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girlwiththepapatattoo · 20 days

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❁ Sugar (I've developed a taste for you) ❁

!!! NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI !!!

Summary: Astarion asks for a favour and ends up getting more than what he bargained for (or: I'm a lesbian but this fictional little vampire twink can get it)

Rating: Explicit (for eventual smut) Wordcount: 2.4k Descriptors: I try to keep my reader-inserts fairly neutral, but let me know if anything slips through the cracks! Astarion is his usual self, pathetic and awful yet somehow also lovable as fuck. CW: bad flirting, friends with benefits (and the benefit is bloodsucking lol), blood, blood drinking, biting, hint of praise kink, eventual proper smut, nicknames, so much innuendo

✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3 ⋆✦

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Chapter 1: My my, those eyes like fire

He could be lovely if he wasn’t so self-involved.

That is the first thought you have when you meet Astarion. He is not downright mean, but something about him just bugs you. He flirts with every creature on two legs (sometimes even those with more), but that’s not it.

Something about all his honeyed words just feels so… insincere.

You think Astarion has something to hide, and you desperately want to know what it is. So far, he has shown no signs of weakness, and he is as much as self-entitled twat as when you first met him. And this continues to be your opinion of him… up until today.

The day has been hard. Your feet hurt, your hands have blisters, and you are smeared with blood pretty much all over. Your shirt has been ripped and frankly, you don’t know when you might find the time to mend it. There is a giant bloodstain on the thigh of your trousers, and you are pretty sure your hair has become completely encrusted in blood quite some time ago.

But you have made it back to camp and that is all that counts.

As you shake out your bedroll and try to ignore the fact that this is the seventh night in a row that you’ll have had bland stew for dinner, you catch Astarion’s eyes across the fire.

His gaze is… odd.

You have seen him in the heat of battle, you’ve seen the glint in his eye when he comes up with another of his devious plans. You’ve even seen him amused, shaking with laughter when Gale recited an - admittedly very ambiguous - poem to you.

But you have never seen him like this. It’s not affection, nor is it desire that lights up his delicate features. He almost looks… desperate. Like he is starving for something, and you can’t place your finger on what it is.

As soon as Astarion notices that you have caught him, his eyes flick away. He saunters off, way too casual to not be obvious about it.

You stare after him, vaguely confused. But then, Karlach makes her way over to ask for more stew, and you forget all about it. For the moment.

Her smile makes your belly flutter, and you wish you knew more about her, and so you do your best to make conversation, joking and asking shallow questions.

Astarion’s eyes haunt you through dinner.

Even though the day was exhausting, the nights in your little camp are starting to grow on you. Gale is funny in his own, book-wormish way. You have learned that Karlach is downright hilarious in her joy about the world outside of Avernus, and Wyll is always scandalised by her, which is admittedly quite fun to watch. Lae’zel and Shadowheart keep to themselves a bit more, but even they share the meals with the rest of you.

You laugh when Karlach imitates Wyll’s horrified expression, but in spite of yourself. your eyes keep wandering to the silver hair of your elven companion who is sitting across from you.

Astarion is staring at you again, his eyes focused on some point below your jaw. He is watching you intently, seemingly unaware you have caught him. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away - he just stares at you as your spoon scrapes along the bottom of your bowl.

Only when you get up to wash off before you go to bed does he move again.

Sometimes, Astarion reminds you of a scared animal in the way he moves, his eyes flicking back and forth, his hands trembling slightly whenever he is not in battle. He hides right out in the open, behind his swagger and his dirty jokes and innuendos, behind his beautiful face and his beautiful body.

Tonight, though, even in all his desperation, Astarion is not prey. He is a predator. And like any talented predator, he has managed to get his prey away from the protection of the group.

You are kneeling in the small stream that runs by the camp, washing your bowl, your clothes, yourself - everything is dirty and soaked in mud, sweat and blood. You are barely wearing anything, but your companions have seen you in much more precarious situations at this point.

Astarion approaches quietly, sneaking up on you in that manner where you can never tell whether it is intentional or not. He is just… there, suddenly, shedding his clothes next to you, blood still smeared on his pale skin.

