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i-write-things · 9 months

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I'm just imagining how Elliot would react when he hears the farmer passed out in the mines. I imagine he's maybe hunched over a writing desk, candle by his side as he revels in the cozy writing atmosphere he created. Then suddenly, he gets word that his dear farmer passed out in the mines all battered up and bruised. I can see just a shocked writer face as he drops his writing utensil. After three seconds of utter shock and no one moving, he rushes out the door, faster than his legs have ran for probably ever. When he arrives at the hospital, he's all over Harvey, asking if you're ok, when you'll be out, if there's anything he can do, ect. The man sits in the waiting room anxiously waiting, his knee bouncing and his clenched fist hiding his nervous mouth chewing away at his bottom lip. Finally, when he sees you come out of the room, he rushes to you and starts questioning you. Are you ok? How much do you hurt? How sore are you? Why were you out in the mines like that if you could get this hurt? While he questions you, he gently examines your arm and face as if he was the doctor and not Harvey. After you reassure him three times that you're fine, the fear and worry fade. Then he gets a little upset, asking why you were being so reckless and things of that nature. Oh, you are getting the lecture the entire time he escorts you back to the farm. He also forces you to rest in bed. Oh, no no no. You're not moving from that spot. It doesn't matter what you're doing, you're staying there. You've done enough. He grabs you whatever you need, like food, water, ect. It isn't until your about to sleep that he tucks you in with a sigh, and apologizes for his behavior. He didn't mean to react so harshly, but you mean so much to him, he hopes you understand. But you're still not off the hook. He clings to you side for the next two days. Married? Good, he watches you from the house, and if you show any signs of soreness, he takes over and tells you to head inside while he tends the farm. Only dating? He'll visit you as often as possible, at least ten times daily. Oh, and there's no way in hell he's letting you go back in the mines until he is certain you'll be ok. After maybe two weeks at least will he begrudgingly let you go after he stocks you up on Energy Tonics and snacks. And don't you dare hesitate to leave the mines if you feel weak or tired. Because he'll start the process all over again. Please, please try to take care of yourself. The poor author doesn't need that kind of stress, his hair will fall out, and he loves his hair.

#Stardew valley #Stardew valley x reader #Elliott Stardew valley #Elliott x reader #Elliott x reader stardew valley #Elliott x farmer #farmer reader #injured reader #poor elliott doesn't need that kind of stress #I write for you #As a writer myself I can relate to him and I love him #I married him and I still love this man to this day

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boocup · 11 months

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More of this beautiful man!

#elliott x farmer #sdv elliot x farmer #sdv elliott #sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley elliott #stardew valley art #sdv art

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writer-by-the-sea · 1 year

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hello!! may i request something fluffy where a touch starved elliott is visited by a farmer who can’t sleep and wants to cuddle with him? they’re not yet dating, but there’s EXTREME romantic tension between them

Slightly BARELY NSFT, No beta, no spell check lol

The storm raged outside, the lighting illuminating my cabin, each flash of light shortly accompanied by thunder that roared so loudly it shook my bed. I sighed and stared up at the ceiling, the rain beating down on the roof and providing me with the white noise I would normally crave; but now I laid there disturbed by the storm and sleep continues to evade me.

I let my thoughts slip to the farmer… Weeks ago they told me how they can’t have trouble sleeping through the night, that they were considering pills to help them through the night. I couldn’t help by wonder how they were fairing this night. Were they just as frustrated as I? Tossing and turning under the covers and considering giving up and waiting for the morning?

All I knew was that tomorrow would be a day with many cups of coffee, perhaps even an espresso or two.

I leaned over, reaching for my bedside lamp, flicking the switch with well rehearsed practice— only for the light to ignore me. I blinked at the light, tapping the switching again, and then once more..

“Lovely,” I mumbled and stood. The power was out.

Near my desk sat an oil lamp, one that I preferred to save for emergencies; I suppose this fell into that category. I considered what I would do with my time now, writing coming across my mind. Although, as of late, anything I’ve written has only been conveying my sappy and desperate need for the touch of another.

