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elysians-adventures · 10 months ago

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༉‧₊˚. 𝐈. Part 1

masterpost

Being a kindergarten teacher, you have your fair share of troubles regarding loud kids. But you didn't realise that on this school trip, a certain someone will make you experience your worst fear in your entire teaching career.

5 kids + 1 manchild = chaos. This wasn't the brother of Yuuji Itadori you were expecting!

“Miss! Nobara stole my toy!”

“No I did not! Shut up!”

The wailing of children made you exasperated, watching Nobara's and Megumi's squabble before the class boarded the coach. The brown haired girl had stolen Megumi's dog toy, one of a pair. Your lips puckered, crossing your arms:

“Nobara, give it back. Remember what we said about taking things without permission?”

The little girl gave a whimper, glancing downwards with a look of guilt, “It's mean…”

“And?” You asked, putting on your best teacher-sounding tone.

“...And if we want something, ask first~!” She repeated in a jingle, obviously something that you had instilled in your students' brains for some time.

Nobara looked to her right, turning to Megumi and stuttering out, “Can I play with it?”

“No!” Megumi snatched the plush back, earning a scowl of disgust from the other child.

“Meanie! Meanniee! Go away!”

You had been a kindergarten teacher for two years now, watching classes grow up and leave, but this was by far the most boisterous of them all. Nobara Kugisaki, Megumi Fushiguro and Yuji Itadori were all the resident troublemakers, though, speaking of Itadori– he didn't show up yet. You look around, trying to spot locks of pink hair within the sea of excitable children.

Last week, quite spontaneously, you had been told that there was a new parent chaperone joining the field trip; Yuji's older half-brother– Choso Kamo. Assuming that you hadn't seen anyone with pigtails with the little rascal alongside them, you assume they must be both running late.

“Megumi, let that little brat play with the toy, both of you screaming is pissing me off,” a gruff voice spoke. You turned back to the arguing duo, noticing a newcomer patting– rather, manhandling Megumi's head. Toji Fushiguro.

“But I don't wanna!”

“Do it, or I'll sell you.”

The black haired child gave a groan, finally nodding to Nobara's request. Internally sighing, you gave a wry smile to Toji, trying to telepathically remind him not to swear around kids. He seemed to get the message, holding his hands up in false defence.

“Whoops. I'll do better, Miss L/N,” he joked in a high pitch, earning an eye roll from you.

You two had a close friendship, meeting each other in university and later named godmother of Megumi by his late wife (the man would never bother with sentimental stuff like that).

“Have you seen Yuji? Or his brother? The coach leaves soon…” you shot the question towards Toji, who had also taken up the role of parent chaperone by Megumi's incessant requests (begging).

“Yuji Itadori…?” He paused, thinking, before his face contorted into a laugh, “Oh! That kid! Nah. The one that plays with Megumi? I'm friends with his older brother, y’know?”

“Oh?” You shot a questioning look towards the seeming off handed comment Toji gave. Choso didn't seem like the type of guy to keep Toji around as a friend, but you were always willing to be proved wrong.

“Yea. Goes to the same MMA club as me, shit guy. Probably running late, dick stuck in some bitch and forgot the time.”

You give Toji a hard elbow at his rather loud tone near the kids. He smiles, shrugging carelessly. Though, it did make you wonder, who exactly was he talking about? Yuji's older brother had always seemed like a well adjusted guy, if you ignored his tendency to act emo. And he was always punctual to stuff, so this situation made you slightly worried. Itadori had no trouble cheering up the entire class, his selfless nature not lost on you. Whoever raised him did an amazing job…

“Should probably load these fuc– kids… onto the coach. Where's Nanami?” Toji looked around, before spotting the blond-haired teacher. He turned on his heel without a goodbye, walking towards him.

Toji was right, it was getting late, the driver was probably irritated at the entire ordeal. You gave a sigh, hoping that the two finally would show up.

You rolled your shoulders back, and raised your chin, standing tall.

Clap! Clap!

The storm of children grew silent at a moment's notice.

“Good! Go to Mr. Nanami and sign yourselves in! Straight line, remember!” You gave them instructions, seeing them clamber towards the two chaperones. The line was not as straight as you'd hoped, but it was fine enough for a group of six year olds.

Now, onto the matter of the late chaperone and child. You grasped at your phone within your pocket, opening your contacts. As policy, or rather as common sense, you saved all the parents’ numbers onto your phone. You scroll until you find ‘Y’, scanning over the names.

… ‘Yuji's Brother’

‘Yuji's Brother’

‘Yuko's Mother’ …

You frown, when were they two? Probably a glitch. You tapped into one of the names, waiting.

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ri–

“What?” The deep voice that responds makes you jump, absolutely not what you were expecting. This absolutely was not Choso, unless he had a vocal chord surgery or something. In the background, there were sounds of humming cars. Traffic jam, perhaps? You try to maintain a level of professionalism.

“Hi, I'm calling regarding the school trip. I'm wondering–” you were cut off by a youthful voice.

“Gaah– Sukuna! Hurry up! We're late! I'm sorry Miss L/N! Hurry up, hurry up!” Yuji's frantic tone makes you smile, the boy obviously panicked at the prospect of missing the thing he had been looking forward to for months.

“Shut up! Fuckin’ bastard… yea, we're almost here.” The voice, which you took as ‘Sukuna’, mumbled in an annoyed tone. So this was Toji's MMA friend? You could tell why they were friends now.

Thumping sounds were heard in the background, but you ignored them, continuing: “Well, I'm sure Yuji wouldn't like to miss the trip. The coach is leaving in a few minutes, but if you need more time I can talk to the driver for you. How far are you?”

“Stop kicking my seat, you little shit! We're five minutes away, just wait,” the last part was hissed in a commanding tone, a scowl unknowingly painting your face. You already didn't like him, and you were never good at hiding your emotions.

“Well, alright, I'll call you back soon if you aren't here.” Not wanting to hear the rest of the sibling spat between them, you promptly hung up. The blatant swearing, insults, and punctuality. He was going to be worse than Toji.

Instantly after the call, you tap onto your work email, trying to see whether there had been some mixup with the guardians. It wasn't a huge deal, Yuuji was going to get here regardless and the job was easy enough for a teenager if anything. You scroll down to the form submitted by Choso Kamo– only to find that he had pulled out at the last minute, being replaced by a ‘Sukuna R. Itadori’.

Groaning, you turned back to the group, who had been dwindling to around ten kids in line.

“Nanami!” You called, “Can you tell the coach driver to wait a little longer?”

The pitiful look on your face managed to soften Nanami's stern gaze– though not fully. With tight lips, he gave a slight nod. Something told you that the five minutes were not so true.

Fifteen minutes passed before a car pulled near the group. A black Toyota, its slick form resembling a teardrop. You watched as the backdoor flew open, Yuji Itadori beelining straight for you. Backpackless, and without a care in the world, he gripped onto the fabric on your legs as he neared.

“Miss L/N!” He hugged your leg, “I'm sorry! Can I get on the bus–”

“Oi, brat!”

Both of your attentions were pulled back towards the car, the happy reunion making you momentarily forget that there was supposed to be another different person here after all.

A tall man emerges from the vehicle, a tiny Spiderman backpack slung over broad shoulders. Jesus, how tall was he? About six foot, you surmised. He donned a tight black vest, with matching grey zip up hoodie and sweatpants pulled over himself– obviously in a rush, considering the creasing. The man combs through pink hair with his fingers, giving you a glower.