He stops short of the water, watching you from the riverbank. You try not to gawk as he undresses, but something about him seems unusually anxious. The way he pushes hit foot forward so slowly, testing the water, makes you wonder if he might not know how to swim.

Astarion smiles suddenly, taking a step into the stream and towards you, then another, his smile growing the deeper he wades into the water. Dark red streaks appear in the water where the blood is washed from his pale skin.

He clears his throat and raises a sharp brow.

“And how are you feeling tonight, sweet thing?” he inquires. His eyes flick over your body, focusing on a point below your ear for a moment before he rips his gaze away again.

“‘M alright,” you answer, brow furrowed as you scrub your shirt a little harder than you actually need to. Why he has to be so infuriating with his nicknames, you’ll never know. “Today was… a lot. I wanted to have a quiet moment.”

“Ah.”

He doesn’t seem to get the hint. He merely wades further into the stream, shimmering pearls of water running down his back. When you don’t say anything else, he turns to face you once again.

“Are you not going to ask me how I am, darling?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you mumble, throwing your shirt to the side, Clearly, you’re not getting anywhere with it tonight.

“Tsk, so rude. Somebody should really teach you some manners.” He clicks his tongue at you like you are an insubordinate child, shaking his head until droplets hit you.

You press your lips together. If he wasn’t so beautiful, he wouldn’t get away with half the things he does, and it frustrates you to no end. You catch yourself forgiving him on occasions where you don’t mean to, simply because his face is the prettiest things you have ever seen, and you hate it.

Astarion watches you carefully, gauging your mood. You stare back at him defiantly. What the hell could he want from you, anyway?

The hunger in his eyes is back, you notice - that desperation that you can’t quite place. There is a pained expression around his mouth, and despite all his cockiness, he is clearly not doing entirely well - his skin even paler than usual, his hands shaking a little when he crosses his arms.

Astarion yawns, his gaze raking over you in a way that makes you shiver. You tell yourself it’s just the cold of the water.

“Well, I was going to ask you for your help, but you are in a terrible mood.” He inspects his fingernails, and even though you know exactly that he is baiting you, you can’t help yourself.

“You? Need my help? Never thought the day would come.” Your voice is biting, but you can’t hide the note of curiosity that sneaks in.

“Don’t make me out to be such a horrible companion.” Astarion takes a step closer to you through the water. You take a step back. He laughs, but his eyes catch on your neck again. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

You shrug.

“Sometimes you are.”

“Hm.” He raises his brows, and takes another step towards you. This time, you don’t step back. “Well, I suppose that can’t be helped, my love. We all have good and bad days, don’t we?” He cocks his head. “And today has been quite hard for me.”

You make a non-committal noise, staring him down. What in the hells is he trying to do? Seduce you?

Your body likes that thought much more than your mind does.

Astarion is watching you intently. He stretches out his hand to take yours, and in your surprise, you don’t even pull back. His thumb rests right against the delicate inside of your wrist, and he closes his eyes.

You wait for him to drone on about how he carried your group on the battlefield, to gloat that you now owe him your life seven times over, but he doesn’t. Astarion stays eerily still, breathing deeply as his thumb strokes your wrist, pressing against your pulse point.

You can’t keep quiet any longer, not with the odd way he is behaving. Maybe he got hit by a spell, or…

“Any reason today was particularly hard for you?” You meant to sound sarcastic, but the question comes out sounding sincere. You scold yourself for caring so much.

Your skin burns like fire where he is touching you. Astarion’s eyes open, and he looks at you like he was a million miles away. He is so close now - much closer than you realised. You can see the fiery ring around his irises.

“I…” To your surprise, his voice is hesitant and quiet. “It’s easier to just… show you. You see, I need something from you, my darling.”

You frown.

“Why ask me? You could ask any of us, and most of them would be more inclined to help than I am. I’ve seen the way that Gale watches you at the fire-”

“Gale?” Astarion sounds genuinely amused. “Darling, do you think I’m asking you for sexual favours right now?”

“I- yes?” Your voice is full of uncertainty. “I mean… is that not what you were going to say?”