For far too long I’ve lived in this cabin alone. Something I thought I would enjoy, but I find myself feeling more and more lonely as each day passes. These days it’s gotten to the point where I find myself starved for attention. I wander around town more often than ever, finding excuses to see the others (mostly the farmer,) and I go on to bore them with tales of my unsuccessful writings.

With my lamp lit, I found my way back to my bed, my new plan for the night to reread over my pages and correct any mistakes I come across. Forever I will misspell at minimum ten words per page.

I may be a writer but I am no expert at spelling, ironic as it may be.

Just as I began to settle back in bed, there’s a knock at the door.

Unusual, but it wouldn’t be the first time Willy visited in the dead of the night. He might be in need of some snacks if he saw Sebastian earlier in the day, or asking for help to shovel rain water out of his shop again.

I groaned and slipped out of bed, now giving up on my plans and preparing myself for Willy’s visit. A night of fishermen’s stories and tellings of his childhood. Not that I minded it, but I would rather relax tonight..

The knocking came again, urging me to open it and let them in. Part of me was tempted to ignore it, to pretend to be sleeping and leave Willy on his own — as rude as it may be.

But then—

“Elliott?” A voice called from outside my door, helpless and scared.

I ran to the door, flinging it open to reveal the farmer standing there. Drenched from head to toe, but still smiling as I greeted them. “Oh my goodness!” I cried and stepped back, opening the door even further and ushered them inside. “You must be freezing! Please, come inside!”

The farmer quickly ducked in, wasting no time in kicking off their boots and closing the door behind them. “I’m sorry to drop by so late,” they began and removed their jacket. “I just—“

“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked and took their jacket. I hung it and then offered a towel.

They gave me a sheepish smile, nodding and accepting the towel. “Did I wake you?”

I waved them off. “No worries, I was awake. I couldn’t sleep either.”

“Is it okay if… I stay here a while?”

I could tell they were embarrassed to ask, scared even as they avoided my gaze. If not for the cold weather outside, I would think they were hiding heated cheeked. But that may have just been wishful thinking. “Of course!” I replied. “Stay as long as you like—“ I paused, looking over their drenched clothes and uncertain on how to phrase my next words. “Do you… perhaps need a change of clothes?”

The farmer looked down again, chewing their bottom lip and twisting their hands in front of themselves. “I don’t want to be a burden—“

“Nonsense!” I rushed to my dresser, plucking a few of my clothes out to present them. Mostly oversized clothing, things I haven’t worn in ages but I knew would be comfortable and warm. It would definitely be better than what they wore now, anyway. “Let me know if these are okay,” I said and handed the clothes over. “You can change in the bathroom if—“

“Thank you!” The farmer replied and took the offered clothing….

And then began to strip before me.

I gasped and spun around, heat flooding my cheeks from what I’d saw so little of. Soft, supple skin… A few minor scars across their body, no doubt from the farm and the mines… How I wished to turn back around and take them into my arms, to kiss every scar, to lick every curve, to worship and adore their body just as they deserved.

I held myself back, taking a breath and moving to my bed to readjust the blankets and pillows. I wasn’t sure what tonight would bring, I wanted to keep my hopes low but—

“You can turn back around.”

They stood there, my sweater hanging off one shoulder and my old pajama pants hanging low on their waist. “Sorry about that,” the farmer mumbled. “I was actually really cold and started changing without thinking.”

“It’s no problem.” I chuckled and took their wet clothes from them, moving to hang them in my bathroom. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Once in the bathroom, I closed the door behind me. How could they look so adorable in my clothing….

I slowly hung their clothing, willing down the urge to run back out and pull the farmer into my arms. To compliment them on how cute they looked, to kiss across their exposed skin and slip my hands under the sweater they wore. To lead them into my bed and remove their borrowed clothing piece by piece—

“Fuck,” I whispered and stared down at the shirt I held. I forced myself to hang it up with everything else.

Tonight, the farmer came to me for a place to relax. For a place to hide out the storm. For a place they knew they could trust without a starving writers wandering hands all over their body. Their perfect, gorgeous, sexy, strong body.

I shook my head and stepped out of the bathroom, ready to chat with the farmer about the weather, about the night sky, about everything but my cravings to just touch them. But all of the words fell out of my mouth.