He neared the pair of you, chucking the bag towards the smaller child. Yuji caught it, blowing a raspberry towards him… this was his brother, was it not? In reality, you had completely forgotten that Yuuji had an older brother directly related to him. You've gotten so used to Choso picking him up after school, you've just defaulted to him.

“Miss! ‘Kuna made me late! Blame it on him!”

“Now, now, it's alright. The coach hasn't left yet, but catch up with it now! Who knows, it might just drive off without you now…” You feigned a face of worry as you crouched to meet his height, looking towards Nanami. The smaller of the pink haired duo was alarmed, grasping his backpack and sprinting towards the teacher.

He was too fast for a six year old, you knew that for sure.

Standing to your full height, you face Sukuna, trying to ignore how you comically dwarfed him. Are you short because he was tall, or was he tall because you were short? Such philosophical questions were pushed to the back of your mind as you nodded for him to follow you to the coach. You earn a grunt in response, the muscle bound man starting to walk ahead of you.

‘Alright, you don't like to follow, noted…’ You think.

Trying to make small talk on the thirty second journey, you decide to bring up Toji as a common interest: “I heard you go to the same fighting club as Toji. What was it, boxing?” You purse your lips, thinking. You messed up on purpose to see if that would strain any more conversation out of him.

“MMA,” he answered bluntly. A pause, nothing else came out of his mouth.

‘Alright, the silent type, noted…’ You think.

The both of you arrive at the coach, the driver giving you the most piercing glare you might have ever experienced in your life. It almost made you shudder. Scanning over the bus, you make sure everyone's seated. You assumed Nanami had already checked the kid's seat belts with his methodical nature, but one more pass through couldn't hurt. Letting Sukuna figure out his own seating situation, you walk and check the seat belts until you make your way towards the back, seeing a specific trio fiddling with Yuji's seatbelt.

“Ah, let me do it sweetie,” you took the seat belts and swiftly buckled it, patting it to signify the task was done.

“Thank you, miss,” they hummed respectively.

“You're welcome.”

You make your way back up the coach, looking now for free seats. Nanami was sitting alongside Junpei, trying to break up a squabble between him and Mahito. Toji was sitting in the only lone seat at the very front of the coach, scrolling on his phone. That left you… your eyes narrow.

Next to Sukuna? You just hoped he wasn't one of those people that smelt when you got near them. You sat.

He wasn't, rather the opposite, a subtle cologne filling your senses. Although, his man spread did invade a bit into your space, so you tried to reclaim it by also man spreading– though not as blatantly.

“This ’s to a museum, right?” He questioned, staring at his phone. Glancing at it, you see that he has a privacy screen. Considering the comment Toji had thrown out previously, maybe you didn't want to see what was on his screen.

“Huh? Yea, the national museum. They're all so excited,” you smile earnestly, “especially Yuji. He hasn't stopped talking about it since he found out.”

“Hm, ‘s that so,” he slurred out in response.

‘Alright, the coach ride will be in silence then, noted…’ Your eye twitched. Could this guy at least act amiably? Discarding Yuji and Sukuna's brotherly relationship– which you expected would be at least rocky, it seemed there was not a bone of politeness in this man towards strangers.

You could feel someone's stare on you, intense. Peeking around you, your sight finally landed on Sukuna's red irises boring through you. Did you fuck up somehow, and now he was going to fillet you using his MMA skills? You quickly break eye contact, internally sighing.

Sinking into the leather-bound seat, you tried to distract yourself, choosing to think of all the mess the kids would make during the hour trip. How many would throw up?

Answer: one.

Mahito must have fed Junpei something earlier, because the projectile vomit that came out of the poor kid was not natural in any sense of the word. You almost feared he'd straight up die. Soon calling his mother to pick him up, Yuji and Megumi said bye to their dear friend as he disbanded the bus.

Nanami's pristine suit got, needless to say, utterly demolished. The teacher scrambled off the coach when they arrived, in search of an actual toilet in place of the coach's small dingy one to clean up at. If anything, though, it would be more beneficial to buy a new shirt.

“Take care of them!” He bellowed as he rushed into a nearby bakery, trying not to pay mind to the dirtied water dripping down his shirt.

“Okay!”

Now, to get them off. A task easier said than done.

Thankfully, most of them were capable enough to pry their seatbelts off of themselves, though one or two needed some help.

“It's okay, sweetie, I'll do it.”

Yuji gave you a beam, “Thank y–”

“You can take your own seatbelt off, brat. Don't waste my time,” Sukuna's voice came from behind you, making you jump. Glancing at him, you could tell he was towering over the pair of you– arms crossed.

“It's fine, Sukuna. Yuji's just tired from all that sitting, no?” You coo towards the boy, who nods vigorously.

“Yea! I‘m tired!” Itadori fakes a yawn, and you pinch his cheek: “Let's not go overboard, now. Off you pop!”

Yuji grabs Nobara and Megumi's hands, and rushes off the coach, barging past Sukuna. The action earns a giggle from you, not lost to Sukuna's death stare.

“Let's get off before they all run away from Toji,” you hummed, trying to mutually make your way past Sukuna. He didn't let you pass, stocky frame blocking the way.

You stand for a second, waiting for him to move, before you speak up, “Umm… excuse me.” Trying to slip past between the seats and him, he finally let you go with another hum, this time sounding a bit more pleased. You frown, what was that about?

Coming out of the coach, the children stand timidly at the side of it, Toji watching over them with a bored gaze.

“Y'know, Y/N, I regret this already. This shit is so boring,” he mutters under his breath as you approach. He turns to the other ‘parent’ chaperone, smirking, “I wish you were there last Saturday, y'know…”

Tuning out of the conversation, turning to the kids. Their chatter filled the air, so you rolled your shoulders back ready to clap–

“Oi, shut up!” Sukuna clicked his fingers alongside the bellow, and it all fell silent without a moment's notice.

What… What was this power? It took you months of training just for them to hear your claps and calls for order, but this outsider manages to silence your class at the click of a finger? You stood in awe.

“Fall in line! Anyone out of it will get chucked in a dinosaur's maw, got it?”

As if choreographed, the children lined up perfectly. Not one shoe or hair out of place. You weren't sure if they knew what ‘maw’ meant, but you felt as if the message got through without problem.

He nodded towards the line, passing you full responsibility now. Perhaps, you had underestimated him. You nod back in thanks, a small smile threatening to appear on your lips. Sukuna turns back without a welcome on his lips, looking unimpressed.

“Alright, sweeties! I know you are all excited, but we have to enter the museum quietly, all right? After we all sign in, we'll wait for Nanami and split into groups. C'mon,” you go in front of the queue of children leading them in.

They follow you in, followed behind by Sukuna and Toji still talking– which you humorously think they're a little too like ducklings following their mother. But that metaphor quickly fizzled out when you realised in this situation, you would be the mother. You could never imagine raising them…

The museum had tall roofs, and its pillars resembled an ornate grecian style. Arches weaved above the roof, supporting the building, the interior remaining the modest brown of the brick.

The class looked up in childish awe, eyes shining at the gigantic structure, gazing up at the pterodactyl replicas hanging as if in flight. You manage to quickly check in with the receptionist, and were told that two extra tour guides were on their way.

Nanami soon came back with a new shirt, the plastic wire of the price tag still hanging from the collar. His face was still turned in the iconic stern look, a glint of disgust still evident from the twitch of his lip.

“Groups of five, quickly,” he stated with mechanical efficiency, trying to split the class equally. Without turning, he addressed the adults, “I'll be taking a tour guide with me. Toji, take one too. Sukuna and Y/N will stay together. Take Yuji with you, or he'll run off.”