Astarion smiles, small and sharp.

“No.” He is even closer to you now, his thumb still caressing the skin of your wrist. “Even though I would not be disinclined if you offered… you are quite beautiful, you know?”

“Mh. Thank you?” You wish your heart would not beat faster at the way he looks at you. It’s a look that doesn’t fit the words that fall from his lips, a look that betrays the desperation with which he needs this favour. “What-”

“What I am asking for is simple.” He is so close now he could kiss you if you leaned in. “All I want is… a taste.”

“I- what?”

His lips are on your neck, his hand in your hair. You are not quite sure when that happened.

“Say yes, sweet thing,” he breathes. “Just a taste of your blood and-”

“My blood?” You sound more distraught than you actually feel. You are… oddly resigned. You should have seen this coming - you knew something was up with him, you knew he wasn’t telling you the whole truth.

And now, here you are. With a fucking vampire. His lips graze your pulse point, and your heart beats faster. You can feel the heat of his breath when he utters a single word.

“Please.”

It’s that one word that changes everything. Just like that, he has you. All the arrogance, all the superiority is gone from his voice, and what is left is just hunger and the fear that you might reject him. For a moment, you are sure you must have imagined it, but then, Astarion repeats himself.

“Please.” His hand tightens around your wrist, though he is trembling more than you are. “Just a taste, no more.”

Your lips are numb when you answer, your mind screaming at you not to let him- this is dangerous, this is stupid- you have already lost so much blood in the fight today and-

“Yes.” Your hands are on his shoulders, then in his silver hair. He smells so good; even after this horrid day. Your voice is softer than you intend for it to be, but his desperation makes you weak. “If you need it, it’s yours.”

Astarion makes a sound that shatters you, and before you can think too much about your own colossal stupidity, his fangs sink into your neck.

It’s not painful.

It’s uncomfortable, but the fear that bites into your heart ebbs after mere seconds. Astarion’s hands are surprisingly warm against you, keeping you upright. Your head falls to the side, granting him easier access and - oh.

Why does it feel so good?

You become acutely aware of your blood flowing from the small puncture wounds in your neck, and for a moment, you panic, stiffening in Astarion’s arms.

“There, there, sweet thing.” His lips don’t raise an inch from your neck. “It’s alright, just trust me. Just a taste, all I want is a taste…”

Your head is swimming.

“You have tasted me,” you whisper, trying to pull away. When you look into Astarion’s eyes, there is a red glint in them - and a sadness that overwhelms you.

“No taste of you will ever be enough.” Astarion looks up at you from beneath long lashes. “You are divine, my love.”

The tip of his tongue wets his lips, licking up the small droplets of blood that linger.

You stare at him, trying with all your might to focus.

“You said… just a taste. No more than you need.”

His finger traces your jaw, down your neck, and your whole body is on fire.

“If it were up to me, I would need all of you,” Astarion sighs, his lips on your neck again, his tongue lapping at the blood that flows from the wound he has given you. “I would take and take, and give you so much in return. I would have you in ways you did not even know you wanted. Taste everything you have to offer.”

You shiver when he raises your wrist to his mouth, soft lips pressing to delicate skin.

“I would cherish you, keep you. My little pet, so perfect, so beautiful in every way. So eager to give what I need. Would you give me more if I asked?”

“Of course,” your lips say even though those were not the words you were planning to utter. But how could you ever say no to him? “If that’s what you need.”

Astarion’s sigh is one of rapture and delight.

“So obedient for me… You know, all these days I thought you hated me.” He chuckles to himself. “I suppose even I can be wrong sometimes.”

His teeth sink back into your neck, and the world goes dark.

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>> Next Chapter

HELLO MY DOVES i finally found time to format this for tumblr so here you go, for those who are not in love with the bear, you can get the twink, as a treat.