They laid in my bed, under the covers and flipping through one of my books from the library. The light of my lantern dancing across them, their beauty freezing me in place. A fantasy I’ve dreamt of a million times, only now I could do nothing. My breathing unsteady, the palms now sweaty, my throat dry and all words failing me as I let my eyes trail over them.

The farmer noticed me and scooted to the side of my bed, pushing themselves into the wall before patting the empty side. “It’ll be warmer under the covers,” was all they said before they looked back down at the book. A book that only detailed the secret to ‘writing an award willing novel.’ Something I knew they wouldn’t actually be interested in but…

I climbed into the bed and slid under the covers, biting my tongue when my leg brushed against their own. This couldn’t actually be happening, right? There was no storm outside and I was simply in a very deep sleep. If not for the warmth coming from the farmer, I may have actually believed I was dreaming…

The farmer leaned towards me, their head coming to rest on my shoulder, their book now closed and forgotten in their lap. I kept my eyes forward, my hands turning to fists as I let the weight of their head settle upon me. “This is nice,” they whispered and snuggled in a little further, one of their hands going to lap on my arm. “Do you mind?”

“No,” I muttered back, gulping as they shifted even closer, their arm now laying across my chest as they got more comfortable. “I— I don’t mind.”

My body felt like it was being doused in flames, feeling more aware than ever of everything around me. The rain coming back to my mind, softer than before as it fell across the roof, the thunder still rumbling outside but now miles away, the farmers hair as it brushed against my cheek, their arm as it laid over my fast beating heart, their thumb as it caressed my arm.

“I really appreciate you letting me come in tonight…” I could feel their breath across my neck, my body shivering as I let the feeling wash over me.

I took a breath, attempting to form the words. Their legs were on my own now, the farmer pulling me further into the bed and encouraging me to relax and our combined warmth made my eyes grow heavy.

“I’ve dreamt of this so many times,” I said, my voice a whisper as I finally gave me.

The farmer giggled, their laugh light and adorable… and bringing what I’d just said to light. “And? Is it everything you imagined?”

I sighed and wrapped one of my arms around them. “Even better.”

In the morning I would wake with the farmer still in my arms, their nose tucked into my neck and snoring softly. Our first night together that would become one of many.

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oreostarlight · 5 months

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Farmer: Elliott! Did it hurt when you fell?

Elliott: In love with you? ;)

Farmer: … I love you, Elliott, I do. So much. BUT YOU JUST DOWN A WHOLE FLIGHT OF STAIRS

#sdv #sdv incorrect quotes #stardew valley #stardew valley incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #sdv farmer #stardew farmer #stardew valley farmer #sdv elliott #stardew elliott #stardew valley elliott #elliott x farmer #elliott: please help me farmer! i’ve fallen so hard for you i cannot get up ❤️#farmer: elliott i love you so much but your ankle should not be bending like that please shut up so i can call harvey

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mircheck · 4 months

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pov your boy Elliott and you are on a date and it’s really cute and funny and romantic and nothing bad is ever going to happen 🥹

#stardew valley #stardew elliott #sdv elliott #elliott x farmer

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unabashedly-so · 4 months

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Knots

Elliott x gn!farmer, SFW, soft little romantic character study, barely proofed, 1k words, drabble.

content warning: alcohol mention, nothing else I can think of.

This is dedicated to 3 posts in particular that got me thinking the other night: pizza, Elliott Scrap, and be gentle carrying me home.

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Like a knotted skein in loving hands, there's a slow unraveling.

The largest knots get attention first. You find one in his hair, incidentally—after the first night Elliott stays over, accidentally. It was winter and wrapped in warm flannel and a warmer embrace, the farm could wait. He’d come over for dinner, excited to share the latest rounds of edits over some a fresh catch of tuna and your first batch of wine from the farm. When the gentlemanly hour came to leave, the door wouldn’t budge for all the freshly packed snow. You bid him stay, and for the first time, he did.

Chastely—not for lack of interest but for an abundance of intimate moments that might have been stretched too thin if pushed too far: he fumbles taking off his tie and his hands shake unbuttoning his jacket. He folds them, sets them just so on the dresser. He exhales—a sigh or a steadying breath?