You didn't even have time to argue back at the pairing, you opened your mouth and suddenly there was a group of toddlers grasping at your feet as if you were some sort of deity. You didn't even have to corral the kids, Nobara and Megumi staring up at you expectantly.

“Let's go, miss!”

“I want to see some Egyptian stuff!”

“Bleh! Boring… Dinosaurs!”

“Mummies! Mummies!”

“ ‘Kuna! Mr. Kento said: you AND miss!”

Yuji was busy trying to pull Sukuna closer towards your shared group. He was quickly pushed off, Sukuna finally rolling his eyes and neared you keeping a few paces behind, his expression a mixture of boredom and (shared) irritation. You didn’t seriously have to spend the next two or more hours with this self-absorbed prick, did you?

“Okay, okay! We're going!" you finally managed to say, smiling despite the chaos unfolding around you.

As the groups started moving, you noticed Nanami leading his group with his usual stoic demeanour, already taking over the guide's job and explaining the historical significance of the museum's layout. You almost felt bad at the despondent look at the tour guide’s face, pouting miserably as they followed Nanami around.

Toji, on the other hand, seemed to have his hands full with a particularly energetic child who was attempting to scale his back onto his shoulders. You worried they were going to fall, but that wasn't an issue when he took hold of the kid by their collar accompanied with stern talking to.

The museum had massive, great pillars at every corner with vast displays. There were sections which you methodically scoured through, first the Chinese artefacts, then the Egyptian– old kingdom and new kingdom split into two different rooms.

You had spent a bit too long reading about a mummy pair, brothers from what the hieroglyphs were supposedly saying, too invested in your own world to realise it had gone scarily quiet. Too quiet for a group of children, nevertheless if that group contained Yuuji, Megumi and Nobara.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you rip your attention away slowly from the mud-stained coffins, as if you were trying to avoid seeing the scene in front of you.

There were two reasons for this silence: someone had gotten hurt, or they all ran off. You especially hoped it wasn't the latter as Sukuna was meant to be watching them, and the register was meant to be done in time for lunch soon…

Your eyes come upon the second reason. Your small group of 5 disappeared into thin air. At least Sukuna seemed to be gone too, hoping that he had simply led them off into the new kingdom room. With a quickened step, you make your way across the hallway opposite.

Nothing.

What? Did they really leave you behind? Your lower lip protrudes as you're in thought, pacing aimlessly further down a corridor. Perhaps they have gone further down, one of them wanted to see dinosaurs, or something along those lines.

“You seen them?” A nonchalant tone asks, followed by a slurp.

“Have I… seen them?” You spit back incredulously, your optimistic daydream of the pink haired bastard looking after the group quickly shattered like glass. He was standing next to a display of old Japanese artefacts further down, avoiding eye contact. Somehow, he found the time to pick up a drink at the museum cafe. Thankfully, you hadn't picked up on this fact, or else you're sure you would have strangled him.

“I thought you were looking after them,” Sukuna states, unbothered by the lazy look in his eyes. He gestures towards the exhibit he must’ve been distracted by, a large wooden sculpture of a god, “Kōmokuten, Heian era of Japan. Interesting?” The last part of the sentence was worded as a rhetorical question, followed by a nod by the man as if agreeing with his own statement.

He continues: “Not interested? Anyway, where the hell are they? I thought you were looking after the–”

“No, you were looking after them,” your angered whisper-yells were countered by a scoff by the pink haired man, sipping the beverage in his hand. You almost wanted to knock it clean out and pour it all over that stupid dyed hair. Actually… was it dyed?

Now that you think about it, Yuuji always seemed to have pink hair too, though the underside was brown. Did they have special brotherly hair dying sessions?

“They’re kids, how fuckin’ far could they have ran?”

Tuning back into the conversation, it was your turn to scoff, “They're fucking kids! They could be on fucking Mars by now for all we know. Oh god, okay… let's follow the hallway down.”

Attempting (but failing) to mask your worry, you bit your lip as you rushed past him and all the– truthfully interesting– exhibits. Another time, maybe. There was a loud slurp, before you heard thudding footsteps behind you.

“Do you even know where you're going?” His gruff voice asks, you can feel his head peeking out from behind to look at the side of your face.

“... Down there.”

“Stop. Fucking stop for a second, jesus. Let's look at a map of this place before you get us lost too.”

Sukuna grabs your shoulders, attempting to pull you back to the hallway you were previously. You wanted to spit some snarky comment about how you weren't going to be in this situation if it wasn't for him, but your tongue caught itself.

You give in, sighing, and trace your steps back to a large display board. Right now, you were in the Japanese section, so if you followed it down– it split into two directions. Not so good.

“They wanted to go see the dinosaurs,” you mutter to yourself in revelation, bending over to see the section on the board lower down.

A loud sip, “Then let's go.”

You turn your head, ready to agree, until you see him nonchalantly texting on his phone. Your eye twitches.

“Put that away,” you hiss, uncaring to try to keep an air of friendliness, “You lost them and you can't even be fucking bothered to look. We have to get them back in at least–” you look at your phone, “-- at least the next 20 minutes. Can you please just help and not act condescending?”

He switches his attention to you, his eyes glaring at you. Unmoving in his gaze, he raises an eyebrow.

“Fine.”

“Thanks,” you spit out, full venom, obviously not thankful. Standing to your full height, you turn on your heel without caring whether the man was following you or not. But the thudding footsteps behind you signified as much.

You passed back by the Japanese displays, taking a cursory glance over them. Really, the statue Sukuna had tried showing you didn't pique that much of your interest. It looked rather, strange if anything. The man must have unique tastes.

As you rush past them, you spot a certain black haired boy staring at a scroll– also from the Heian period.

“Megumi!” You call out, relieved at having found at least one of the children. Sukuna grabs the boy's hand before you had the chance to scold him, and does your job for you:

“Who told you to run off, you brat?” He spits, crumpling the cup underneath his fingers. Megumi, unperturbed by the harsh words (perhaps training he had gotten from having Toji as a father), stared nonchalantly at the taller man.

“They went to go look at the T-Rex, but I said I wanted to see this,” Megumi points towards the scroll, and you look to follow. Sukuna huffs, unsatisfied by the answer but knowing he isn't going to get much more tightens his grip around Megumi's hand.

“One down, four to go,” he glances at you with a humorous tone, but without a smile to match.

You think it cute that Sukuna holds the little boy's hand in such a way, making sure he can't run off. He must be used to Yuuji's antics. Talking of Yuuji, Sukuna doesn't seem to be very nervous at all at the prospect of losing him.

“He's fine,” he states, sharp and short. The twitch in his brow isn't lost on you, however. Megumi yawns, trying to slip out of Sukuna's graso and back into your own– but the man pulls harshly, hissing.

“Don't run again, jesus. These kids…”

With a smirk, you walk ahead of them, “They're probably running from you.”

–

Unfortunately, during your walk– halfway to the ‘dinosaurs’-- the three of you weren't able to spot any other lone children. Or rather fortunately, which indicated that they were still together.

Sukuna had now resorted to letting Megumi piggyback him. The little boy rested his head against salmon-pink locks, eyes closed as if in dream.

“Hey, why haven't you just called the museum staff?” The pink haired man asks, staring at you.

You blink, frowning. You can feel your cheeks burning up, the sensation uncomfortable, “It's embarrassing…”

Your words were barely heard, so Sukuna furrows his brows: “Huh?”

“It's embarrassing,” you repeat, not daring to look behind you.

There was a pregnant pause.

“Who the fuck cares about embarrassing?” He scoffs.

“I do. It's my first proper trip and I've lost them. Plus, I know where they are! What's the big deal!”

