of his last collection of short stories, he's been invited to the city more often for author-related events. This latest stint, running a series of writing workshops in partnership with Zuzu University and the local community, was organized by his agent in hopes of bigger opportunities. Maybe even a guest lecturer contract, they've said on more than one occasion, though Elliott refuses to be apart from you for too long.

Elliott gives another sigh. "Something like that. I just...it was admittedly negligence on my part. I was in the middle of writing you another letter when someone required my presence down the hall. I thought that it'd be a quick matter, so I didn't clear my desk. But apparently one of the secretaries came looking for me while I was out."

"Did they read...?" You wrinkle your nose, knowing how private Elliott is about his unpolished work. He's even more private about what he writes for your eyes only. "I'm sure they were embarrassed."

"That's what bothers me the most! She had the audacity to bring it up in front of everyone when we had a meeting, even quoted a few lines—"

The cow groans as he moves particularly rough. He gives it an apologetic scratch under the chin.

"So for the past two days, everyone has been trying to talk me into releasing a collection of love poems, which I would have no issues with if it didn't stem from such a personal...I mean, the poems were addressed to my muse, and when I explained that it was you, they said that was even better. Something about how the romance will really sell." He frowns. "I like being able to support myself—contribute to our funds, you know—with my writing, but it's not...a commodity. I'm allowed to make art for the sake of making art."

His forehead is furrowed, and you would reach out to ease the frustration if your hands weren't busy.

"What's your plan now?"

He scoffs. "There's no plan regarding that. I completely refuse. It's quite insulting, in fact, the idea that I'd put my love on display for a paycheck."

It's relieving, you have to admit. Even after getting a taste of success, your husband remains the same person you said your vows to. The same romantic who holds you in such high esteem. There's so many emotions—namely affection—swirling in your chest, but you're not the writer so all you manage is a simple Okay.

"Okay," you say again for good measure, but he must understand you because his expression smooths. "So what do you want for lunch?"

#saeri gets feedback;

[ssaeri]

your god won't hear you

☆ tags: m!sydney x gn!reader, just a little fallen!sydney, slightly corrupted!sydney, he’s still strawberry blond because I don't want to dye his hair, it's that temple scene where he gets protective of you, I cut out the good night scene because I got lazy, SFW, but the game itself is 18+ so might be suggestive due to the nature of the game, ft. f!jordan, ft. m!sirris ☆

The temple is quiet at night.

During the day, there is always movement: supplies to be transported, shrubs to be cleared, sheets to be washed. But once the sun slips in the sky, a sigh of silence settles over the space, and one by one, robed figures roam along the perimeter, leaving flickering candles in their wake. Sometimes, you sought solace in the embrace of the holy, letting the murmured prayers wash over your frayed nerves like a soothing balm; other times, you skirted around the edges of the temple, the weight of sin heavy on your skin.

Today is an instance of the former. You get to the corner of Wolf Street when the warning bells start tolling, signaling ten minutes before the start of the evening service, and you watch as temple members rush to complete their chores. For once, you're not among them. One lithe initiate pulls sun-dried habits from the laundry line, rolls them into a pile, and stuffs them into her basket in a rush. The head nun of housekeeping is not going to appreciate the unnecessary wrinkles; you've earned her ire enough times to know that ironing out every individual crease is another form of earthly torture. Meanwhile a tall monk hefts bags of hedge trimmings over his shoulder to deposit by the roadside, and when he sees you, he waves with a shy smile.

Cute.

You wink back. You don't know his name.

A line of initiates not much younger than you push open the wooden temple doors with a loud creak, and you cut across the street to trail in behind them, smoothing down the tattered remains of your overalls and hoping that you’re decent enough to not draw stares. A chant has already started. Half of the candles are lit. You're afraid to make a sound.

Like you said, the temple is quiet at night.

Your eyes strain to scan the pews until they land on a familiar figure in a corner of the main hall, knelt in prayer, head bowed over clasped hands. Strawberry blond hair—colored burnt umber in the low light—spills over one shoulder.

Bingo.

The monk to your right greets the entrance with a murmured Welcome to the temple, his eyes closed, his steepled fingers pressed to his lips. You side-step him. You also tiptoe around the sleeping drunkard in the back pew who clutches an empty bottle to her chest, the rumbling exhales smelling of liquor.

Your boyfriend doesn't greet you when you settle down near him—a respectable distance of two and a half feet minimum—but he’s fighting back a smile and you wait patiently for him to finish reciting his lines. As Sydney mouths the last few words, his eyes flutter open and crease at the sight of you. You loved his glasses, but you must admit that he looks better like this, adoration for you unfiltered.

“Good evening, my love,” he whispers, reaching across the space to brush the back of your hand. You catch it in his retreat and intertwine your fingers. “What are you doing here?”

“Praying,” you say simply, though you are clearly not.

Still, he hums in accord, squeezes your hand, and resumes his previous posture. At the altar, Jordan finishes setting up the religious artifacts and does a sweeping glance of the space. You wonder what she sees. Monks on the side processing with a sweet-smelling thurible. Initiates carrying the remaining piles of scrolls to the back rooms. Nuns walking around with a donation basket. Temple-goers lining the wall to confess their sins and seek grace. Jordan’s gaze eventually lands on you, and you swear you see an infinitesimal nod of approval before she descends to her usual place in the first pew, pearl-white and spun-silver robes setting her apart from the rest.

Jordan leads the congregation into the next set of prayers by chiming a golden bell that echoes eerily in the space. The temple isn't empty, but the vaulted ceiling, extending into darkness, morphs the sound into something resembling the pained groan of spirits. You kneel, too, feeling wood against bare skin, the holes in your overalls fresh from a forest adventure. You wouldn't call yourself a believer, but you'll take all the help you can get in this town.

You pray for salvation. For the orphanage. For the math project that you still haven’t finished. Sydney’s expression is concentrated now, troubled by the thoughts that plague his mind, but you can’t spend too much time dwelling on it because your own thoughts drift to hopes for the future and how things could be better. The next hour passes quickly behind closed eyes, and with every exhale, you feel your burden lighten.

The calm is interrupted by a nasal:

“A token of appreciation from the faithful, hm?”

The voice comes from a stout nun who stops in front of you, holding out a donation basket and barely missing your elbow. While her smile is neutral, she scans your outfit with thinly veiled contempt, and it's in that judgmental expression that you realize why she's so familiar—it's the one who always has a bone to pick with you and your faith. She swears that you're a fraud (you are) and that you treat the temple like a playground (you do) and that you’ve been tempting temple members in the chambers (you have)—but honestly, that is beside the point. As a woman of the veil, couldn’t one expect more grace from her?

Sydney reaches in front of you to drop in a crumpled £10, which the nun accepts with a sniff of her upturned nose. Tacking on your best customer service smile, you make a big show of rummaging for your wallet and pulling out the crispest £100 you have, courtesy of your last customer at the massage salon.

“Of course, Sister. Anything to support the temple,” you say with conviction you do not feel. “Perhaps this can help buy new curtains for the west wing.”

At your emphasis, the nun flushes down to her neck and stalks away without another word, coins rattling in her basket. You swear she's muttering something about you under her breath, but it doesn't matter; you've clearly won. There’s a beat of silence before Sydney leans over, shoulders shaking.

“Did you know the curtains were burned down last week because she knocked over a candle in her sleep?”

“Why do you think I said it?”

A suppressed laugh that makes his eyes twinkle.

“Oh, you are bad,” he says, and his mirth makes your skin tingle pleasantly.

“Thanks, I try.”

The golden bell rings again, and as one, the congregation sits back onto the pews to shift into the next prayer. It’s one that you kind of know. The language is foreign, some ancient tongue that you never learned, but the cadence is almost melodic, so you mumble along and hope that it’s enough. Their god is a forgiving god, right? Surely your intentions will win over your execution.

.

.

Another hour or two passes in this way. At some point, during another break, Sydney turns to you and asks what you're praying for. For peace, you reply vaguely. Honestly, as it grows later, you've just been trying not to nod off, the lingering effects of treasure hunting in the lake wearing down your muscles. Your watch reads almost midnight, and soon Sirris will emerge from a hidden corner, offering you a ride home before he returns to the Danube mansions with his son. You're banking on it; walking home at this hour would probably invite some unwanted encounters.

Suddenly, there’s a new warmth at your side. A slender man, dressed in a monk’s habit, leans in close and sneers as his chest brushes against your shoulder. A light but intentional caresss. You tense, biting back a yelp of surprise. He takes that—your silence, your stillness, your deer in headlights look—as a sign to continue, resting a hand on your exposed thigh. The tattered overalls. The bastard leans closer still.

“Don’t cause a fuss,” he murmurs, his sickly sweet tone edged with the promise of threat, “or I’ll say you attacked me. Who will they believe?”

Certainly not you. You've been carefully balancing your notoriety; photography sessions with Niki are now monthly instead of weekly, chef shifts at the local café are limited, no more cabaret shows on Friday nights—you’ve even started wearing conservative clothing to keep a low profile. But none of it feels like it’s enough, especially when you still get recognized on the street for your nightclub shifts and the growing list of crimes that have you in hot waters with the police.

This guy? He has a golden pendant around his neck, the center inlaid with a blue gemstone. You're not familiar with the colored rankings, other than the fact that Jordan’s pure diamonds denote her as the head of this temple, but just having a gemstone places him higher than your initiate level, marked by the plain gold cross pendant that dangles on a simple chain.

Before you can say anything, though, Sydney lifts the hand off your thigh, holding it in a crushing grip. A smile is frozen on his face. Despite not being directed at you, the barely masked fury and crazed eyes send a chill down your spine.

“Belief won’t matter because I’ll attack you for real,” he says lowly. Slowly. Letting the words sink in like stones in water.

And unlike yours, Sydney’s reputation does hold weight in the temple. There’s rumors of him being Jordan’s successor decades down the line, but even without the help of those rumors, you know that Sydney is ready to send this man to hell and back for daring to touch you, much less threaten you. Sydney’s grip is steady; the man’s fingers tremble and redden, seconds away from snapping. Sydney’s hand has been around your neck before, but it was always gentle, never more than a loving pressure. Now you lightly brush your sternum, wondering what it would be like to have this energy turned on you.