@deewithani @ficsbynight @kote-wan @ariadnes-red-thread @rescuethewretched @twistedstitcher27 @kakashibabe02 @writingbylee @purgetrooperfox @basilbumble @witchklng @lackofhonor @ashotofspotchka @sailor-blossom @misogirl828 @amyroswell @darkjedipoptarts @pinkiemme @sleepingsun501 @fett-djarin @samanthacookieone @tortor-mcgee @corrabell @queen--kenobi @elegantduckturtle @felinaone @palpipeen @wild-karrde @obeydontstray @nomercyforthewarrior @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @thefact0rygirl @everythingyouwanted @equalityforcats @cagrame @ladykatakuri @snakerune @shadesofshatteredblue @100lxtters @damerondala @tachyon-girl @rintheemolion @pickleprickle @mando-amando @certified-anakinfucker @baba-fett @ulchabhangorm

#ohhhhhhhhhhh #ohhhhhh this is good stuff #I love the way he overwhelms #the description of how you so easily give in makes me wonder if he cast something...🤔#astarion #vampire husband #not my writing

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girlwiththepapatattoo · 20 days

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new tide | elliott | stardew valley fanfic

new tide | chapter 1 | Pierre's Cursed General Store

Pairing: Elliott (Stardew Valley) X F!Farmer Summary: You've recently moved to the valley, and so has a handsome, fledgling writer. Rating: Mature. All my works and blogs are 18+ regardless of rating. Minors do not interact. Blank and ageless blogs will be blocked. Words: 2.8k Warnings: First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Canon Compliant, Pre-Relationship, Light Angst, Fluff, Embarrassment, Awkwardness, Swearing (to Yoba), Anti-Joja, Banter, Farmer has slight thots about Elliott, Developing Friendships, Small Towns, Gossip, Food, Wine A/N: the 1.6 update has me starting a new farm and falling in love with this beloved writer all over again (and also writing for fun for myself to help my writers block anxiety over my other stories)

Pierre's Cursed General Store

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It’s mid summer when you finally come across Elliott. It’s almost embarrassing how long it takes you to meet him officially if not for the fact you were both new arrivals to the sleepy little town of Stardew Valley. Getting settled, acquainted, familiar- with everything and everyone has taken you time. The both of you. You with your Grandpa’s farm and all that entailed. Elliott with his ramshackle cabin and reclusive ways.

It wasn’t like you’d been avoiding him. If anything you were quietly intrigued by Leah’s description of the other foreigner. Tall, fit, blazing red hair a deeper shade than her own. Supposedly he kept it just as long as Leah’s. By her account he was a handsome sight to behold, and a fierce contender for her own creativity- only he painted with words instead of wood and mixed media.

Along with yourself- Elliott had been the talk of the town these last few weeks.

||| Last Tuesday |||

You’re examining Pierre’s pasta selection. Delirious with exhaustion after a long day planting your summer seeds and wanting something simple to heat up on your newly installed stove. Robin had only just finished renovating your kitchen and while you wanted to christen it with a fantastic homemade meal one of these days- today was not that day. Sweaty, dirt stained and longing for a hot shower and your bed- you wanted something easy-peasy. Crack open a can, dump it in a pot sort of easy. Yoba, you might even eat it cold, you were so tired.

The printed words on the tin cans of QuickPasta and ReadyRavioli begin to blur as you sway on the old linoleum when you overhear Caroline and Gus from the next aisle over. The two are discussing your recent produce shipment- the last of your Spring crops- when the conversation turns to the mysterious writer.

“Such a gorgeous, deep red on these strawberries. You can tell they will taste good by how they smell too,” Gus says with reverent admiration and Caroline hums a happy agreement before launching into the next juiciest topic.

“Have you seen the red-headed writer at your Saloon yet? What’s his name- Oliver?” Caroline asks with eager interest and Gus chuckles.

“Elliott,” Gus supplies and you peek over the cans of GrubGruel and TinTangle to see him slide another basket of your strawberries onto the purchase counter and you quietly bloom with pride when he plucks out one of the fruits and chomps into it on the spot. Gus makes a noise of pleasant satisfaction while Caroline laughs.