Honestly, you don't believe your words. You knew kids, and you knew how small their

attention span was. They could have already switched sections by now, or even wandered out. That sent a chill down your spine.

But for now, you were willing to hazard being irresponsible for the sake of your dignity. Not very good, is it?

“At least it's like a… two minute walk,” you reasoned to yourself. Your steps hurried. In truth, if you didn't find them right now, you were willing to go straight for the intercom. Stupid you–

“Miss!” A higher pitched voice wailed out.

> part 2 (wip)

#ryomen sukuna #jjk ryomen #jjk #jjk x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #modern au

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elysians-adventures · 10 months ago

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୨୧ Befriending Sukuna is harder than teaching kids!⭑.ᐟ

oneshot

5 kids + 1 manchild = chaos. This wasn't the brother of Yuuji Itadori you were expecting!

Total: 4.5k ...

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Pairing: Older Brother!Sukuna x Fem!Teacher!Reader

ꕀ: Kindergarten AU, Modern AU, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff.

characters: Toji F. , Nanami K. , Choso K. , Ryomen S. , Kid!Megumi F. , Kid!Yuuji I. , Kid!Nobara K. , Kid!Mahito , Kid!Junpei.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Warnings: Sukuna is a warning by himself.

a/n: For now, unless there's a demand for more chapters, this story will be SFW! Also probably a one shot, depending on how I'm feeling. ;p

This will be split into 2 parts since I can't handle writing with so many words on a page already.. next part will come soon!! (hopefully.)

Part 1

Part 2

#masterlist #writing #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #masterpost #sukuna #x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk ryomen #kindergarten

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elysians-adventures · 10 months ago

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Rip to my precious bbygirl sukuna

They would never make me hate you

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elysians-adventures · 10 months ago

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update on the modern!sukuna x kindergarten teacher!reader fic:

4k words and not even halfway through woo might be my longest fic

#sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x reader #writing #ryomen sukuna

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elysians-adventures · 10 months ago

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hc heian era!sukuna wouldn't have wives. or concubines. he's BITCHLESS. bro spends all his time worrying about cursed techniques that he went as far as modifying his body for it, he'd think marrying would be a waste of time.

totally not writing a fic on this lol

haha

btw if it says different in the manga tell gege he can suck my ass

#headcanon #sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk ryomen

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elysians-adventures · 10 months ago

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My Muse

Chapter 5: 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

➺ Cat's out the bag.

Elliott has met the new farmer, and quickly becomes infatuated. He attempts to keep his focus on his writing-- and fails, over and over, rather becoming a lovesick poet.

Pairing: Elliott x Farmer!Fem!Reader

➺ previous chapter masterpost next chapter

WARNING: NON CON, MASTURBATION, GENERAL NSFW

A one note lullaby seized the air

permeating;

Singing senses as my darling yearns.

Forever gone the melody of my solus

Rather a new sol takes stage, two dancers.

One.

Helios: together we embraced in pleinair,

receding;

my dear Camille Monet.

He set down his pen, satisfied. He gazed at you, sitting behind him. Just like a doll, he smiled. His beautiful little doll.

“Read this one out darling, see how you like it.”

----

The writer watched you intently sowing the seeds. He gazed at every curve that embellished your beguiling body– how the denim pressed themselves against your thighs so obscenely. The air was mixed with an aroma of stillwater from the pond, the earthy scent from the ground, and you. He couldn't pinpoint if you had a fragrance akin to a honeysuckle or if it was just his colourful imagination.

You worked carefully at the soil, your hands skimming the accumulation you had made from the trowel. He desperately wished those hands were exploring his body, carving out every ridge and fissure he had. He wanted you to wrap yourself around him, as he ran his fingers through your hair.

Fingers… What was he feeling on his fingers? This slimy, light touch? Elliott glanced down, and to his horror (and fault) a worm had been cheekily making its way up his finger. The slimy beast had so callously attacked him when he was most vulnerable! He flicked the insect off, deciding that staying crouched over the dirt– hands planted in the soil, wasn't the best position to adore you in.

He was aware that his train of thought had been getting stranger day by day, though he wouldn't want to stray from this newfound normality he found in you. Finally, he could have frequent conversations– no longer tormented by his thoughts.

The pair of you found yourselves labouring over the wet soil; Elliott taking over the kale as you planted the potatoes. There weren't many, but it still took a while as you found that the writer wasn't someone with a green thumb. Not that you could complain, really. Any help was wanted.

"Wait, Elliott! You have to make a small hole before you plant it. I think, at least. Here, take this," you swiftly handed him a trowel, noticing that the first few seeds he had sowed were above the dirt. Your own potato seeds were housed cosily into the fertile earth, their position indicated by a miniscule mound.

A light red adorned his pale cheeks, his green eyes glancing away in shame at his failure of a simple task;

"Apologies, not really the farming type…" He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, taking the trowel from your hands. His fingers grazed your own, Elliott tensing himself.

There was a silence between the two of you as you worked, only the sounds of hard breathing prevalent– and the animals' song in the background. This lasted for a few moments, before Elliott inspired:

"We plant new seeds in our soul," the bachelor began, in a mutter. You stayed quiet, but looked at him in confusion.

"Digging out holes, to shed our tropes… hm… digging out holes, to bury our tropes. The cold sun kissing my leave. And a new leaf… unaware, emerging."

"Is this how you write poetry?" You question, snapping him out stupor as he crouched over a pit continually patting down the soil until it could be compressed no more. He fixed his gaze upon you, with a lovelorn smile. You couldn’t help redirect your eyes elsewhere, his eyes were too… too passionate. Has he always looked at you in such a way?

"No, not usually. I've just been feeling more motivated than usual these days, words flow into my mind like water," The man stood up, dusting off the dirt specks that had attached like velcro to his jacket. Taking out the emerald ribbon in his ponytail, his ginger locks fell once again on his shoulders. He brought out the notepad you had first seen him using when you met him, scribbling away with a biro.

You had finished planting, and assumed the rain from this morning would suffice as watering: you wouldn't want to overwater the seeds. Mimicking his movements, you dusted off dirt and checked your hair, then approached the bachelor, leaning over his shoulder to read his poem.

Unlike the man’s nature that you knew, he snapped the notebook shut, looking at you in accusing silence.

"I can't look?"

"No, not yet, at least. I'm… it's messy, and I wouldn't want people to see it."

Honestly, you didn't understand the writer's perspective on the subject– yet you dropped it either way. With a shrug of your shoulders, you beckoned him over to the small cabin you called a home.

He escorted you briskly, pocketing the precious book back. Maybe when he wasn't looking, you'd snoop through it… then again, you wanted to respect his privacy.

The afternoon light glistened through the misted windows of your cabin, warming the wooden planks that covered the floor. You stepped in the makeshift ‘kitchen’ (which was really a gas stove and a sink gifted from Robin), pouring water into a kettle and switching the gas on. The house was bare, as you moved in a week ago, with few things to your name. An old TV, whose channels barely worked apart from the news and some odd fortune telling channel; a set of a table and chairs, carved from mahogany. They were sitting there before you even moved in– you assumed it was your grandfather’s old furniture. Your bed was probably your most prized possession, allowing you to rest after a long day of work. So, you decided to bestow the privilege of sitting on your bed to your precious helper.

“Sit anywhere, I don’t mind. The chairs are a bit on the hard side, so you can stay on my bed for a bit.” You decided not to comment nor apologise on the emptiness of your abode, considering how Elliott’s cabin much resembled your own. He took you up on your offer, the memory mattress sinking underneath his weight.