The man’s life must flash before his eyes because suddenly he has the strength to rip his hand away and scurry to the back of the temple, the worn monk habit swishing at his ankles. Smart move. You don't know who he is, and honestly, you can barely recall his face, but you doubt that he'll be bothering you for a long time.

“Fucking heathens,” Sydney spits at the retreat.

He waits until the man’s figure completely disappears into the shadows. Sydney isn’t much of a fighter, but from the straight line of his shoulders, you don’t doubt that it’d change in a heartbeat.

Then his attention is on you, and his anger crumbles. “Are you alright, love?”

He cups your face in his palms, and you lean into the touch.

“I’m okay,” you say, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

If this happened a year ago, you would’ve been shaking in your boots, bewildered at the audacity of the stranger, but ever since Bailey insisted on weekly payments, you’ve…seen the world. For better and for worse.

Right on time, Sirris strolls over, blissfully unaware. He swings his car keys from a finger. “Ready to go, kids?”

#degrees of lewdity x reader #dol x reader #dol sydney x reader #degrees of lewdity scenarios #dol scenarios #dol sydney scenarios #saeri writes;

[ssaeri]

it looks like this 1.6 update has brought many people to my page. hello! i hope to play the game again / write more soon! just very busy :(

big thank you to the stardew valley fandom for loving those alex and elliott fics—those reblogs are really making them go around

#saeri rambles;

[ssaeri]

big thank you to the stardew valley fandom for loving those alex and elliott fics—those reblogs are really making them go around

#saeri rambles;

[ssaeri]

fic incoming 😎

#not now but...soon #i swear i swear #saeri rambles;

[ssaeri]

hello !! just wanted to say i really REALLY enjoy your writing, especially the pieces about stardew valley characters, and most especially about Elliott, because he’s my favorite lol. you have such incredible skill and do an amazing job working with building around characters and their world !! i think you write Elliott’s character beautifully and would be so excited to read more if you ever decide to write about the silly writer that lives on the beachside of Pelican Town again 💖💕

you are so incredibly sweet!! elliott is my favorite, too :) i hope to be writing again when work slows down—maybe during the summer? i missed him recently, so i loaded up my save file just to see him for a minute haha your support means a lot!!

#sometimes I stare at the family portrait I drew for him and my farmer... #MY SWEET SWEET MAN... #saeri answers; #anonymous;

[ssaeri]

this little cat picture made my day. you're so kind

for your eyes only

☆ tags: elliott x gn!reader, elliott and farmer are married, he writes love poems for his spouse and is told to monetize them, oh boy is he not happy about that ☆

You pat your pig's backside encouragingly and coo as it digs its snout into the ground, unearthing yet another truffle that you add to your basket. Can't believe you were worried about this one being the runt of its litter—it's quickly proving to be one of the fastest learners, taking to truffle hunting like a duck to water. It'll do just fine with the rest of the adult pigs.

Taking care of the farm by yourself has always been a gargantuan task, but as the years go by, everything grows bigger—the coops, the barns, the ponds, the crops, the expectations—and exhaustion wears you down to the bone. You sigh and push to your feet, ready to head into the nearest coop to collect more eggs. Collect animal products, drop them into churning machines, harvest and sell. It feels like the cycle never ends. Against your neck, the small mermaid's pendant slides on its chain, another reminder of your absent husband. An extra pair of helping hands made the daily work light; you wonder if it's selfish to ask him to stay home more often.

"I know, I know," you say to your angry chickens once you open the door. You miss your husband, but these girls like to remind you that they miss him more. "He'll be home soon. Bear with me, okay?"

After giving each of them pats on the head, a motion they accept with reluctance, you dig around the hay for eggs. The large chicken and dinosaur eggs are easy to spot, but for the delicate duck eggs, you prod every corner with your fingers until you come across something warm and smooth. You push away your hens as they peck at your hands. The ducks are fine with you. The chickens, however...how in the world did Elliott win them over?

Outside, your dog barks. A single warning to the intruder before the tone shifts into excitement. Someone familiar, then. Maybe Marnie is stopping by to give you some hay like she mentioned last night. With winter approaching, any addition to your reserves is appreciated, and you're already wiping your hands on your overalls to greet her.

"Hey, Marnie! I'm just in here—"

You stop in your tracks when the visitor raises his head, though he's not exactly a visitor. Elliott smiles as you draw close, ignoring the horde of chickens now lining the fence for his attention. Their wings flap, clucking loudly as they hit each other.

"Good morning, my love," he says over the noise, as if it really is the start to a normal day. His thumb reaches out to rub at a dirt smudge on your cheek. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Just some leftovers and coffee," you reply, dazed. Your husband tends to have that effect, and after two weeks apart, you feel it more than ever. You lean into his touch, comforting against your wind-blown skin. "I thought you were coming home tomorrow?"

"I decided to come back early. The office didn't need me today, anyway."

"You should've messaged me! I would've picked you up at the train station," you say. Behind him sits his traveling suitcase, the wheels speckled with mud from being dragged through the road. He steps in front of it. "Why don't you go get unpacked? I'll be done soon."

He leans his elbows onto the fence, tilting his head until his fiery hair spills over one shoulder. "You're rather quick to dismiss my presence. If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're unhappy to see me," he says, though his words hold no accusation. It's merely a way to boost his ego when you reassure him. After all, you practically radiate by his side. "Would you like me to help?"

You glance at the dress shoes, the slacks, the spotless cardigan that he's already shrugging off to reveal a clean pressed button-down. Not exactly farm-friendly attire. "No, I'll be alright by myself."

"I could go change really quickly," he offers in a suspicious rush.

You search his expression then, and underneath the joy of being back, there's...something. You squint, unable to make it out. Sure, he must've missed you, but this feels like it runs deeper than that. When you give him a nod, he hurries towards the house, your dog chasing and barking at his heels. True to his word, he's back in minutes.

The chickens are much more cooperative now, and you roll your eyes at how they parade around your husband. They even hop around the coop, showing him where they've hidden their eggs from your intrusive searching.

"Thank you, dearies," he says to the hens. You swear they swoon.

"A real heart breaker," you deadpan. "Have you told them you're married?"

He chuckles, taking your hand as you move into the barns next door. While you lay out new hay on the feeding bench, he unhooks the stools and milk pails and sets them on either side of the door. It's hard to believe that just a few months ago he barely knew how to approach your animals, let alone help you with the chores.

He whistles lowly, and the first cow trudges to his station, ready to be milked. You get settled at your own station. One of the newer goats skids to the front of the line, eager to be let outside. It's not quiet in the barn—it never is, not with twelve grown animals waiting for their turn—but when you call Elliott's name, he looks at you. His ponytail needs to be retied.

"So why'd you come home early?" The young adult goats don't have much milk, just enough for a small container. You pat its hind leg, and it runs into the crisp autumn air with an excited bleat.

"I missed the atmosphere of our farm. The fresh air of the valley is good for my creative soul, unlike the bustle of Zuzu City."

You only raise your eyebrows, and he sighs from your all-knowing gaze.

"You read me a little too well, my love."

"I sure hope so, after all this time together. Did something happen at the office?"

Since the release of his last collection of short stories, he's been invited to the city more often for author-related events. This latest stint, running a series of writing workshops in partnership with Zuzu University and the local community, was organized by his agent in hopes of bigger opportunities. Maybe even a guest lecturer contract, they've said on more than one occasion, though Elliott refuses to be apart from you for too long.

Elliott gives another sigh. "Something like that. I just...it was admittedly negligence on my part. I was in the middle of writing you another letter when someone required my presence down the hall. I thought that it'd be a quick matter, so I didn't clear my desk. But apparently one of the secretaries came looking for me while I was out."

"Did they read...?" You wrinkle your nose, knowing how private Elliott is about his unpolished work. He's even more private about what he writes for your eyes only. "I'm sure they were embarrassed."

"That's what bothers me the most! She had the audacity to bring it up in front of everyone when we had a meeting, even quoted a few lines—"

The cow groans as he moves particularly rough. He gives it an apologetic scratch under the chin.

"So for the past two days, everyone has been trying to talk me into releasing a collection of love poems, which I would have no issues with if it didn't stem from such a personal...I mean, the poems were addressed to my muse, and when I explained that it was you, they said that was even better. Something about how the romance will really sell." He frowns. "I like being able to support myself—contribute to our funds, you know—with my writing, but it's not...a commodity. I'm allowed to make art for the sake of making art."

His forehead is furrowed, and you would reach out to ease the frustration if your hands weren't busy.

"What's your plan now?"

He scoffs. "There's no plan regarding that. I completely refuse. It's quite insulting, in fact, the idea that I'd put my love on display for a paycheck."

It's relieving, you have to admit. Even after getting a taste of success, your husband remains the same person you said your vows to. The same romantic who holds you in such high esteem. There's so many emotions—namely affection—swirling in your chest, but you're not the writer so all you manage is a simple Okay.

"Okay," you say again for good measure, but he must understand you because his expression smooths. "So what do you want for lunch?"

#saeri gets feedback;

[ssaeri]

and if you close your eyes

☆ tags: kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader, best friend!au, unrequited love, you have a bad eye when it comes to choosing boyfriends, kuroo wishes that you’d take a chance on him, alcohol mention, maybe kuroo will confess in a part two ☆

Kuroo turns left at the stop sign, as per his phone’s robotic instructions, and finds himself on a tree-lined, barely-lit, trash-littered street that makes his joints jump with every pothole hit. His poor car. He really hopes that he’s at the right place. When you sent him your location, asking to be picked up as soon as possible, he tilted his head at the unfamiliar area but threw a jacket over his shoulders anyway and grabbed his keys.

He crawls down the street now, trying to make out house numbers in the dark, but he doesn’t need to do that because a few seconds later, he finds you in the front yard of an apartment complex, gesturing wildly to someone standing in the doorway. Neither of you are shouting, and Kuroo’s caught between wanting to know what the commotion is about and not wanting to wake up any neighbors. He makes a shitty attempt at parallel parking, bumping the curb with his back tire, before rolling down the passenger window and calling your name.

You whirl around, expression easing at the sight of him, but your scowl returns when the person in the doorway throws up his hands.

“Of course you fucking go back to him,” snaps your boyfriend—though Kuroo has a sneaking suspicion that he’s your ex-boyfriend at this point. Kuroo can't make out his face, but his backlit silhouette radiates pure annoyance. “You got your side piece on speed dial, huh?”