“If you don’t buy them, I’ll eat them all up!” Caroline admits with a grin before she returns to the topic of Elliott with quick measure, “Yes! Him! Elliott!” Caroline asks with the same excitement as a teen with gossip about their favorite celebrity as she punches Gus’s order into the register. The grocer’s wife’s familiar finger jabbing slows when Gus nods as he finishes the strawberry. You bet Caroline could punch code the entire store with her eyes closed, however she stalls for time now as she awaits Stardew Valley’s next most important currency while Gus fishes in his pocket for his wallet.

Your own interest is torn from your decision on what’s for dinner as you await Gus’s response. Carefully stepping closer to the end cap of the aisle- you crouch behind a stack of crates holding up Pierre’s selection of summer seeds and farming supplies to hear their conversation better. Gus always maintains a strict professionalism from your gathering, and Caroline was more an apt listener than engager- but if you’d learned anything from living in a small town for a handful of months it was that gossip was as good as gold. It was basically its own currency and you were a little tired of being the main economy since your arrival.

The fierce crinkling of paper bags omits Gus’s initial response so you dare to step further into the open. Caroline is bagging his groceries- her entire attention on him as she expertly loads the bags to their limit for the scant jog across the plaza that Gus will make in a few moments. You make a mental note to propose a special Stardrop delivery to Gus once you’re more familiar with the Saloon’s needs. Maybe you could develop a seasonal menu with the produce you grow.

“-- and on Sunday’s. But since summer started, I’ve seen him less,” Gus supplies before another strawberry is snatched and thrown into his mouth before Caroline can pack it away.

“What’s he like?” Caroline asks, “He comes here to shop on Thursdays but always during my afternoon tea with Evelyn,” Caroline pouts and you inch closer to hear above the rustling of the paper bags that Gus attempts to lift when your boot catches one of the shovels on display.

THUD

CLATTER

The sound of a hundred seed packets scattering all over has you wishing to become one with the processed foods witnessing your dual shopping and farming crimes from their lofty shelf seats. Caroline’s gaze finds you in an instant while you rush to collect the fallen items with a hurried apology.

“It’s fine, dear,” Caroline calls from the counter as your hands scramble over the seed packets that have splayed out at your feet like offerings to the floor gods. In your haste to sort out the mess you’ve created- Dank Yoba, why are there so many different varieties of radish and tomatoes?? You barely hear the doorbell as Gus leaves let alone the approach of another customer.

A deep voice appears at your bent spine- your crouched form reminiscent of how you’d spent your entire day in your field. But you’re picking up seeds instead of putting them down in the dirt you’d dug. Wishing you could crawl into a hole and disappear as some of the seed packets you picked up slip through your fingers and to the floor once more. Falling away like your common sense because this stranger’s voice hits you on your personal radar especially when he adds an affectionate endearment.

“Ahh, I see you’re sowing the seeds of chaos, dear farmer,” an unfamiliar- yet highly attractive man asks from where he stands next to you. Fitted elegantly in a red vest over a cream dress shirt and a matching pair of burgundy slacks, you knew it was Elliott without Caroline’s stifled gasp as Gus says “Speaking of…” because of course the Saloon owner hadn’t left. Elliott had only arrived . Gus was a champion of observing people- he wouldn’t miss this for having a new topic to sling alongside the ale and Saloon grub for the next week.

And dear bright Yoba, why didn’t Leah say anything about how pretty Elliott was?

“Ha ha,” you manage with the way your mouth has gone dry, “You know I just can’t get enough of these things-” you say, referring to the handful of seed packets you clutch before gesturing at Caroline- desperate to pull someone else into this man’s orbit lest you launch yourself further into awkwardness based off the sheer proximity.

You expect the woman to vouch for how much coin you’d only just spent on summer seeds earlier this week but instead Caroline pops a strawberry into her mouth akin to popcorn before she smiles. Leaving you stranded in a sea of slipper papery packets and sheltered seeds that rattle with your nerves as Elliott chuckles lightly above you.

“You know- cuz I’m a farmer,” you try helplessly to rescue yourself, “Sowing seeds and mayhem is my farm’s specialty!” you say with a nervous chuckle, wishing somehow you’d bought out Pierre’s entire seed stock and Yoba knows you’d have planted all of them just to avoid this embarrassing situation.