He was hot, the creeping sensation crawling up his spine. The poet wasn't sure whether it was from all the working, the kettle's steam, or how you tied your hair up in a ponytail– the shortest strands you couldn't tie bouncing down your face. Perhaps it was a combination of all, shaking his cotton jacket off his shoulders. Turning away from him, you earned him some relief from the suffocating warmth, the kettle hissed vehemently– deafening his thoughts. He still beheld you, his eyes sparkling, imagining how silky your hair would feel in his hands. Would you like it if he combed through it? Or brushed it out with the beds of his fingers? As if clockwork, his mind began to wander.

You'd be looking up at him, with your big innocent eyes, mouth slightly ajar for him. Your small hands would twist and pull at the fabric of his pants with a sense of urgency, impatient. He'd have his hand entwined in your hair, massaging your scalp, coaxing you to wait a little longer. Elliott himself wouldn't be able to, unable to resist, palming himself with his free hand. He watched you situated between his legs, slowly prying at the zip.

Your hair is soft and tousled, the ponytail you'd have done in a rush reflecting in the dim sunlight of the cabin. He pulls at it, a light warning to be patient (Yoba knows he'll do it again). He wanted to go at his own pace, languidly massaging his clothed cock before he unzips it– freeing it from his shorts.

With trembling lips, you'd place kisses on the tip of his swollen cock, smearing the precum around with your tongue. He bucks into you at the sudden pressure, tightening the grip on your hair. You like it, you love it, mewling against his length. It twitches in response, a cue for you to continue. He continued to watch you from above, admiring how relaxed you looked– for your first time. He'd be your first time. You suck and lick, lapping up his precum with your tongue. He'd soon grow tired, watching you only tease the pink head with your shy lips– he wanted more. You were quick on the uptake, you always were.

A slew of praises fall out of his mouth as you begin to take him, slowly, as if a mockery to the time you had to endure before. Your soft lips would envelop his length, sectioning your cheeks to provide him full coverage. It felt wet, dirty, and wonderful. Moaning against you, he moves the hand that had previously been on your head to the back of your neck, pinching it with his palm.

Elliot revels in the way you wouldn't be able to take him at once, you were a virgin, of course you were. He guides you, gently adding pressure on your head to move deeper. You obey, like a dog, your tongue rubbing up and down. You were so pretty in this position, he'd be sure to reward you later. You increase the speed, Elliott bucking his hips into your mouth as spit bubbled against the friction. You moan against his cock, perhaps as a plea to breathe– and he complies, with a ‘pop’ your mouth and his cock would separate, a string of saliva hanging off the head. He massages your head, “ Good girl. ”

His cock twitches as it's exposed to the cool of the cabin, stroking himself leisurely using your spit as lubrication; only the tremble in his fingers reveals his desperation.

He could cum right now, staining your pretty face with warm cum. You look at him through your wet eyelashes, dripping mouth coming up once more to please him. He could use you right now. Though, Elliott pushes it back down, committed to his new plan.

“ Open ,” He drawls, his voice deep. It seems his verdant eyes are looking straight through you, using you as a means to an end.

And you'd stay there, sweat glittering off your forehead as he continued to stroke himself with an increasing intensity. You would kiss the head occasionally, when he allows you, but you'd mostly watch him– feeling the tightening grip on your hair. He shivers at your moans, pulling at his hardened cock more and more. Your mouth was wide open, heeding his command. To alleviate yourself you grinded against the wooden floor of the cabin, ogling at the sight in front of you.

He was close, the haggard breaths alongside the sloppy sounds of his hands connecting with his cock– the saliva dripping off him.

“ So close… ” your head was pushed closer to the head of his cock, the ginger haired man gazing at you as he–

Click .

At the same time as the kettle switched off, he unceremoniously rose to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. You seemed too absorbed in your task to notice the bulge, thankfully.

“Water's done!” You hummed, pivoting on the heel of your foot. So oblivious.

“Hm,” He muttered in a hoarse tone, “where's the bathroom?” Elliott had examined the farmland previously, he knew where it was. Just less than a few steps away from the house, on the right, behind the little garden.

“Just out there, behind the garden,” you pointed in its general direction, though there was no window facing it to prove your indication. The water hit the two mugs quietly, a small tea bag placed in each of them. Truthfully, you weren't sure what the flavour of tea was. Elliott seemed to be happy with anything.

“Thanks.”

As the door shut, you watched after him. Only now had you realised that he had left his coat behind on your bed, where he had left that little poem he was so ashamed of.

He rushed to the outdoor toilet, slamming shut the door of the wooden cubicle. The outdoor toilet was small, barely containing Elliott's tall figure. A dark blush painted his pale cheeks, hidden shamefully by his palm. His green eyes stared through the floor, contrite of his earlier thoughts. After all, Leah just said not to send letters. She never mentioned thinking about you. He found himself playing with the button of his pants as he reasoned with himself, yes, she had never said anything about that.

Elliott repositioned himself above the toilet seat (closed, thankfully), unbuttoning his pants carefully. In contrast, he rushed to pull his boxers to his mid-thigh– grabbing the shaft of his cock. Precum had accumulated as he thought about you in that ethereal position: only you could make him like this. Leave all reason behind to chase after a carnal desire. The pressure left him sensitive, a scowl playing on his features as he tried not to moan. He didn't realise how painfully horny he was in that cabin, stuck with you.

He tries to remember the scene of how you clung to him, stretching himself out in the cabin, legd and arms splayed using his elbow as rest.

“Fuck,” he muttered spitting into his hand, stroking himself with newfound desire. A coarse groan tore through his throat in relief, he couldn't contain himself. He tried to imagine your small hands wrapped around his length, your breath against him. He imagined the featherlight touch of your fingertips. His cock twitched, and he began stroking harder, faster. His stomach clenched at the impending orgasm, tightening the grip around his cock. Half lidded eyes stared right down, pretending that you were the one pleasuring him.

“Elliott,” you whisper, cocking your head innocently, “I love you.” You kiss the pink head, swirling your tongue around it.

It becomes too much, and the dam breaks. He trembles– pushing against the wood of the toilet, afraid he might break it against his force. He doesn't bother muffling the sounds coming out his mouth, a profession of his love.

“ Y/N, fuck– my darling, my love–” His voice cracks.

He'd accepted it. He throws his head back, beads of sweat seeping into his ginger hair. Hot cum spurts across his hand and wall, his mind going blank at the intensity of the climax. His fingers continue to gingerly graze his cock, revelling in the slight overstimulation.

It takes a moment for him to recover, fatigued breaths filling the damp air. Glancing at the evidence on the wall, an embarrassment filled him. He needed tissue, blindly grabbing at the rolls on a small ledge. Nothing. An irritated breath escapes him, he flicks the specks of cum that coat his fingers and tries to rub the excess against the wood wall--to no avail. A light film had dried over his palm, he had to go back inside to grab some paper. The short walk back was peaceful, birds’ songs lost in the soft whisper of the breeze. Nevertheless, shameful to an extent. What a waste, he mused (lifting his fingers to his mouth), it'd look better in your mouth.

You didn't notice him opening the door, standing over his coat with his book in your hand. Ire coated his face, glaring daggers through you. Your shoulders shook, how cute. Were you scared? A sudden desire overtook him once more: he wanted to see you beg. After all, his novel would need begging victims– crying to the detective for help. You simply served as a reference.

“Hm,” a devious grin etched itself on your face, gently settling the kettle down back on the mahogany table. For a second, the guilt of peering into his personal space flickered through you, but you were quick to push it down. The red coat was heavy, as you shook it you heard sounds of various different objects. The clinking of keys, jingle of coins, and the light thud of a book. Swiftly, you dove into the endless pockets, finding the leather bound notebook tucked safely in the inside pocket.