“Oh, fuck off! If you want to actually keep a relationship for once, maybe you should look at yourself before accusing people of bullshit.”

You throw a middle finger over your shoulder and stomp over to Kuroo’s car. The door creaks as you yank it open.

“Don’t say anything,” you hiss as you clamber into the passenger seat and dump your duffel bag by your feet. Once your seatbelt is clicked in, you cross your arms across your chest, pointedly ignoring the person now yelling at you from the porch.

Kuroo’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, his gaze flickering between you and your ex. “I wasn’t going to,” he says, forcing a light tone. “Any last words before we leave your pretty boy for good?”

You snort and reach over to crank up the radio, drowning out any outside sounds. “The words I have for that douchebag are better left unsaid.”

“Okay. Let’s go home, then.”

He flicks on the blinker, eases away from the sidewalk, and takes the fastest route back to his apartment.

.

.

That guy wasn’t good for you, and Kuroo let you know that from the start. It only took one hangout to notice all the red flags, signs that you didn’t see as you leaned into the guy’s side and laughed at his half-assed jokes. He was loud and brash in the typical attention seeking way, and Kuroo got bad vibes the moment the guy opened his mouth. That night, squeezed between Bokuto and another acquaintance on the couch, Kuroo stayed civil for your sake, offering tightlipped smiles whenever addressed, but the next time he met up with you alone, he cautiously prodded about your relationship.

Of course, you sniffed out his ulterior motives instantly and leaned back in your seat with a stern look. “Don’t tell me you’re playing the over-protective best friend card,” you said, thumb gathering the condensation of your iced latte. “I like this guy.”

“I know you do. I’m just saying: he seems a little self-centered.” A sip of his own drink. “A warning from my end, that’s all this is.”

“Having confidence is a good thing.”

“Yeah, but he’s straight up cocky.”

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes and threw his balled-up napkin into your lap, which earned a soft laugh. He didn’t fight you about it then. It was still early in your relationship, after all. Maybe Kuroo would be proven wrong—in fact, he wanted to be proven wrong. Maybe this guy would become your endgame, and years down the line, you’d stick your tongue out at your best friend for losing faith after only one meeting.

But now that you’re sitting on his couch, too exhausted to even cry about another relationship gone down the drain, Kuroo is having a hard time saying I told you so. Instead, he offers you a glass of milk and some leftover cookies from Sugawara’s recent visit, placing them on the coffeetable, and your blank stare moves from the wall to the plate.

He curls up in the adjacent armchair, his own glass of milk in hand. There’s a beat of silence before you speak.

“Hey, Tetsu?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something? And you need to be brutally honest.”

“Sure.”

“Do you think I’m unlovable?”

He nearly chokes. You? Unlovable? What the hell? He was expecting a question like, Do you think it’d be a good idea to hook up with someone right now? or Should I go key his car and slash his tires tomorrow? and the answer to those is a hard resounding No—though as your best friend, he’d be tempted to say yes to the second one. But something like this is just…how can you even think that?

“No,” he finally manages to reply. “No, you’re not unlovable. Did he say that? I’ll drive back and tear him a new one—”

“He didn’t say that, but I was thinking. Reflecting in the car, y’know. And I’m always the one getting dumped for one reason or another. Once or twice is a coincidence, but every time? At this point, the only conclusion is that something’s wrong with me.” You frown. “So. Unlovable.”

He shakes his head. “You’re literally the most charming person I’ve met. They tell you that every time, don’t they? That you’re smart and funny and the coolest person ever. How is it your fault that he cheated? That’s a problem on his end, not yours.”

You give a non-committal shrug.

“If I had to point out a flaw,” he says, waving a hand, “I’d say that you have bad taste. You like these asshole guys, even when I try to fight tooth and nail to keep them away from you.”

At that, you give a half-smile. “Maybe I like getting hurt. Humble myself every once in a while.”

“A human can only take so many humblings, though. The next time I tell you that a guy is bad news, you stay quiet and listen to me, alright? Listen to me and run in the opposite direction.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, rolling your eyes. You reach for a cookie and crunch into it, humming appreciatively at Sugawara once again working his magic. “This is so stupid. I don’t even want to waste any time being sad over this guy.” You pause for a second before pointing the half-eaten cookie at him. “I need to find a guy that takes care of me like you.”

Kuroo tries not to startle in his seat. When he replies, Yeah, you should, he’s surprised to hear that his voice is calm when his heart is anything but. It must be the habit of shoving down his feelings for you that saves him from turning into a stuttering, flushed mess, and for once, he’s thankful for the years he spent lamenting over his crush.

He clears his throat and gets up, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest. “I’m feeling kind of hungry. Got some beer in the fridge. You want to order takeout while I get that?”

“Hell yeah, let me see if the place down the street is still open. We should watch a movie, too. We never finished the one last week, right?”

“Sure, if you can find the remote.”

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you misplaced it again.”

One day, you’ll get over your ex, and one day, he’ll get over you. Until then, he’ll eat takeout noodles and watch cheesy rom-coms with you, laughing at how lame fictional romance is and being content with being your friend.

#haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #hq x reader #hq kuroo x reader #haikyuu scenarios #kuroo scenarios #kuroo tetsurou scenarios #hq scenarios #hq kuroo scenarios #saeri writes;

[ssaeri]

the taste of home

☆ tags: harvey & gn!reader, harvey tells everyone to eat home-cooked meals because they're better for you (dialogue line), you find out that he mostly eats microwave meals, gift-giving is this farmer's love language, can be read ROMANTICALLY ☆

Maru startles when you enter the clinic, her galaxy-themed pen pausing over a stack of paperwork. Once she realizes that it's just you, her shoulders drop, a half-smile blossoming on her lips.

"Scared me," she says with a huff of a laugh. She closes the manila folder and tucks it away, the motion smooth with practiced efficiency. "I thought I forgot about an appointment or something."

"That's nonsense, Mar. Nothing could ever get past you. I swear you eat organizational tabs for breakfast," you say, waving off her concern. Leaning over the counter, you drop your chin into a palm. "Is the doctor in?"

Her amused expression turns into an eye roll, and she jabs a thumb over her shoulder. "In the private examination room, I think, but make sure you knock first. Last I saw, he was cleaning out the cabinet, and I really don't want to help clean up another jump scare."

"I do it because it's fun to tease him, not to make your job harder," you insist. Opening up your bag, you rummage around for a few seconds before pulling out a glass jar. "But just as an apology for what happened last week, I brought you this. My best strawberry preserves for the best nurse in Pelican Town."

"I'm the only nurse in Pelican Town," she retorts, but still, she hums appreciatively as she takes it, fingers dancing over her name on the lid. You already know that she and Demetrius buy half of your stock at Pierre's, even if she says that they share with the entire family. "While you're back there, can you tell Dr. Harvey that I'm clocking out in fifteen minutes? We were supposed to discuss a patient today, but I think he forgot. I'll finish up here and touch base with him tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am."

You send her a two-fingered salute that she vaguely returns. Then you disappear into the corridor that melts into the clinic's main hallway. Other than the waiting room you were in, the hallway leads to four other places: the patient room, which holds privacy curtains, two soft beds, and a firm bed that you've grown to dislike after all your Skull Cavern emergency surgeries; the stairway up to Harvey's apartment, blocked by two metal doors; the back of the reception desk; and a private examination room, which doubles as Harvey's office.

Harvey's in there now, back to the door, hands on his hips as he surveys the mess by his feet. His green blazer is flung over the exam bed, and he has his sleeves rolled to his elbows. An end of the day vibe, for sure. You look over your shoulder and see Maru staring at you, pretending to rapt her knuckles on her desk. Fine, you mouth, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Satisfied, she turns back to her work.

"Knock, knock," you sing at Harvey's door. Despite your announcement, he jumps, hand over his heart as he whirls around. His brown eyes are wide behind his glasses.

"Farmer," he sighs. "You scared me."

"Not the first time I heard that today," you laugh, striding into the room. Behind you, you hear Maru's door click closed. "Your lovely nurse said that she's clocking out soon, by the way. Fifteen minutes."

He glances at his watch. "Oh dear, is it already that time? I guess I got distracted by all the supplies." He drags a hand down his face. "I ordered a new shipment of bandage wrap yesterday, only to find a brand new box in the back. Apparently I did this last time, too. I need to spend my next free day taking inventory."

"I'll just make a few more trips to Skull Cavern and use those right up," you say, but when his glare snaps to your face, you hold up your hands placatingly. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Do you need any help right now?"

He pauses, surveying the stacked boxes, but finally sighs a soft No. "I'll just leave things like this so that I remember tomorrow. Why don't you head upstairs and get settled first? I think the coffee machine is about ready to go."

Now it's your turn to shoot him a look. "How many cups have you had today?"

He flushes. "O-only one this morning! Please don't say anything. Can you just set up the table upstairs?"

You tsk, pretending to be disappointed, if only to get back at him for always giving unsolicited health advice. But he's been helping you a lot lately, so you guess you can cut him a break.

As always, the smell of coffee lingers in the air, growing stronger as you trudge up the stairs. When you first befriended him, it was the only thing you knew he liked. He made sure to always have a tumbler in hand as he walked to the river in the afternoons, and you took note of it. Twice a week, you dropped by to give him a warm cup, which he always took appreciatively, but Maru was quick to tell you what else Harvey liked. You don't want to encourage him, she said mysteriously.

You started giving him more pickles after that.

His room is bathed in orange as the sun sets, light catching on the airplane models scattered across his dining table. They look untouched, frozen in the same positions as last week. Not much to set up, then. You flick on the overhead light and make your way to the kitchen.

Though it’s more of a break room than a kitchen, now that you think about it. You’ve only been over here once or twice. Between the microwave and coffee machine, there’s barely any counter space left, and you wonder how he ever gets any cooking done without a stove. He told you once that he mostly eats food from the Stardrop Saloon, but…your eyes narrow. What about all his lectures about home-cooked meals?

You move around clumsily, unsure of where everything is. Eventually, you find two mugs in the overhead cabinet, coffee packets in the drawer, sugar cubes in a cute little jar you gifted him the other month. The machine whirs and dribbles fresh coffee into the waiting mugs. Just as they top off, you hear footsteps on the stairs.