Elliott regards you with a smile from where he stands- long, red hair falling around his face to frame his warm, green eyes and a strong jaw. Lips quirked in mild amusement steals your attention from the splash of freckles over the bridge of his strong nose and surprisingly delicate cheeks.

Elliott holds a notebook under one arm. Tucked away like he’s pushing his red locks away from his face and behind his ear to regard you better. He’s pulling another ink stained hand out of his pocket before he grabs and lifts the fabric across his thighs in an undoubtedly familiar movement. Bending down to meet you more squarely, Elliott is all grace and elegance. Once he reaches eye level- you realize with quickness how much you’d been staring- your gaze darting everywhere else except him all of a sudden.

Shiny dress shoes stand in stark contrast to your muddy boots. Cleverly designed with closed lacing to prevent dirt and debris from getting into them- Elliott’s shoes are unlike anyone else’s in this town- that you’re sure of. Didn’t Leah say he lived on the beach?

Did he even own a pair of sandals? Now, you’re imagining him shirtless on the beach- something that must be rare given he has two layers on his upper body and it’s summer time. Plus the red hair. He probably burned easily. That must be why he covers up so.

Sweat bursts over your skin at Elliott’s new proximity and the deviation of your thoughts at how put together he looks and how not-put-together you and your mind have become.

Distracting like the weeds that pop up on your farm seemingly overnight. Grown wild and untamed, your thoughts of Elliott grow into something that you hope will never see the light of day.

Seeds. The seeds. Yoba, shine light upon you, you silently pray as your hands resume their gathering of the packets. Mentally dressing yourself down for your dirty mind, overalls and fingernails.

“Allow me to lend a hand,” Elliott offers kindly.

Kneeling beside you, Elliott’s hands appear alongside yours to collect the packets.

Carefully, lest Caroline gossip about you destroying her husband’s store- you sort out the packets into their varieties on the display. Elliott hands you the packets in silence. Allowing you a moment to collect yourself and set your wrongs to right. When it’s done, you rise and turn to thank him.

Elliott holds your abandoned basket of groceries to you.

“Thank you for your help-” you say, lost for a moment in his gaze. Glittering with amusement and sincerity before he regards the content of your basket as he passes it to you. A lonely can of GlopGourmet rolls around the bottom and embarrassment strikes through you for the second time in Pierre’s cursed General Store.

Elliott pauses before reaching past you to pull another can from the shelf.

“GourmetGlop is an admirable venture into chaotic culinary fare, I admit. A respectable choice. Especially for one as driven to pandemonium as yourself. However, have you considered HarvestHaven?” Elliott says, spinning the can for your consideration like he’s a model that’s been plucked out of a TV advert, “It’s a brand that honor’s hard working farmers such as yourself. Farm fresh, quality ingredients. A reward for your efforts.”

For a moment, you’re back in your dismal, gray cubicle. Recycled, stale air as frigid as your once cold, shriveled heart falling over your weary form as you rot in your fabric prison. Keyboards clack and someone coughs down the straight run of similar cages that extends in every direction of this windowless building. The artificial lighting and eyestrain from your computer screen always had you on the verge of a migraine.

“Rewards” at Joja Co. used to mean once monthly cold, dull pizza ‘parties’ where you were allowed ten minutes away from your desk to scarf down as much soggy dough flavored slices as you could before devoting another four hours of your life to back-to-back meetings. Ten minutes to lift your head out of the drab hole you were confined to so you could lay eyes upon your colleagues that for most you’d only know as their email sign off because the turnover rate was astronomical. When you were first hired you tried to socialize while you chewed on the tough crusts but eventually you gave up when you’d only just put faces to fonts and said employees would disappear into the ether. Mail Delivery Failure to [email protected]. Inevitably your inbox was filled with broken chains while your own shackles got heavier and heavier. Lost connections to anyone that you tried to get to know beyond the business needs. All your efforts at that dead job were endlessly unrecognized and unrewarded.

But there’s been too many sunny days since then. In this quaint little valley that adopted you as easy as breathing- in Elliott’s friendly ease- the beat of your heart against your ribs now feels like another warmth you’d once forgotten.