It wasn't your fault he had left his belongings so brazenly out in the open, especially when you had taken an interest in it. They were so temptingly exposed it was barely your fault. If anything, you reasoned, it could be considered a lesson. A light smile continued to dance on your lips as you pried the notebook open. Flicking through the book proved fruitless, most of the writing illegible or too verbose. A faint creak echoed .

You had skimmed through the beginning of the book, only finding ideas for a noir novel. However, you had stumbled upon an captivating piece of text– it seemed to be his most recent poem that he was muttering before.

We plant new seeds fruits in our souls

Digging out holes to bury our tropes

In fertile soil seeding our reprieve

The cold sun kissing my leave

And a new leaf

Unaware, emerging.

You're the sun, longing:

Worship the way you tend to my garden

With a flourishing love, evergreen, and naive.

Bursts.

A loose love that blooms resilient.

Dread filled you. Some had thought of you as thick, sure, foolish, sure– but even you knew the implications of this poem. You recognized the writing style, and it clawed at your composure, unnoticed like the tremble in your hands or the thud of the notebook hitting the floor.

Turning away wasn't an option; fear glued you in place. From your bones to your fingertips, regret oozed, you knew you shouldn't have opened this book. It was like Pandora's box, and you could feel a piercing gaze bore through the back of your skull. The door must've been opened whilst you were searching; the cold light of the sun basking in the darkness of the cabin. You could see the dust particles that surrounded you, moving with a freedom unknown to you. Funny how everything could seem so bleak suddenly.

“Looking through my stuff, Y/N?” Elliott's voice was chuck full of spite as it sliced through the silence, his usual upbeat tone desecrated into a bitter and hateful one. You hadn't noticed how he towered over you, your petite stature making you resemble a small mouse in the jaws of a predator. You hadn't noticed how he grabbed your chin, twisting your head to face him.

“Aren't you a bad girl?” He whispered into your ear. The glint in his eye had long since disappeared, his eyes curving into a cutting glower.

“Elliott, so… it was you that sent me all those freakish letters– all those–!” You couldn't help but notice how his hand smelled musky, a slight stickiness still coating the fingers that grazed your cheek. Feet scraped the floor as the poet pushed you against the nearest wall, blocking you against his body. His hair followed him, weightless, catching the sun's reflection. If it were not for the situation at hand, you'd have thought of him as charming in the way his confident smile curled on his mouth.

He pulled you in for a kiss, you resisted, but your strength faltered against his. His lips were soft. His tongue was invading. His hands roaming. It all left you breathless, tears pricking your eyes. Again, you attempted to defy him– in response a strong hand jumped up to your throat. This isn't how you imagined it would go. Your hands leapt to his ginger hair, trying to pull it to heave him away from you. It was fruitless, rather leaving the man moaning against your lips.

“Y/N,” he purred against your ear– he seemed desperate, unable to decide where to place his mouth. He decided on the nape of your neck, sucking. You tried to scream, but you were quickly muffled by his free hand– the strength in which he pressed it felt like it would leave bruises. The poet glared at you from below, leaving your neck with a quiet pop.

“Y/N,” his fingers moved from covering your mouth to playing with your bottom lip, “be good for me, will you?”

All the greats used their lovers as muses: Dante, Michelangelo, Picasso.

You whimpered in response– rather, in fear. Completely paralysed, you could only hope that he'd come to his senses. This was a complete 180 to what he presented himself as less than an hour ago. Had it all been a facade? You wished that you never came to this hellhole, you never left Zuzu. That sunset hadn't been worth it.

“ Y/N? ” An unfamiliar voice called out.

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

#stardew elliott #sdv elliot x reader #stardew valley #stardew valley elliott x reader

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elysians-adventures · 10 months ago

Text

My Muse

Chapter 4: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡

➺ Two unexpected visits.

Elliott has met the new farmer, and quickly becomes infatuated. He attempts to keep his focus on his writing-- and fails, over and over, rather becoming a lovesick poet.

Pairing: Elliott x Farmer!Fem!Reader

➺ previous chapter masterpost next chapter

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

There were three sharp rasps at the door when he awoke, lifting his head off the desk he had fallen asleep on. Waking up so early took a toll on him, and he found himself sprawled over his writing desk after he came back. It took a few seconds for Elliott to readjust himself to the sudden banging on his mahogany door, brushing his hair off from his face and dusting non-existent particles off himself. He stood up, first looking out the window before opening the door.

It was Leah, who seemed to be holding some sort of wet, crumpled sheet in her hand. Her expression was nothing less than frustrated, perhaps because he was taking so long to open when it was still raining outside. Slowly, the man switched his focus onto the rusted handle of the door. Were there crystals of salt on it? He lived next to a beach, but he didn’t expect the salty humidity to infiltrate his home. He took a deep breath, smelling the morning sea air that had permeated his house. It was besides the point: he opened the door, before Leah could forcefully let herself in.

It was odd, the woman never seemed so– distraught to let herself in before being invited. But the reason was soon understood when she held up the incriminating evidence. The letter stared at him accusingly, and a creeping dark blush adorned his face.

“What’s the meaning of this Elliott? I know this is yours– with all the drafts you give me, how could I not? Y/N was scared out of her mind–”

He held up his hands, palms facing the woman. It was an attempt to calm her down, to make her see he was innocent ; yet she continued to corner him with the letter still in hand, shoving it in his face.

“Calm down–”

“Calm?” Her violet eyes narrowed, and brows furrowed: “How can I be calm? Elliott, this isn’t like you. I mean–” she glanced back at the paper, the rustle of the sheet echoing in his ear, repeating a line: “ ‘Sweetheart’ ? Elliotttt, you barely know her.”

A feeling of irritation swelled in the depths of his heart. ‘ She can’t understand, she can’t understand me. My want. My need. Doesn’t she even get it? ’ The revelation replayed in his mind, as he tried to explain himself to his friend. His closest friend, yet all he could hold towards her now was an unexplainable hatred. He himself didn’t know why– or how– these feelings revealed themselves. Elliott knew it wasn’t like him, yet he took comfort in acting like this. It was a newfound sense of normality, invading his senses much like you did. If this obsession led him to have such a warm heart as if it were dipped in honey, or cheeks flushing with adoration: then this hatred against these deniers would be equally welcomed if it meant loving you.

“Leah, I don’t know what came over me,” this was the truth, yet also worded in a manipulative way. He didn’t know what came over him, but he gladly embraced it. “I’m sorry if I scared her, but please don’t tell her.”

There was a pregnant silence as the two looked at each, each knowing of Elliott’s pitiful apology. Leah stood there for a second, a look of confusion creeping on her face as she decided what to do. Eventually, she crumpled the sheet once more in her hand, throwing it towards him. Elliott caught it, green eyes glancing at her in hope.

The girl had no clue on how to handle this situation. After all, what could someone do if your friend started sending love letters to the newcomer in town? Leah stood there, and crossed her arms.

“Just… don’t, no more. Alright? I won’t tell her, El. But it’s odd– do you like… like her?”

Once again, silence filled the room. Instead of responding, Elliott turned to his desk he was once sleeping on, starting to collect the papers that littered it. He glanced over the lovesick words, his honeyed tone in these were nothing akin to his serious and melancholic narration of the novel. Was this… right? Truly, was this a noble hearted endeavour? Was his crippling loneliness the sole factor for this behaviour? There were a flurry of emotions in his heart. One side wanted him to continue pursuing this ‘sick’ want of you. Another was seeing the truth and honesty of Leah’s behaviour.