“Hey, Harvey?” you call out. “Do you have any milk or cream?”

“I have vanilla creamer in the fridge, second shelf,” he replies, but then you hear a sharp intake. “Wait, I’ll get it—”

Too late. You’ve already opened his fridge. The bottle of creamer is there—you pull it out and set it on the counter—but it’s also the only thing there other than half a head of lettuce.

“What the hell?” You scan the empty shelves. “Do you need to go grocery shopping? Pierre’s is closed, but Joja’s open late if you need to pick anything up.”

“No need, I’ll go shopping tomorrow,” he says, hurrying over. He squeezes past you, puts a dash of cream in each mug, and pushes the coffee into your hands. “Go and sit down. I’ll put this away.”

“Oookay.” You furrow your brows. What’s going on? “I’m kind of in the mood for iced coffee, though. Can I let my cup cool in the freezer for a bit and add ice to it?”

“Yes.”

A beat of silence.

“Do you mind…opening the freezer so I can put the mug in? My hands are a little full.”

“Right! Um, why don’t I do that and you sit down first?”

“Harv, I’m already holding the mugs. You just have to open the door. What’re you hiding in there, a dead body?”

You laugh; he doesn’t. Your chuckles die out, leaving the both of you to stand there in silence. If the townspeople were to pick your worst quality, it would probably be your stubbornness—a trait that rears its head now as you stand there, watching Harvey’s flush spread down his neck.

Finally, he sputters a resigned Okay and opens his freezer.

Behind his ice trays are stacks of Joja Mart frozen meals, everything ranging from meatloaf to fries to pizza to peas to chicken parmesan. He shifts a bag of carrots to make room for your coffee. When the door is closed again, you finally find your words.

“So…I guess I found your secret,” you say, making your way to the table and setting down his cup.

“I just don’t have time to cook for myself,” he insists, trailing behind you, “and when I do have free time, I’m too tired.”

“I’m not judging.” You shrug. “I mean, I’m not one to talk. I eat algae from the river and cookies from the trash.”

His face drains. “Wait, you eat what from the—”

“If you’re ever free, though, you can always join me on the farm for dinner. Or I can drop you off some lunch once in a while. I make big portions and freeze them for the week, and I don’t mind sharing.” You wave a hand at the airplane models in front of you. “Think of it as thank you for helping me out with these.”

“That’s…very kind of you, Farmer,” he says after a pause. His fingers curl around the back of a chair. “I might take your offer some time.”

You shoot him a smile. “Great. Now keep that gratitude in mind as we start working on these again.”

#stardew x reader #stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sdv harvey x reader #stardew x farmer #stardew valley x farmer #sdv x farmer #sdv harvey x farmer #stardew valley scenarios #sdv scenarios #sdv harvey scenarios #stardew scenarios #saeri writes;

[ssaeri]

in the deep

☆ tags: abigail x gn!reader, farmer loses all of their hp in the mines, based on the time I forgot food and a horde of slimes took me out, embarrassed myself on the coop save file by losing money right after we made some, so I typed this up, can be read PLATONICALLY ☆

“It’s a little late, isn’t it?” Marlon calls out. At the door of the Adventurer’s Guild, he tightens his tool belt, preparing for his nightly patrol of the town’s perimeter. A sharpened sword gleams at his hip. Abigail’s own weapon, though also a sword, seems like a toy in comparison to the seasoned fighter’s. “What are you doing out here?”

As he approaches, his eye narrows in recognition.

“The purple haired girl. You’re that store owner’s child, no? Your father won’t be pleased to find you here again.”

She stiffens at the mention of her dad. “I know, but—” she trails off, waving vaguely at the mine entrance. It’s close to midnight now, and other than her sword, she’s equipped with little more than a handful of spring onions and some torches, but she hasn’t seen you since you disappeared into the mines this afternoon, grumbling about prismatic jelly. “The farmer hasn’t come home yet, and I’m a little worried.”

“The farmer is a tough one. You know how they like to skirt the curfew.”

“We made dinner plans, though, and they never miss those.” She flexes her gloved hands, trying to appear braver than she felt. “I’m just going to check really quick. In and out before you know it. Maybe you’re right. Maybe they got distracted and forgot the time.”

Marlon appraises her, palm resting on the hilt of his sword, and he is clearly unsatisfied with whatever he sees because he clicks his tongue, turning away from her. “Stay here,” he orders. “I’ll do a sweep.”

“I can go with you!”

Another click of his tongue. “I’d rather not drag out a second body.”

“I can fight ,” she insists, nostrils flaring. What’s with old men and underestimating her? First her dad, and now Marlon. Granted, Marlon’s word holds more weight than her dad’s, but still. “I’ve been practicing every day.”

“Without ever setting foot in the mines? Without going into the secret woods? Without actual opponents? The farmer makes weekly trips to the Skull Caverns, and even they can get blindsided by grubs. What makes you think that you’d be less of a hindrance?” His tone isn’t condescending, simply matter of fact. “I’d be faster alone.”

Abigail’s shoulders sag. “Can I at least wait by the minecarts?”

“If that makes you feel better.”

She follows him, and just inside the cave entrance, she marks her spot. She sits on the dusty ground, slips on a small glow ring, and leans back against the minecart. It creaks with the new pressure, but soon it settles, cold against her curled spine. Marlon gives her one last warning glance—she holds up her arms in a I get it motion—before descending the ladder, pickaxe in hand.

The thing about waiting, though, is that it’s boring when you have nothing to do. She tries counting the seconds at first, but somewhere around the two minute mark, she gets distracted by the squelching sounds of slimes, the buzzing hum of cave flies. They’re so close . She could jump down to the first floor, try her hand at fighting a few, and then head back up before anyone notices. No one is here to catch her. Her fingers inch towards her weapon. They’re only green slimes. How hard could it be?

But then she remembers your wince of pain the last time she patched you up. Dr. Harvey’s clinic was closed for the afternoon, and he was somewhere by the river, so she took you back to her room and opened her first-aid kit. Slimes are tricky , you said, hissing as she applied antiseptic to your legs. Can’t wait until I get the slime charmer ring, but I can’t believe he’s making me kill 1000 slimes first.

So she sits there, dragging the tip of her sword in the dirt to make swirled lines until she’s surrounded. As she is about to erase her canvas, the elevator whirs. She jumps to her feet. When the doors finally creak open, revealing Marlon carrying you over his shoulder, she gasps, hands flying to her mouth.

“What happened?” she demands, taking in your injuries.

“Found them near the bottom of the mine,” he grunts, easing you onto your back. “Luckily, they were on an elevator floor.”

“They said that they were looking for prismatic jelly or something.”

Marlon nods. “Elevator method. That checks out.”

“Should I get Dr. Harvey? It’s late, but he’s a light sleeper.

“No need, the cuts look worse than they are. Probably just collapsed from exertion. I gave them some elixir before getting them up here, so it should kick in any second now.” He takes out a piece of clothes and wipes away the dirt on your face.

Right on time, you groan, rolling onto your side. “What the hell…?” You cough before squinting in the faint light of their rings. “Marlon? Abby? What’re you doing here?”

“Saving your life, idiot!” Abigail hisses. She’s on her hands and knees, leaning into your face to read your expression.

Marlon puts a warning hand on her shoulder. She looks back. Gentle , his gaze says. She chews her lip, supposing that her lecture could come later. Right now, with your tired eyes blinking at her, she can’t bring herself to be mad, not when when relief finally wipes the tension in her limbs.

“I was so worried,” she whimpers instead. “Can you get up?”

#stardew x reader #stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sdv abigail x reader #stardew x farmer #stardew valley x farmer #sdv x farmer #sdv abigail x farmer #stardew valley scenarios #sdv scenarios #sdv abigail scenarios #stardew scenarios #saeri writes;

[ssaeri]

thank you ☆彡 I'm glad you enjoyed it!

we fall to ashes

☆ tags: alex x gn!reader, he finds something that he never expected to see on your farm, this was going to be angst with an angst ending, but then my sister begged me to not write a sad ending, so have this relieving happy ending instead, LOTS of alex spoilers! ☆

Alex stretches his arms over his head and breathes in deep. In the distance, he hears chickens screaming—a sure sign that he's getting closer to your farm. The walk from his house isn't short, but while his grandparents would complain about the distance, he finds it ideal for cooling down after his harder work-outs. And he gets to see you at the end? He'd say that's a winner winner chicken dinner situation...out of earshot from your coop, at least.

"Hey there! Evelyn's boy!" Pam calls from his right.

He slows to a stop and waves. She sits in the driver seat of her newly repaired bus, window fully open, and takes another swig from her Joja Cola. Immediately, her face scrunches.

"Mornin', Pam!" he yells back. "How's that alcohol detox going for you?"

"Awful." She smacks her lips and holds the can up to her eyes, searching the ingredients for what makes it so fucking nasty. You often joke that it's the bitter taste of capitalism. "I could go for something stronger in this heat. You think the farmer has an extra glass of pale ale?"

Alex's smile tightens. Ever since Pam and Penny's trailer turned into an actual house, Pam's been doing her best to break old habits and he's glad for it—he can finally walk by her without the reflexive gag and hurried steps. You telling me I stink? she used to ask, angry in her drunken stupor, until she remembered why he showed up on his grandparents' steps nearly two decades ago.

She must read it in his expression now because she waves him off with a roll of her eyes. "I'm kidding, kid. Tell 'em I said hi. They're the only one who takes this damn bus anyway. I might as well take a nap." She slides sunglasses onto her face and reclines her chair until he can't see her anymore. "If I'm still here by the time you go home, wake me up."

Classic Pam, he thinks as he continues to your farm. Your dog is already running from the front door to greet him, panting and barking and disturbing your horse's peace.

"Come on, buddy," he laughs, shooing your dog until he can push open the gate. "I was supposed to surprise them."

Alex scratches your horse's ear as he passes its stable. Grape vines twist and sag on the trellises you've set up for the season, the structures nearly bursting with fruit, and he makes a mental note to stop by tomorrow to help with the harvesting. Maybe it could substitute for a work-out. He's helped you ship boxes of produce before and wondered how ripped he'd be after a month of your lifestyle. Between the trellises, the melons are just starting to come in. He doesn't know how long it takes for them to ripen, only that they taste really good when you drop off a basket for his grandma.