“Sounds like the perfect meal to tame my wild ways, thanks,” you reply with a smile, plucking another can of HarvestHaven from the shelf and replacing the GourmetGlop in your basket.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Elliott says, pausing before you suddenly remember your manners and blurt out your name. He smiles, a gleam of teeth that competes with the summer sun before giving you his own name in turn, before adding, “Remember, dear farmer, chaos has its own poetic charm.”

“Is that so?” you say, completely lost in his smile- the way a flush rises from his shirt collar- the thick column of his neck and across his chiseled cheeks.

“Well, of course-” Elliott says, words breaking off and seemingly flustered before he tugs his notebook from beneath his arm, procuring a pen from somewhere. Ink stained fingers flipping through the pages while he balances his can of HarvestHaven absentmindedly before he’s scribbling across the page.

You’re of one mind to ask what he writes so ardently in the book but Elliott raises one hand to brush his hair behind his ear and the action steals your thoughts until you find yourself floating across the General Store and to the purchase counter.

Just as your can of HarvestHaven hits the wood- Caroline’s eyes sparkling between you and Elliott as the register beeps- you hear a loud thud behind you. Elliott sheepishly collects his fallen can from the floor, one hand clutching his notebook and pen to his chest. Broad shoulders shaking over his long legs with a soft, stuttered laugh before he darts into the safety of the aisles.

Later, you’re heating up the pasta on your stove- enjoying the smell of herbs and spices as you read the label. Impressed at Elliott’s culinary preferences as you read about the company and its efforts to treat its workers and farmers fairly, especially in contrast to your experience at Joja.Co.

Leah had left something important out whenever she mentioned Elliott to you- which had been often now that you recall- but you’d gathered it anyways. It was in her kindred nature to yours. Seeking solace in solitude after a toxic relationship- Leah with her ex and you with your employer.

Like recognized like and Leah eyed it as easy as she color matched paint for her plein air works. It’s why you’d become fast friends. Leah knew what it meant to be new to town. The sculpture she’d made for you- the one she’d painted of an emerald that she’d gifted to Elliott. How it matched his eyes the way her sculpture of you reflected your wild ways- Leah was arranging you two together like she composed a picture. You’d felt the draw before even laying eyes on Elliott and then when you were near him it only strengthened.

A series of short raps comes before Leah appears in your doorway as though you’d manifested her.

“Fields look a pretty picture,” Leah compliments your days efforts with a grin before pausing and inhaling deeply, adding, “Smells good, chef,” she chirps, rucking off her boots, a bottle of wine in one hand before she’s opening cabinets, locating your mismatched set of glassware in a few moments.

Pleased for the company, if not wishing you’d gotten more than one can for the unexpected sharing- you plate the pasta while Leah uncorks the rhubarb wine and pours the deep ruby liquid, eyeing the empty can on your counter with interest.

“GourmetGlop not good enough for you anymore?” Leah says playfully and you roll your eyes with a huff of a laugh.

“Can’t believe you let me eat that stuff, Granola girl,” you retort with a challenging grin and Leah scoffs before she sips her wine.

“Elliott would never ,” you add before shoving a twirl of the world’s tastiest processed noodles into your mouth while Leah digests your statement- a look of confusion coloring her features until realization dawns.

The mug of wine and plate of pasta clatters onto your newly installed countertop. Abandoned for her hands clutching to your dirt stained sleeves.

“You met him!” Leah exclaims with delight, latching herself to you with dramatic eagerness, “Tell me everything!” while you laugh- trying not to choke on pasta that you’re having a difficult time believing wasn’t homemade by the ghost of your Grandma.

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Thank you for reading!! :3 Please engage if you enjoyed- likes, comments and reblogs mean ✨ e v e r y t h i n g ! ✨Thank you friend! ^_^ 💖💖💖

#ahhhh! I love this!#all the descriptions are so good #I feel like I'm in the store #oh and the first meeting being so cute and awkward but also with an overwhelming pull #and Leah! matchmaking already for her friends!#can't wait for the next chapter!#stardew valley elliott #not my writing

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