She repeated her statement: “No more of the letters, Elliott. I’m being serious. You don’t want her to leave– right?”

Only then, did he realise the gravity of the situation.

Meanwhile whilst the two were conversing, you remembered what you had to do when Leah left. Right, Pear’s. You mean– Pierre’s. A few more seeds would do good for your farm, after all diversity is needed in crops. You had read that bees were more likely to pollinate if there was biodiversity, and your field definitely lacked it. You needed to earn an income somehow, and parsnips weren’t going to cut it. However, you were still completely clueless on what actually grew in spring. Strawberries? Wheat? Radishes? Potatoes? You were at a loss. But you still marched on, going to the shop unknowing of what your profession even consisted of.

You slowly pushed open the oak door, the rain from this morning still fresh on the handle. Ding. The quiet jingle of a bell ran through the shop. At the sound, a man with glasses peered up at your face, his own first confused, then shocked, finally a smile adorning his wrinkled features. You had barely time to wipe the water off your hands on your denim jeans, before his loud voice boomed:

“Welcome to Pierre’s, dear farmer! You must be new, right? Good job you came here and not JojaMart!” He laughed at his own statement, holding his chest as if it hurt. Suddenly, he cleared his throat– ending the laughter abruptly, and in your opinion quite awkwardly, and waved toward the various commodities that lined the shelves.

“Feel free to take a look at anything you need. Of course, if you need help, you can talk to me.”

You promptly take him up on his offer, swallowing any embarrassment you may have had at being put in the spotlight by the store owner in the middle of the establishment, and stride towards him with a gaze filled with conviction. He watched you with an ever present smile on his face, and when you were near enough, he began to speak once more;

“So you need help with something? Seeds, perhaps? Or wallpaper selection? Or–”

You cut him off, with an immediate ‘yes!’ at the mention of seeds.

You elaborated, “Yes, sorry. I need help with seeds that are suitable for, um… spring time. You see, I’m running my granddad’s old farm and…”

Your words begin to trail off, hoping that the explanation will be sufficient for him to start recommending you seeds. He nods, thankfully, taking out a small wooden basket from the underside of his counter. The basket seems to be packed full of different types of packets, some labelled ‘Kale’, ‘Apricot’, and various other things.

The shopkeeper waved his hand over the seeds, “These are all spring-time seeds, so don’t worry about picking anything out of season. Not like JojaMart would help you like this…” he huffed. You began to pick out the cheapest seeds you could– taking your time to survey the options and prices, deciding potato and kale seemed like a safe option. Reading the gardening books you had picked up in a rush before leaving the city, you learnt that potatoes were unusually sturdy and survived through most weather. You couldn’t go wrong with a plant like this… surely?

Dropping the coins on the counter, the shopkeeper smiled, “Pleasure doing business with you! By the way, do call me Pierr–”

BANG !

The doorbell rang violently, the sheer force of the door being shot open reverberated throughout the shop. Flinching at the loud sound, both you and the shopkeeper swung your heads towards the noise– and there stood Elliott, with a dishevelled appearance. His beautiful set of ginger hair was tussled, and even from a few metres away you could see the beads of sweat running down his pale face. His heavy breathing implied that he had been running, but you couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would run to shop in midday. It was still… 12PM?

“Elliott?” You called for him, your tone almost in a whisper at the shock of the sudden arrival. His jade eyes glanced up at you, drinking you in. There was a brief moment of silence, where neither party moved, before he smiled and straightened his posture.

“Sorry Pierre, I was looking for Y/N here and it’s pretty urgent…” The man first addressed the shopkeeper, who seemed slightly worried that there had been damage to the door. Though Elliott seemed to alleviate Pierre’s fears with his smile, waving his worries away. The bachelor walked towards you, his expression unreadable.

‘ My muse, you look as gorgeous as ever. Oh, how I wish I was a painter to draw you, though no stroke would be able to replicate your beauty. ’

Elliott’s whirring of mad thoughts that you would leave, simply because of his foolish mistake, had driven him to every place he thought you could be before arriving here. You didn’t leave, and you wouldn’t know how much that relieved him. He felt as if the two of you were already attached by the hip. He would love it if you two were attached by the hip, perhaps he could see more of your beauty if he was closer… closer to you. If he could taste you, feel you…

“Elliott?”

If only he could whisper sweet nothings in your ear as he pushed himself inside you, the lullaby of the sea singing quietly as you two loved each other. If only he could kiss you until his mouth hurt, then it would be alright. Everything would be fine. He could twist and pull your hair, kiss your nape and cheeks. His body would be hot against yours, pressing and holding you with everything he had– he could trail down his kisses too, to chest, stomach, thighs. If you wanted, he could go deeper. He would only need to graze you for him to be hit with a bout of inspiration– perhaps he should write a romance instead? It would certainly help him express some of these beautiful feelings. If only, if only, if only…

“Elliott?!” You repeated, louder and cocking your head slightly to the side. He was staring at you with a blank expression, the sweat drying from his face. This time calling his name seemed to have worked, the man blinking in recognition.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Apologies, de– Y/N. Yes, right…” he seemed to be in some sort of trance before, remembering what he had to do now. Taking out a crumpled piece of paper, he held it in his hand– close to his chest. You couldn’t take it from him if you tried, it was only for viewing. And Elliott did this on purpose.

“Y/N, Leah told me of someone sending distressing letters to your residence. Is everything alright? Do I need to tell someone about this?” Elliott spoke with the utmost sincerity that all your doubts had been cast away. Elliott could never do this. He seems so kind, so caring.

“Um, I’m sure it’ll be fine! I knew some pretty odd people in Zuzu, it could just be a prank! Please, don’t worry yourself– I’ve only just got here as well, I doubt it’d be anyone in this town.” You pocketed the seeds in your jeans, as Elliott tried to neaten his appearance; particularly his hair. The light aroma of petrichor filled your senses as he arranged his clothing.

“Even then, if there’s anything you need me to do, please tell me. Otherwise, go to the Mayor. I cannot stand seeing you like this, are you sure you’re alright?” he asked worriedly, bringing the hand that was holding the paper closer to his heart.

You waved at Pierre, indicating that you were leaving. You waited for Elliott to respond to the cue to begin walking with you, exiting the store. Ahh, finally, all those eyes off you. It seemed that Elliott hadn’t even noticed.

“If you feel unsafe, Y/N, you can stay over at Leah’s or my place . Of course, I would give you as much privacy as you need…” There was a slight intonation when mentioning his house, wanting you to focus on that option more.

“Oh, Elliott, you’re too kind. Really, it won’t be necessary. I mean, I don’t think anything could really hurt me, you know? This seems like such a– quaint town. I’m finee, really. Look at me, do I look like a damsel in distress?”

You stopped in your tracks, facing the bachelor with a mischievous smile. You leant towards him slightly, so he could get a better look. Though, the ginger haired man only glanced away, a blush dusting his cheeks; unnoticed by you.

“Yes, I suppose you do look fine. Forgive my entrance at the shop, I thought you would be in some sort of danger…” trailing off, this was the end of your conversation. You would thank him and leave now. He didn’t want it to end. He just wanted to be near you for a few minutes longer. Please, Yoba, let him stay a minute longer.

“Hey! I’ve got an idea, why don’t you help me plant these seeds at my house? Then I’ll whip you up some tea or something as a thank you! You like tea, right?”

He liked coffee better, “I love tea. Thank you.”

Thank Yoba.

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

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elysians-adventures · 10 months ago

Text

My Muse

Chapter 3: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

➺ Confiding in your 'devotee' isn't the best option... good thing you chose his friend instead.