He calls out your name. Not in the fields, not in the pasture. Your new greenhouse, maybe? You were muttering something about ancient fruit last night. Or the mushroom cave, something he still can't believe is a feature on your farm. If Demetrius could add that, maybe Alex could talk you into installing an outdoor lifting station.

He walks past your workbench and active machines...

...and walks backwards again, hoping that his eyes are deceiving him. Crystalariums reproducing diamonds to sell, charcoal kilns working double time for enough coal, bone mills churning out fertilizer, geode crushers crunching rocks into pebbles, furnaces roaring as they smelt ores into bars—and right on top of the furthest furnace sits a wrapped bundle he's only seen in his (second to) worst nightmares.

He hears your content humming now, somewhere in the main farmhouse. Under normal circumstances, he would've called it cute, but the sound rings mockingly in his ears as he approaches the darkened flowers. A wilted bouquet. Fuck.

.

.

"Oh, hey there!" Alex called out as you got closer. He tossed his ever-present gridball into the air. "You here to catch fish again? I think you can find salmon in the river this time of year. At least that's what I heard."

Once you came to a stop in front of him, you shook your head, hands still behind your back. "I'm not fishing today," you said. "I actually wanted to give you something."

"Yeah?" His lips quirked into a grin. Another toss into the air. "Wouldn't happen to be a Salmon Dinner with extra lemon, would it? Those are one of my favorites, but I can never catch any salmon myself. Another egg would be cool, too. I've been adding your weekly deliveries to my workout meals."

You only shifted from one foot to the other, unable to take your eyes off his shoes, and a part of him faltered. You weren't intimidated by him, were you? Ever since you found him crying on the beach, he had been a little more flirtatious than usual, layering on the teasing and showing off. Maybe he came on too strong. Haley always told him that subtlety wasn't his strong suit. The grip on his gridball changed as he tossed it higher.

"You okay there? Did I do something...wait, this is—ow!"

The ball bounced off his head and landed in the grass, but he couldn't care less. He pointed to the bouquet in your hands. Not a regular bouquet, but the Bouquet made to order by Pierre. In a place as small as Pelican Town, there was no need for Pierre to have it in constant stock, so when the signature blooms made the rare appearance, they attracted everyone's eyes.

"...you want to get more serious?" he asked, incredulous.

Something in your expression changed, and you drew the flowers back to your chest. "Oh, sorry, did you not?" You gave him a wide smile, already stepping away. "I must've read the signs wrong. My mistake."

"No! That's not—I mean, you read the signs correctly. I, uh, I feel the same way." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush. "So I guess we're together now? Should I be asking you out on a date or something? Or wait, are you asking me out on a date? How does this work?"

You laughed, a genuine sound this time. "We can continue the way we were before."

And so you did, but some things changed for sure. He could hold your hand now as you ran errands around the town, carrying half of the gifts you handed out to the townspeople. He could kiss you goodbye at his door in the evenings, though George cleared his throat loudly every time. Alex remembered making some snide comment about his grandpa, who yelled out a gruff I heard that! before being shushed by Evelyn. When It Howls in the Rain was being shown at the town theater, you bribed him to a screening with the promise of Stardrop Sorbet, but as much as he loved the treat, he would've gone anyway—it was one of his favorite movies with one of his favorite people. Good thing he'd seen it before because he spent most of the time staring at your side profile, wondering when he could finally go pro and have you stare at him on a screen.

.

.

Your dog nips at his fingers. He pets it absently. He thought everything was going fine between the two of you. Just yesterday, you came over and had dinner with him and his grandparents. You told them about your mining adventures in the Skull Caverns and, to his horror, showed off your old stitches from Harvey. (George chided your reckless behavior and gave old-timey advice that you nodded along to.) You talked about the new farm you're setting up at Ginger Island—Ancient Fruit wine all year! you told them excitedly. It's a farmer's heaven!—and the Beach Resort you're trying to restore. (Evelyn hummed at your energy, asking rapid-fire questions about the flora there.) You even promised to bring over a season's worth of eggs and leeks as soon as you got your hands on them. (Alex's mind flashed to the old mariner and the mermaid's pendant he could see hanging around your neck in the future.)

So why is a wilted bouquet sitting here, right on top of your furnaces?

No point in guessing when he can just find out the answer right from the source. He takes the flowers and goes to your door, knocking twice. It opens before he has time to second guess his choice.

"Alex! I didn't know you were coming over," you say, beaming at him. He wants to immortalize this version of you: face full of dirt smudges and t-shirt collar soaked through with sweat, yet glowing in your element. Until your eyes drop to his hands. "Oh, that's..."

He sets his jaw. "Can I come in and talk?"

Your expression falters further at his cold tone, but you step back and lead him to the living room. Your dog trots in and settles by the TV, head on its paws, watching with blank eyes. Alex sits in his usual spot and you yours, and suddenly he hates how familiar he is with your space.

It's still silent.

You clear your throat. "So," you start, wiping your palms on your jeans. A nervous tick he knows well. "What did you want to talk about?"

He puts the bouquet on the coffee table between you.

"Right." You pause, likely waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything. "Alex, can you at least be less mean about this? I feel like you owe me that much after all this time together." He says nothing. "Like, tell me what's wrong instead of sitting here stone-faced. Things were okay. Why are you breaking up with me—"

"Why am I breaking up with you?" He barks a laugh. "Baby, I found this outside on your furnace! I'm not going to beg for you to stay, but what the hell is this?"

Your forehead furrows. "What? I wouldn't."

"If it's not yours and it's not mine, then whose is it?"

"I don't know! Alex, I wouldn't—I never even thought about breaking up," you insist. "Why would I lie about that?"

After scrutinizing your stricken expression, his relief comes in waves. He sinks into your couch, hands rubbing at his face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just—" He laughs again, the sound mostly air. "Yoba, that scared me. If someone left this here as a prank, I'm hunting them down tonight." He lifts his head to look at you and opens his arms. "Can you come over here?"

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm gross."

"You could be playing in mud with your pigs, and I'd still jump in."

With a roll of your eyes, you hop over to curl into his side and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You stink, but so does he after a good workout. Now that he thinks about it, he's still in his gym clothes.

"You scared me, too," you tell him, gaze trained on the table. "Not the best thing to see on a Friday afternoon. But now I want to know whose this is. Did you check it for clues?"

"Didn't bother. Thought it was yours." His arm around your waist tightens as you lean forward. "Does it matter?"

But that doesn't stop you. You have the bouquet in your lap now, prying at the blackened ribbon and wrapping. "Look at this," you say, holding it between two fingers. "The ribbon isn't blue, and Pierre always uses blue. The wrap is pretty much disintegrated, but this corner—he always puts his store brand." You suck in a breath. "Oh, duh! Where did you say you found this?"

"The furnaces right outside by the workbench."

"Okay, so mystery solved. This is mine, but not in the way you think."

He raises an eyebrow. "Explain. Don't say you're breaking up with a secret partner because I don't think I can handle a second shock right now."

"I made a wildflower bouquet to put on Grandpa's grave a few days ago, but I totally forgot where I put it, so I made a second one. This one must've been the one I misplaced."

He blinks. "How the hell did you not notice it since?"

"I came back from Ginger Island yesterday and went to sleep right after dinner! The flowers must've wilted from the furnace heat."

"You," he says slowly, pinching your cheek and ignoring your squeak, "are the absolute worst. I can't believe you nearly broke my heart and it turned out to be a whoopsie."

#saeri gets feedback;

[ssaeri]

re-iterating this for anyone who doesn't read my pinned post for some reason: i block empty or bot-like blogs who follow me. empty default blogs are a given, but i also block blogs that have NOTHING reblogged despite having an avatar, header, and bio. i don't care if the liked/following list is public. i cull my followers list twice a month. heed the warning and reblog something.

#just blocked a chunk of my followers #if you're not reblogging OR posting on your main - you're not a tumblr user #on that note - reblog stuff #saeri rambles;

[ssaeri]

Hi could you write a domestic fuegoleon one shot. Like how he is as a husband how he spends times with his kids and just everything in general. I always imagined him to have twins (a boy and a girl) but you can do whatever you want.

if you'd like to commission me, please dm my other account and we can talk prices/details :) otherwise, please read my pinned post.

#saeri answers; #mysticslimefishpasta;

[ssaeri]

thank you for giving this a read! i have to marry alex in one of my routes...he's so sweet

we fall to ashes

☆ tags: alex x gn!reader, he finds something that he never expected to see on your farm, this was going to be angst with an angst ending, but then my sister begged me to not write a sad ending, so have this relieving happy ending instead, LOTS of alex spoilers! ☆

Alex stretches his arms over his head and breathes in deep. In the distance, he hears chickens screaming—a sure sign that he's getting closer to your farm. The walk from his house isn't short, but while his grandparents would complain about the distance, he finds it ideal for cooling down after his harder work-outs. And he gets to see you at the end? He'd say that's a winner winner chicken dinner situation...out of earshot from your coop, at least.

"Hey there! Evelyn's boy!" Pam calls from his right.

He slows to a stop and waves. She sits in the driver seat of her newly repaired bus, window fully open, and takes another swig from her Joja Cola. Immediately, her face scrunches.

"Mornin', Pam!" he yells back. "How's that alcohol detox going for you?"

"Awful." She smacks her lips and holds the can up to her eyes, searching the ingredients for what makes it so fucking nasty. You often joke that it's the bitter taste of capitalism. "I could go for something stronger in this heat. You think the farmer has an extra glass of pale ale?"

Alex's smile tightens. Ever since Pam and Penny's trailer turned into an actual house, Pam's been doing her best to break old habits and he's glad for it—he can finally walk by her without the reflexive gag and hurried steps. You telling me I stink? she used to ask, angry in her drunken stupor, until she remembered why he showed up on his grandparents' steps nearly two decades ago.

She must read it in his expression now because she waves him off with a roll of her eyes. "I'm kidding, kid. Tell 'em I said hi. They're the only one who takes this damn bus anyway. I might as well take a nap." She slides sunglasses onto her face and reclines her chair until he can't see her anymore. "If I'm still here by the time you go home, wake me up."

Classic Pam, he thinks as he continues to your farm. Your dog is already running from the front door to greet him, panting and barking and disturbing your horse's peace.