He turns, asking what kind of hairbrush you have. You didn’t know how to answer that question—or any question at all, really. It was the first time you’d seen him simply dressed in just his white button-down shirt, and more importantly, one of the few times you’d even seen him look sheepish. This, the same man that an hour ago only let you out of his arms to twirl you to the music, wrapping you back in even tighter than before, filling your head with lovely words in murmured baritone.

And it doesn’t escape you how his fingers absently run over the embroidered hem of his jacket when you manage to say there should be one on the bathroom counter that he’s welcome to use. Nor how his leg bounces as he sits and pours over his manuscript while you change. Nor how he seems to look anywhere else but at you, blushing, once you’ve changed into your most unassuming night clothes.

It’s so quiet but for the crackling fire place and the occasional rushing wind from the blizzard outside. You’re not as good with words as he is, but you have to try. You walk over to him, bare feet quiet against the cold wooden floor. “Elliott?”

It’s slow, but he looks up from his manuscript, at you. “Yes… darling?”

“I know it’s not ideal or perfect but… I’m happy to have this time with you, just…” words fail, and you gesture vaguely at the blizzard, your frayed pajama bottoms and oversized t-shirt, and… him, “just as we are.”

His shoulders lower, slowly, a tension loosening. He exhales—a sigh, this time you’re certain—and sets the manuscript atop his neatly folded clothes. He rises to standing, and meets your gaze with a tired but truly mirthful smile. “As am I.”

Elliott’s hands reach to cup your face, his finger tips brushing against your jaw, hesitating, waiting for permission. You lean your head into his touch, and there’s another exhale—an airy, loving laugh—before he cups your face and leans down to meet your lips. He’s so warm tonight—blame the wine, the fire place, but certainly not the blush—as he holds you and kisses you still.

His freshly brushed hair tickles your cheek when he pulls back. It tickles your neck, shoulders, and lips too, in time, as you share in each other’s body heat throughout the cold, cold night.

You’re dozing, and you’re almost certain he is too when you hear, heavy with sleep and soft with love, “Thank you, my dear.”

“…for what?”

“This.” He says, with a kiss into your hair.

And in the morning while you lay cozily in his arms, slowly combing your fingers through his silky auburn hair as he sleeps, it’s there you find a knot. Nestled above the nape of his neck, it snags and bids you pause. It’s not a matter of how, but a matter of trust—would it be a step too far?

Under loving hands the largest knots are made pliant to reveal the stark truth: it’s never one, but several smaller bundles huddled and wrapped around one another—cornered nestlings shivering at being seen.

The trembling hands, clinging to an ornately embroidered shelter, avoiding your gaze until you offer reassurance…

You withdraw your hand, instead placing it on his chest, where his plain white shirt, albeit wrinkled now, is so…

…so soft.

You’d come to find many more knots in his hair, but that was the last time you saw him sheepish.

It’s autumn now—not the autumn of your wedding, but the autumn of your anniversary. You’re playfully sick of picking his discarded ties off the foot of the bed. The sound of the microwave beeping at 3am wakes you to the sight of him partway through a slice of cold, leftover pizza. (He cooly, lying, insists you dreamt such a thing.) Elliott eagerly and openly makes his plans to get fully “sloshed” on pumpkin ale and asks that you still claim him at the end of the night and be gentle carrying him home. The next day he vows that was a horrid idea he’ll never repeat, and in the autumn after your first child is born, he does it happily again.

There’s a barbecue stain on one of his white shirts, and despite both your best efforts, the ghost of the stain persists. It’s now accompanied by speckling of other stains from being worn and worn out as he helps you on the farm. Originally a “house shirt”, he no longer has need for that, as it turns out sometimes an oversized t-shirt and frayed pajama bottoms will do the trick just as well.

And you still doze in on winter mornings. Combing your fingers through his hair, delighting in both the sun-kissed copper and moon-kissed silver strands, when you hit a snag, you know it’s just a simple knot. One that will come gently, surely undone under your patient, loving hands.

#returning to my roots a bit with this one #stardew valley #sdv #sdv fanfic #sdv elliott #stardew elliott #elliott sdv #stardew valley elliott #elliott x reader #elliott x farmer #unabashedly posting

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