Elliott has met the new farmer, and quickly becomes infatuated. He attempts to keep his focus on his writing-- and fails, over and over, rather becoming a lovesick poet.

Pairing: Elliott x Farmer!Fem!Reader

➺ previous chapter masterpost next chapter

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Elliott held his pen between his fingertips, slowly tapping the paper as he thought. Ink blots stained the ivory sheets, and no words seemed to flow out as before. The paper was filled with scrawls, poems and rambles, now tarnishing it with splodges of ink.

It had been a few days since you had first stepped foot onto Pelican Town; and it seemed as if you invaded his thoughts.

At first, he hesitated even conversing with you– hoping you wouldn’t find him weird for coming up to you every time he had the urge to (which was concerningly frequent, it seems he has grown quite fond of you.) Yet, he hasn’t seen you since you last returned his belongings to him. It was driving him, frankly, insane.

It was a rainy day, the petrichor smell filling his small shack. The windows remained open, droplets cascading onto his oaken flooring: a distinct sound drumming in his ears. The light pitter-patter of raindrops managed to distract himself from his newfound obsession, focusing on the environment outside his cabin. Usually, he’d stay cooped up inside, yet today he had an irresistible urge to go out and meet you. To deliver once again. He was apprehensive to.

Only when he slipped his red coat on, and wrapped his neck with a green scarf did he realise he was truly about to go through with it. He was acting like a dog on a leash, and he had no say in the matter– simply going as his body forced him to.

When he arrived on your doorstep, he was sporting wet hair alongside a dewy face. Elliott could feel his ginger hair clasp his cheeks, sticking to them like glue. He found cover under your house, standing next to a small wooden chair a right’s side way from him.

It was still early morning, the sun barely peeking above the dark clouds as he made his way onto your property. He felt more relaxed here, near your presence, than he did across town. He also felt guilty for feeling so, and had no explanation if you were to pull your curtains back– unveiling the man standing there.

For a while, he watched your parsnip buds dance in the rain’s arms as you slept peacefully inside your home, simply breathing in the fresh smell of the farm. He should go, shouldn’t he? The man wanted to stay. He had some control however, and simply left a letter inside your letterbox once more.

You arose as the sun shone dimly, like a fading lantern in the sky. The clouds seemed to have crowded and gushed water down onto the soft earth. There was a light yawn, before you continued with your morning routine. You got dressed, brushed your teeth, breakfast… by the time you had gotten outside, an hour had passed.

There wasn’t much to do on the farm, the parsnips had been watered by the rain (you assumed it would work as well as fresh water from the pond nearby… or would it ruin the harvest? You decided to hazard it), and from last day’s work from cutting down trees until you felt exhausted: now a nice clearing had arisen.

There was one thing to do, and which you looked forward to as well (apart from the last time you had gotten that letter…): checking the letterbox! You opened it, and almost swelled in joy from seeing a paper in it. It seemed to be soaking wet, and damp to the touch. You removed it carefully from its envelope, careful to not ruin it more than mother nature has.

Most of the writing is illegible, or incomprehensible, but you can make out a few phrases:

—-------------------------------------------------------------

If I were told to give a reason why I love you to each of the stars, I would run out of stars.

—------------

—-----------------------------

And yet, only you —---------------------- sweetheart.

I wish you can for—------------------------

—-----------------------

Admirer

The writing was either scrawled on, or ruined by the rainwater. But from what you could tell, it seemed to be the same person as yesterday. Once again, you worried. This time it surely couldn’t be from Zuzu, right? The delivery times were fast, sure, but not this fast. Sluggishly putting it back into the envelope, you considered your next actions.

It would be better to tell someone, right? If someone was actually ‘admiring’ you, you couldn’t keep silent lest something happened. However, you don’t know anyone close enough here to confide in. Telling your parents would be a bad mistake, considering they don’t live here and would be worried for your safety. The only person you could trust… Elliott?

Lewis knew you through family ties, but telling an old man about this situation seemed– wrong, to say the least. And Elliott seemed like an intelligent man, he’d surely know what to do, right? After all, being an author, one must assume he has some wisdom to share. So, after pocketing the letter and mentally preparing yourself; you steeled yourself to tell him…

But you couldn’t. You didn’t know why, but something in you refused the idea vehemently. Involuntarily, you crumpled the paper in an attempt to remove this worry from your mind. After all, you had been here only three days. Who’d believe you?

Leaving yourself in this situation was worrying, but you decided that ‘out of mind, out of sight’. So, you worried yourself onto your next task, that you procrastinated yesterday.

Seeds.

You had to go to… what was it called again? Pear’s? Pierre’s? And buy some seeds with the scraps of change your old friends had given you. Honestly, you didn’t know what to buy. You were a newbie in anything farming related, only having read up on a dozen guides during the bus trip here. It was spring, so obviously something that grew in spring. But what?

Marnie! You remembered the neighbour that lived downwards from you, having a ranch and a small self-sustained wheat farm. She should give you help, right?

Your footsteps squeezed against the mud as you made your way towards the ranch, branches and bushes becoming more prevalent as you continued downwards your property. You’d have to remove all of this one day– you realised.

As you continued, a certain distant ginger-haired person piqued your interest. It wasn’t Robin, or Elliott (though, it could be argued Elliott’s hair is more chestnut coloured), but another person you had heard of from word of mouth. Leah.

Lewis had summarised everyone’s relationships with each other during the briefing you had when you first arrived here, and you knew Elliott and Leah were close. If you had gotten along so well with the former, you’d surely get along with the latter.

She seemed to notice you as well, adorning a shocked expression on her face as she came in contact with the new farmer.

“Y/N! I heard so much about you!” She shouted over the distance, coming closer in a light jog. Your first impressions of her were already good, smiling at the optimism she displayed.

Hitting off a conversation, you completely forgot about your task for the day, rather going on to the topic that you had been trying to avoid. You were chatting to her so casually, though, your words simply slurred into one another until you got onto your time in Stardew Valley.

“How’s Pelican Town so far for ya?” Leah questioned, crossing her arms behind her back, expectant to an answer.

“It’s been going great! The air here is so fresh, and I feel relaxed… most times at least,” a light chuckle, before your face dropped slightly, “Though, something’s been bugging me.”

As a response, Leah cocked her head to the side slightly, listening intently now.

“I’ve been getting letters, but I don’t know who they’re from. Either someone from my old city or…” you trailed off, deciding it was best not to accuse any of the residents of a town you had just entered face-to-face to one of its own residents. It was disrespectful, especially since you had little to no basis on these accusations.

Leah asked: “Letters? Can I see them?”

“Sure, yea, one sec, it’s pretty beat up…” you pulled out the crumpled note from your pocket, handing it to the curious artist. She took it from your hand, taking it out from the envelope and opening it. It was dryer now, but the semblance of the rain was still prevalent.

Leah glanced over the writing, reading it out loud in a hushed tone. She gazed at it, and blinked. Once, twice.

“Sorry, can I keep it for a second? I’ll give it back to ya…” Before giving you time to respond, the woman had folded it up still in her hand, giving you a small wave before carrying on her light jog now opposite from where she was previously going.

The entire situation left you confused. What? Why did she take it? You barely had time to open your mouth. Yet, a part of you was relieved the letter had been taken off your hands; it seemed as if it was a burden on your shoulders. But again, what use did she have for it? Your heart dropped; thinking she was going to report it to Mayor Lewis. That was the last thing you wanted to be done, and the worst thing that she could do.

In truth, however, Leah recognised the handwriting from the countless drafts she had received. And she herself was confused.

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

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