"Come on, buddy," he laughs, shooing your dog until he can push open the gate. "I was supposed to surprise them."

Alex scratches your horse's ear as he passes its stable. Grape vines twist and sag on the trellises you've set up for the season, the structures nearly bursting with fruit, and he makes a mental note to stop by tomorrow to help with the harvesting. Maybe it could substitute for a work-out. He's helped you ship boxes of produce before and wondered how ripped he'd be after a month of your lifestyle. Between the trellises, the melons are just starting to come in. He doesn't know how long it takes for them to ripen, only that they taste really good when you drop off a basket for his grandma.

He calls out your name. Not in the fields, not in the pasture. Your new greenhouse, maybe? You were muttering something about ancient fruit last night. Or the mushroom cave, something he still can't believe is a feature on your farm. If Demetrius could add that, maybe Alex could talk you into installing an outdoor lifting station.

He walks past your workbench and active machines...

...and walks backwards again, hoping that his eyes are deceiving him. Crystalariums reproducing diamonds to sell, charcoal kilns working double time for enough coal, bone mills churning out fertilizer, geode crushers crunching rocks into pebbles, furnaces roaring as they smelt ores into bars—and right on top of the furthest furnace sits a wrapped bundle he's only seen in his (second to) worst nightmares.

He hears your content humming now, somewhere in the main farmhouse. Under normal circumstances, he would've called it cute, but the sound rings mockingly in his ears as he approaches the darkened flowers. A wilted bouquet. Fuck.

.

.

"Oh, hey there!" Alex called out as you got closer. He tossed his ever-present gridball into the air. "You here to catch fish again? I think you can find salmon in the river this time of year. At least that's what I heard."

Once you came to a stop in front of him, you shook your head, hands still behind your back. "I'm not fishing today," you said. "I actually wanted to give you something."

"Yeah?" His lips quirked into a grin. Another toss into the air. "Wouldn't happen to be a Salmon Dinner with extra lemon, would it? Those are one of my favorites, but I can never catch any salmon myself. Another egg would be cool, too. I've been adding your weekly deliveries to my workout meals."

You only shifted from one foot to the other, unable to take your eyes off his shoes, and a part of him faltered. You weren't intimidated by him, were you? Ever since you found him crying on the beach, he had been a little more flirtatious than usual, layering on the teasing and showing off. Maybe he came on too strong. Haley always told him that subtlety wasn't his strong suit. The grip on his gridball changed as he tossed it higher.

"You okay there? Did I do something...wait, this is—ow!"

The ball bounced off his head and landed in the grass, but he couldn't care less. He pointed to the bouquet in your hands. Not a regular bouquet, but the Bouquet made to order by Pierre. In a place as small as Pelican Town, there was no need for Pierre to have it in constant stock, so when the signature blooms made the rare appearance, they attracted everyone's eyes.

"...you want to get more serious?" he asked, incredulous.

Something in your expression changed, and you drew the flowers back to your chest. "Oh, sorry, did you not?" You gave him a wide smile, already stepping away. "I must've read the signs wrong. My mistake."

"No! That's not—I mean, you read the signs correctly. I, uh, I feel the same way." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush. "So I guess we're together now? Should I be asking you out on a date or something? Or wait, are you asking me out on a date? How does this work?"

You laughed, a genuine sound this time. "We can continue the way we were before."

And so you did, but some things changed for sure. He could hold your hand now as you ran errands around the town, carrying half of the gifts you handed out to the townspeople. He could kiss you goodbye at his door in the evenings, though George cleared his throat loudly every time. Alex remembered making some snide comment about his grandpa, who yelled out a gruff I heard that! before being shushed by Evelyn. When It Howls in the Rain was being shown at the town theater, you bribed him to a screening with the promise of Stardrop Sorbet, but as much as he loved the treat, he would've gone anyway—it was one of his favorite movies with one of his favorite people. Good thing he'd seen it before because he spent most of the time staring at your side profile, wondering when he could finally go pro and have you stare at him on a screen.

.

.

Your dog nips at his fingers. He pets it absently. He thought everything was going fine between the two of you. Just yesterday, you came over and had dinner with him and his grandparents. You told them about your mining adventures in the Skull Caverns and, to his horror, showed off your old stitches from Harvey. (George chided your reckless behavior and gave old-timey advice that you nodded along to.) You talked about the new farm you're setting up at Ginger Island—Ancient Fruit wine all year! you told them excitedly. It's a farmer's heaven!—and the Beach Resort you're trying to restore. (Evelyn hummed at your energy, asking rapid-fire questions about the flora there.) You even promised to bring over a season's worth of eggs and leeks as soon as you got your hands on them. (Alex's mind flashed to the old mariner and the mermaid's pendant he could see hanging around your neck in the future.)

So why is a wilted bouquet sitting here, right on top of your furnaces?

No point in guessing when he can just find out the answer right from the source. He takes the flowers and goes to your door, knocking twice. It opens before he has time to second guess his choice.

"Alex! I didn't know you were coming over," you say, beaming at him. He wants to immortalize this version of you: face full of dirt smudges and t-shirt collar soaked through with sweat, yet glowing in your element. Until your eyes drop to his hands. "Oh, that's..."

He sets his jaw. "Can I come in and talk?"

Your expression falters further at his cold tone, but you step back and lead him to the living room. Your dog trots in and settles by the TV, head on its paws, watching with blank eyes. Alex sits in his usual spot and you yours, and suddenly he hates how familiar he is with your space.

It's still silent.

You clear your throat. "So," you start, wiping your palms on your jeans. A nervous tick he knows well. "What did you want to talk about?"

He puts the bouquet on the coffee table between you.

"Right." You pause, likely waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything. "Alex, can you at least be less mean about this? I feel like you owe me that much after all this time together." He says nothing. "Like, tell me what's wrong instead of sitting here stone-faced. Things were okay. Why are you breaking up with me—"

"Why am I breaking up with you?" He barks a laugh. "Baby, I found this outside on your furnace! I'm not going to beg for you to stay, but what the hell is this?"

Your forehead furrows. "What? I wouldn't."

"If it's not yours and it's not mine, then whose is it?"

"I don't know! Alex, I wouldn't—I never even thought about breaking up," you insist. "Why would I lie about that?"

After scrutinizing your stricken expression, his relief comes in waves. He sinks into your couch, hands rubbing at his face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just—" He laughs again, the sound mostly air. "Yoba, that scared me. If someone left this here as a prank, I'm hunting them down tonight." He lifts his head to look at you and opens his arms. "Can you come over here?"

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm gross."

"You could be playing in mud with your pigs, and I'd still jump in."

With a roll of your eyes, you hop over to curl into his side and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You stink, but so does he after a good workout. Now that he thinks about it, he's still in his gym clothes.

"You scared me, too," you tell him, gaze trained on the table. "Not the best thing to see on a Friday afternoon. But now I want to know whose this is. Did you check it for clues?"

"Didn't bother. Thought it was yours." His arm around your waist tightens as you lean forward. "Does it matter?"

But that doesn't stop you. You have the bouquet in your lap now, prying at the blackened ribbon and wrapping. "Look at this," you say, holding it between two fingers. "The ribbon isn't blue, and Pierre always uses blue. The wrap is pretty much disintegrated, but this corner—he always puts his store brand." You suck in a breath. "Oh, duh! Where did you say you found this?"

"The furnaces right outside by the workbench."

"Okay, so mystery solved. This is mine, but not in the way you think."

He raises an eyebrow. "Explain. Don't say you're breaking up with a secret partner because I don't think I can handle a second shock right now."

"I made a wildflower bouquet to put on Grandpa's grave a few days ago, but I totally forgot where I put it, so I made a second one. This one must've been the one I misplaced."

He blinks. "How the hell did you not notice it since?"

"I came back from Ginger Island yesterday and went to sleep right after dinner! The flowers must've wilted from the furnace heat."

"You," he says slowly, pinching your cheek and ignoring your squeak, "are the absolute worst. I can't believe you nearly broke my heart and it turned out to be a whoopsie."

#saeri gets feedback;

[ssaeri]

thank you :) I like writing silly things for this guy

count my blessings

☆ tags: lucifer x gn!reader, finally giving him a factory tour since the anime won't, lucifer is like me—doesn't do well with surprises at first, i like him a lot because he deserves to be happy, referred to as MC (not Y/N) ☆

The door to Lucifer's study is heavy and impressive—nearly as impressive as the demon it houses. The first time you tried to push it open, you were surprised by its weight. Normally one of the brothers would open it and you'd trail in before or after them, depending on who was in trouble. But when you struggled to push it, you realized that it made perfect sense. Nothing less for Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride. A title with as much heft as this slab of mahogany.

You're standing before the door once again, hand poised to knock, and you wonder if you should just turn back and abandon your plan.

"If your intention is to replicate a statue, I suggest you choose another place to settle," an amused voice says from behind you.

Lucifer's glove appears in the corner of your eye, reaching around you for the door knob. He opens it easily, waiting until you step in to the room. In the fireplace, flames lick at the protective mesh screen, cracking and twisting around stacked logs. He takes a seat at his desk and gestures to one of the plush armchairs.

"Should I assume that you wanted to discuss something?"

Suddenly, at the prospect of speaking, your tongue turns to cotton in your mouth.

"I did—do, I mean. I do want to talk about something. Are you almost done your work for the week?"

He glances at the stack of papers by his side. "Just about. I should be done in a few days, but Diavolo likely has more for me to do," he says, a minuscule sigh escaping between his words. "Why?"

.

.

Diavolo is a fair demon, you reminded yourself as you followed Barbatos through the winding halls. You recognized the path to the pavilion after all this time. He's a reasonable one...most of the time.

More importantly, Diavolo had told you to not be shy. He was the Devildom prince, yes, but he was also your acquaintance, ready to help whenever he could. Surely, with this blanket statement of approval, you would be safe from being struck where you stood.

"Oh, MC, what a surprise!" Diavolo greeted you with a tight hug before ushering you into an empty chair. The table already had an extra plate and steaming cup of tea. "Come, come, Barbatos said that the cake is a new flavor. You should try it."

The cake was good, you assumed, as it always was. Something about passion fruit and newt tail worked well, but your tiny bites tasted dull as you waited for Diavolo to ask the reason for your visit. Luckily, you didn't have to wait long. He took a delicate sip from his own cup and settled into his chair with folded hands.

"I'm guessing you didn't come here to have cake," he said gently, taking note of your bouncing knees. You shook your head.

"I'm here for a favor, actually."

"I'm not a genie, but if it's within my power," he said, amber eyes crinkling as he laughed, "I'll do my best to grant it."

"Right," you breathed and scrunched the material of your pants into sweating fists. "My first question is, am I allowed to return to the human world during the break?"

"Of course, MC. You're an exchange student here, not a prisoner." He looked over his shoulder at Barbatos, who nodded. "Taking the portal by yourself might be difficult, but we could arrange something."

"Right, right. The next thing is, can Lucifer accompany me for that weekend? Without having to worry about any work?" You scooted to the edge of your chair. "I know he does a lot of necessary and important work, but I'd like for Lucifer to have a break—a genuine one—for the surprise I'm planning."

.

.

"A surprise?" At the word, Lucifer's expression hardens.

"Yes!" you say, hands coming up to reassure him. "But Diavolo said he wouldn't assign you any work for the next week, so once you're done, you can get ready for the human world—"

"Who put you up to this? Mammon? Satan? Belphegor?" He bites on a gloved thumb, muttering, "Things have been suspiciously quiet lately. I should have suspected something, but i didn't think that they would use you."

Your smile falters, and your mood goes up in smoke. "Excuse me?"

"If they want to set me up, they should've been less obvious," he scoffs. "I'm not going with you, MC."

You expected a variety of reactions. Hesitation, for one. He hasn't had a true break from errands in a long time; at least, not for as long as you've known him. Relief, possibly, at putting distance between himself and his responsibilities. Maybe even excitement at the prospect of having a solo trip with you without interruption. But outright suspicion and refusal? This, you weren't prepared for.

"It's not..." you trail off, tightening your jaw as if the pressure could hold together your disappointed heart. "It's not a plot."

And the change in your tone must finally break through his musing because he looks up and sees your crumpled posture, your furrowed brows. With a murmur of your name, he comes around the desk and kneels in front of your seat, taking both your hands in his.

"I'm really planning a surprise for you," you insist. "In the human world. That's why I made sure to clear your schedule."

"I realize that now," he says, pressing his lips to your fingers. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not—I'm not conspiring or anything."

"I know, love. I apologize for the baseless accusation."

"If you don't want to come with me, that's a different matter, but you can just say no. I'd be less upset if you—"

"No, I was merely quick to assume the worst." He squeezes your hands for the briefest moment. "I'm sorry, dear. It's just that, in my experience, surprises rarely end well. I appreciate the reprieve from work."

A beat of silence passes before you take a deep breath and withdraw from his hold. He returns to his seat.

"So where are we heading?"

"Telling you would defeat the purpose of it being a surprise, Lucifer," you say with a roll of your eyes. "Just make sure to pack something...casual by your standards."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "What's considered casual by your standards, then?"

"A raggedy t-shirt and sweatpants."

.

.

Lucifer does not show up in a raggedy t-shirt and sweatpants, and neither do you, to his obvious relief. He shows up, as you pretty much expected, in a turtleneck sweater and pinstripe pants, whose matching blazer you confiscated. For reasons, you told him vaguely, also removing his various hanging jewelry. Telling him that it was a safety violation would've given it away.

Once you usher him into the waiting taxi, you ask the driver to keep the destination a secret, but it's hard to hide the truth for long as you make your way to the edge of the city where an impressive brick building sits, whirring with the all the machines inside.

"Is that..." He nearly presses his face against the window. "is that an industrial laundry facility?"

His head whips to you when you don't say anything. Your answering smile is enough, and you have to remind him to keep moving. The view from the outside is impressive, but the tour starts at the door, not in the parking lot. You plant your hands on his back and push him along.

"Come on," you say. "If we don't finish this tour in time, we'll be late for our appointment at the local distillery."

The sound that escapes him is indescribable, but from the way he takes your hand and pulls you forward, it's safe to say that he's happy about this trip.

#saeri gets feedback;

[ssaeri]

we fall to ashes

☆ tags: alex x gn!reader, he finds something that he never expected to see on your farm, this was going to be angst with an angst ending, but then my sister begged me to not write a sad ending, so have this relieving happy ending instead, LOTS of alex spoilers! ☆

Alex stretches his arms over his head and breathes in deep. In the distance, he hears chickens screaming—a sure sign that he's getting closer to your farm. The walk from his house isn't short, but while his grandparents would complain about the distance, he finds it ideal for cooling down after his harder work-outs. And he gets to see you at the end? He'd say that's a winner winner chicken dinner situation...out of earshot from your coop, at least.

"Hey there! Evelyn's boy!" Pam calls from his right.

He slows to a stop and waves. She sits in the driver seat of her newly repaired bus, window fully open, and takes another swig from her Joja Cola. Immediately, her face scrunches.

"Mornin', Pam!" he yells back. "How's that alcohol detox going for you?"

"Awful." She smacks her lips and holds the can up to her eyes, searching the ingredients for what makes it so fucking nasty. You often joke that it's the bitter taste of capitalism. "I could go for something stronger in this heat. You think the farmer has an extra glass of pale ale?"

Alex's smile tightens. Ever since Pam and Penny's trailer turned into an actual house, Pam's been doing her best to break old habits and he's glad for it—he can finally walk by her without the reflexive gag and hurried steps. You telling me I stink? she used to ask, angry in her drunken stupor, until she remembered why he showed up on his grandparents' steps nearly two decades ago.

She must read it in his expression now because she waves him off with a roll of her eyes. "I'm kidding, kid. Tell 'em I said hi. They're the only one who takes this damn bus anyway. I might as well take a nap." She slides sunglasses onto her face and reclines her chair until he can't see her anymore. "If I'm still here by the time you go home, wake me up."

Classic Pam, he thinks as he continues to your farm. Your dog is already running from the front door to greet him, panting and barking and disturbing your horse's peace.

"Come on, buddy," he laughs, shooing your dog until he can push open the gate. "I was supposed to surprise them."

Alex scratches your horse's ear as he passes its stable. Grape vines twist and sag on the trellises you've set up for the season, the structures nearly bursting with fruit, and he makes a mental note to stop by tomorrow to help with the harvesting. Maybe it could substitute for a work-out. He's helped you ship boxes of produce before and wondered how ripped he'd be after a month of your lifestyle. Between the trellises, the melons are just starting to come in. He doesn't know how long it takes for them to ripen, only that they taste really good when you drop off a basket for his grandma.

He calls out your name. Not in the fields, not in the pasture. Your new greenhouse, maybe? You were muttering something about ancient fruit last night. Or the mushroom cave, something he still can't believe is a feature on your farm. If Demetrius could add that, maybe Alex could talk you into installing an outdoor lifting station.

He walks past your workbench and active machines...

...and walks backwards again, hoping that his eyes are deceiving him. Crystalariums reproducing diamonds to sell, charcoal kilns working double time for enough coal, bone mills churning out fertilizer, geode crushers crunching rocks into pebbles, furnaces roaring as they smelt ores into bars—and right on top of the furthest furnace sits a wrapped bundle he's only seen in his (second to) worst nightmares.

He hears your content humming now, somewhere in the main farmhouse. Under normal circumstances, he would've called it cute, but the sound rings mockingly in his ears as he approaches the darkened flowers. A wilted bouquet. Fuck.

.

.

"Oh, hey there!" Alex called out as you got closer. He tossed his ever-present gridball into the air. "You here to catch fish again? I think you can find salmon in the river this time of year. At least that's what I heard."

Once you came to a stop in front of him, you shook your head, hands still behind your back. "I'm not fishing today," you said. "I actually wanted to give you something."

"Yeah?" His lips quirked into a grin. Another toss into the air. "Wouldn't happen to be a Salmon Dinner with extra lemon, would it? Those are one of my favorites, but I can never catch any salmon myself. Another egg would be cool, too. I've been adding your weekly deliveries to my workout meals."

You only shifted from one foot to the other, unable to take your eyes off his shoes, and a part of him faltered. You weren't intimidated by him, were you? Ever since you found him crying on the beach, he had been a little more flirtatious than usual, layering on the teasing and showing off. Maybe he came on too strong. Haley always told him that subtlety wasn't his strong suit. The grip on his gridball changed as he tossed it higher.

"You okay there? Did I do something...wait, this is—ow!"

The ball bounced off his head and landed in the grass, but he couldn't care less. He pointed to the bouquet in your hands. Not a regular bouquet, but the Bouquet made to order by Pierre. In a place as small as Pelican Town, there was no need for Pierre to have it in constant stock, so when the signature blooms made the rare appearance, they attracted everyone's eyes.

"...you want to get more serious?" he asked, incredulous.

Something in your expression changed, and you drew the flowers back to your chest. "Oh, sorry, did you not?" You gave him a wide smile, already stepping away. "I must've read the signs wrong. My mistake."

"No! That's not—I mean, you read the signs correctly. I, uh, I feel the same way." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush. "So I guess we're together now? Should I be asking you out on a date or something? Or wait, are you asking me out on a date? How does this work?"

You laughed, a genuine sound this time. "We can continue the way we were before."

And so you did, but some things changed for sure. He could hold your hand now as you ran errands around the town, carrying half of the gifts you handed out to the townspeople. He could kiss you goodbye at his door in the evenings, though George cleared his throat loudly every time. Alex remembered making some snide comment about his grandpa, who yelled out a gruff I heard that! before being shushed by Evelyn. When It Howls in the Rain was being shown at the town theater, you bribed him to a screening with the promise of Stardrop Sorbet, but as much as he loved the treat, he would've gone anyway—it was one of his favorite movies with one of his favorite people. Good thing he'd seen it before because he spent most of the time staring at your side profile, wondering when he could finally go pro and have you stare at him on a screen.

.

.

Your dog nips at his fingers. He pets it absently. He thought everything was going fine between the two of you. Just yesterday, you came over and had dinner with him and his grandparents. You told them about your mining adventures in the Skull Caverns and, to his horror, showed off your old stitches from Harvey. (George chided your reckless behavior and gave old-timey advice that you nodded along to.) You talked about the new farm you're setting up at Ginger Island—Ancient Fruit wine all year! you told them excitedly. It's a farmer's heaven!—and the Beach Resort you're trying to restore. (Evelyn hummed at your energy, asking rapid-fire questions about the flora there.) You even promised to bring over a season's worth of eggs and leeks as soon as you got your hands on them. (Alex's mind flashed to the old mariner and the mermaid's pendant he could see hanging around your neck in the future.)

So why is a wilted bouquet sitting here, right on top of your furnaces?

No point in guessing when he can just find out the answer right from the source. He takes the flowers and goes to your door, knocking twice. It opens before he has time to second guess his choice.

"Alex! I didn't know you were coming over," you say, beaming at him. He wants to immortalize this version of you: face full of dirt smudges and t-shirt collar soaked through with sweat, yet glowing in your element. Until your eyes drop to his hands. "Oh, that's..."

He sets his jaw. "Can I come in and talk?"

Your expression falters further at his cold tone, but you step back and lead him to the living room. Your dog trots in and settles by the TV, head on its paws, watching with blank eyes. Alex sits in his usual spot and you yours, and suddenly he hates how familiar he is with your space.

It's still silent.

You clear your throat. "So," you start, wiping your palms on your jeans. A nervous tick he knows well. "What did you want to talk about?"

He puts the bouquet on the coffee table between you.

"Right." You pause, likely waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything. "Alex, can you at least be less mean about this? I feel like you owe me that much after all this time together." He says nothing. "Like, tell me what's wrong instead of sitting here stone-faced. Things were okay. Why are you breaking up with me—"

"Why am I breaking up with you?" He barks a laugh. "Baby, I found this outside on your furnace! I'm not going to beg for you to stay, but what the hell is this?"

Your forehead furrows. "What? I wouldn't."

"If it's not yours and it's not mine, then whose is it?"

"I don't know! Alex, I wouldn't—I never even thought about breaking up," you insist. "Why would I lie about that?"

After scrutinizing your stricken expression, his relief comes in waves. He sinks into your couch, hands rubbing at his face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just—" He laughs again, the sound mostly air. "Yoba, that scared me. If someone left this here as a prank, I'm hunting them down tonight." He lifts his head to look at you and opens his arms. "Can you come over here?"

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm gross."

"You could be playing in mud with your pigs, and I'd still jump in."

With a roll of your eyes, you hop over to curl into his side and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You stink, but so does he after a good workout. Now that he thinks about it, he's still in his gym clothes.

"You scared me, too," you tell him, gaze trained on the table. "Not the best thing to see on a Friday afternoon. But now I want to know whose this is. Did you check it for clues?"

"Didn't bother. Thought it was yours." His arm around your waist tightens as you lean forward. "Does it matter?"

But that doesn't stop you. You have the bouquet in your lap now, prying at the blackened ribbon and wrapping. "Look at this," you say, holding it between two fingers. "The ribbon isn't blue, and Pierre always uses blue. The wrap is pretty much disintegrated, but this corner—he always puts his store brand." You suck in a breath. "Oh, duh! Where did you say you found this?"

"The furnaces right outside by the workbench."

"Okay, so mystery solved. This is mine, but not in the way you think."

He raises an eyebrow. "Explain. Don't say you're breaking up with a secret partner because I don't think I can handle a second shock right now."

"I made a wildflower bouquet to put on Grandpa's grave a few days ago, but I totally forgot where I put it, so I made a second one. This one must've been the one I misplaced."

He blinks. "How the hell did you not notice it since?"

"I came back from Ginger Island yesterday and went to sleep right after dinner! The flowers must've wilted from the furnace heat."

"You," he says slowly, pinching your cheek and ignoring your squeak, "are the absolute worst. I can't believe you nearly broke my heart and it turned out to be a whoopsie."

#stardew x reader #stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sdv alex x reader #stardew x farmer #stardew valley x farmer #sdv x farmer #sdv alex x farmer #stardew valley scenarios #sdv scenarios #sdv alex scenarios #stardew scenarios #saeri writes;

[ssaeri]

count my blessings

☆ tags: lucifer x gn!reader, finally giving him a factory tour since the anime won't, lucifer is like me—doesn't do well with surprises at first, i like him a lot because he deserves to be happy, referred to as MC (not Y/N) ☆

The door to Lucifer's study is heavy and impressive—nearly as impressive as the demon it houses. The first time you tried to push it open, you were surprised by its weight. Normally one of the brothers would open it and you'd trail in before or after them, depending on who was in trouble. But when you struggled to push it, you realized that it made perfect sense. Nothing less for Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride. A title with as much heft as this slab of mahogany.

You're standing before the door once again, hand poised to knock, and you wonder if you should just turn back and abandon your plan.

"If your intention is to replicate a statue, I suggest you choose another place to settle," an amused voice says from behind you.

Lucifer's glove appears in the corner of your eye, reaching around you for the door knob. He opens it easily, waiting until you step in to the room. In the fireplace, flames lick at the protective mesh screen, cracking and twisting around stacked logs. He takes a seat at his desk and gestures to one of the plush armchairs.

"Should I assume that you wanted to discuss something?"

Suddenly, at the prospect of speaking, your tongue turns to cotton in your mouth.

"I did—do, I mean. I do want to talk about something. Are you almost done your work for the week?"

He glances at the stack of papers by his side. "Just about. I should be done in a few days, but Diavolo likely has more for me to do," he says, a minuscule sigh escaping between his words. "Why?"

.

.

Diavolo is a fair demon, you reminded yourself as you followed Barbatos through the winding halls. You recognized the path to the pavilion after all this time. He's a reasonable one...most of the time.

More importantly, Diavolo had told you to not be shy. He was the Devildom prince, yes, but he was also your acquaintance, ready to help whenever he could. Surely, with this blanket statement of approval, you would be safe from being struck where you stood.

"Oh, MC, what a surprise!" Diavolo greeted you with a tight hug before ushering you into an empty chair. The table already had an extra plate and steaming cup of tea. "Come, come, Barbatos said that the cake is a new flavor. You should try it."

The cake was good, you assumed, as it always was. Something about passion fruit and newt tail worked well, but your tiny bites tasted dull as you waited for Diavolo to ask the reason for your visit. Luckily, you didn't have to wait long. He took a delicate sip from his own cup and settled into his chair with folded hands.

"I'm guessing you didn't come here to have cake," he said gently, taking note of your bouncing knees. You shook your head.

"I'm here for a favor, actually."

"I'm not a genie, but if it's within my power," he said, amber eyes crinkling as he laughed, "I'll do my best to grant it."

"Right," you breathed and scrunched the material of your pants into sweating fists. "My first question is, am I allowed to return to the human world during the break?"

"Of course, MC. You're an exchange student here, not a prisoner." He looked over his shoulder at Barbatos, who nodded. "Taking the portal by yourself might be difficult, but we could arrange something."

"Right, right. The next thing is, can Lucifer accompany me for that weekend? Without having to worry about any work?" You scooted to the edge of your chair. "I know he does a lot of necessary and important work, but I'd like for Lucifer to have a break—a genuine one—for the surprise I'm planning."

.

.

"A surprise?" At the word, Lucifer's expression hardens.

"Yes!" you say, hands coming up to reassure him. "But Diavolo said he wouldn't assign you any work for the next week, so once you're done, you can get ready for the human world—"

"Who put you up to this? Mammon? Satan? Belphegor?" He bites on a gloved thumb, muttering, "Things have been suspiciously quiet lately. I should have suspected something, but i didn't think that they would use you."

Your smile falters, and your mood goes up in smoke. "Excuse me?"

"If they want to set me up, they should've been less obvious," he scoffs. "I'm not going with you, MC."

You expected a variety of reactions. Hesitation, for one. He hasn't had a true break from errands in a long time; at least, not for as long as you've known him. Relief, possibly, at putting distance between himself and his responsibilities. Maybe even excitement at the prospect of having a solo trip with you without interruption. But outright suspicion and refusal? This, you weren't prepared for.

"It's not..." you trail off, tightening your jaw as if the pressure could hold together your disappointed heart. "It's not a plot."

And the change in your tone must finally break through his musing because he looks up and sees your crumpled posture, your furrowed brows. With a murmur of your name, he comes around the desk and kneels in front of your seat, taking both your hands in his.

"I'm really planning a surprise for you," you insist. "In the human world. That's why I made sure to clear your schedule."

"I realize that now," he says, pressing his lips to your fingers. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not—I'm not conspiring or anything."

"I know, love. I apologize for the baseless accusation."

"If you don't want to come with me, that's a different matter, but you can just say no. I'd be less upset if you—"

"No, I was merely quick to assume the worst." He squeezes your hands for the briefest moment. "I'm sorry, dear. It's just that, in my experience, surprises rarely end well. I appreciate the reprieve from work."

A beat of silence passes before you take a deep breath and withdraw from his hold. He returns to his seat.

"So where are we heading?"

"Telling you would defeat the purpose of it being a surprise, Lucifer," you say with a roll of your eyes. "Just make sure to pack something...casual by your standards."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "What's considered casual by your standards, then?"

"A raggedy t-shirt and sweatpants."

.

.

Lucifer does not show up in a raggedy t-shirt and sweatpants, and neither do you, to his obvious relief. He shows up, as you pretty much expected, in a turtleneck sweater and pinstripe pants, whose matching blazer you confiscated. For reasons, you told him vaguely, also removing his various hanging jewelry. Telling him that it was a safety violation would've given it away.

Once you usher him into the waiting taxi, you ask the driver to keep the destination a secret, but it's hard to hide the truth for long as you make your way to the edge of the city where an impressive brick building sits, whirring with the all the machines inside.

"Is that..." He nearly presses his face against the window. "is that an industrial laundry facility?"

His head whips to you when you don't say anything. Your answering smile is enough, and you have to remind him to keep moving. The view from the outside is impressive, but the tour starts at the door, not in the parking lot. You plant your hands on his back and push him along.

"Come on," you say. "If we don't finish this tour in time, we'll be late for our appointment at the local distillery."

The sound that escapes him is indescribable, but from the way he takes your hand and pulls you forward, it's safe to say that he's happy about this trip.

#obey me x reader #om x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #om lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me scenarios #om scenarios #om lucifer scenarios #obey me lucifer scenarios #lucifer scenarios #saeri writes;