"valley Reverie" - Sebastian

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

apple cider

pairing: sam x reader

wc: 1.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sam?”

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

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

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

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

You blink, once then twice. “Sam—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh—oh yeah… my bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what if you’re busy?”

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

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

You nod, eagerly. “Mhm.”

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

“Well now you’ve seen me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes snap to yours, “Oh, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Yeah, family stuff.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dyk what is really crazy? sam accepts the flower bouquet you give him even if he’s allergic to pollen 😭

Green rain 💚🍀🍏🌿🍃

Sebastian likes frogs. Emphasis on the word likes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs, he really needs better friends.

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

He screws his eyes shut and goes for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam howls with laughter, Sebastian feels absolutely mortified.

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

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

“The fuck if we know, Sam!”

“Boys, boys, shut the fuck up. Look.”

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

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

Woah, woah.

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

You’re pretty.

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

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

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

“Uhm… ribbit?”

-

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

He checks that off his metaphorical bucket list, too.

i visited idiot street and everyone knew your name!

part i, part ii, part iii

a/n: i wrote this for valentines last month and only got around posting it now, here you go!

synopsis: the three times you friendzoned Alhaitham, and the one he made damn sure you didn't.

tags: alhaitham/reader ; childhood friends to lovers ; school setting ; valentine's day special ; reader likes sewing

“S–sorry! These are for you!”

A breathy utterance, the girl speaking is shy and completely red in the face, while holding out the pink paper bag like an offering to some higher being—and maybe to her, he is.

You swear you can almost hear the cheesy background music that television shows play with these types of scenes, you lean in as much as your desk will let you and strain to hear his response. Gripping the wood of your desk tight. Some of your other classmates are tuning in too, drama hungry vultures they are, you can feel the buzzing energy of anticipation waiting for his answer.

Without missing a beat, he offers her a shallow nod of his head.

“Thanks.”

…and another one bites the dust.

Slumping back in your chair, you gaze at a disheartening confession scene from your seat across the room, picking idly at your sandwich’s crust, sighing to yourself and for the poor girl that has been plainly rejected by Alhaitham.

The whole class either lets out sounds of disappointment—they only wish that once Alhaitham is off market, they’d have their chance, though you doubt it—or loud sighs of relief—aka, those who, too, wish to make themselves known to him. They all don’t register much to you though. All you can see is her crushed expression.

He isn’t even looking at her for goodness sake. Poor girl.

Valentine’s day is not only a day of cheesy confessions and plush teddy bears and chocolate (though you especially enjoy those), for those lonely souls without a valentine it is the perfect day for witnessing the drama unfold. It’s like watching a telenovela in real time.

Alhaitham is that telenovela’s perfect lead.

He’s breathtakingly handsome even as he delivers the driest response to whatever-her-name’s confession. His gray-silver hair tumbles artfully on his head and glints as the afternoon sun outside hits just right. The aquamarine of his eyes are enrapturing and absolutely intense as he stares down his new goodie bag.

It’s a little silly to see such a stoic man gripping heartsy pink gift bags that are filled with the high quality chocolate you can only dream of. His marble-carved physique and top tier face makes up for it though, it makes it all the more endearing to you. You understand wholeheartedly why he’s such a magnet for so much romantic attention. Not that you’d fall victim to it yourself.

You find yourself unable to conceal the way your lips turn upwards in amusement, a little cruel knowing the situation. Taking a generous bite of your sandwich, you laugh to yourself quietly (honestly, you’re making it seem like you’re not all there).

“What’s so funny?”

Summoned by your laugh—or the thought that you are laughing at him, for some not-so-crazy reason—he stands tall in front of your desk.

You’ve known him since your bratty elementary school phases, you’ve fought, pulled at each other’s hair but you consider Alhaitham to be your closest and oldest friend. Before he was a stunning romantic magnet, he was an insufferable book worm in junior high.

When you started exploring your interest in sewing and fashion design, he was by your bed and bluntly critiquing any piece you’d show him. You have come a long way since then, having become an integral member of the fashion design club.

You crane your neck to look at him, giving him a lazy grin, you kick blindly at his shins from underneath the table in an attempt to draw some form of reaction (though he doesn’t even bat an eye).

“Nothing, nothing,” you wave him off, speaking through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly. “As long as you’re on the market, there won’t be enough for the rest of us.”

He gives you a look, though you can’t take it as seriously, he’s still holding all those valentines. “Irrelevant. Your sense of humor needs fixing, not even Cyno would find you entertaining.”

“First off, I do not appreciate all this sass.”

His lips twitch. “I had quite the persistent teacher.”

This time, you flat out laugh at him. “Whatever,” you snort. “Anyway, you should consider taking up acting. Pretty boys like you will have people salivating like starving wolves.”

He pauses and just stares at you, it’s a little peculiar and totally out of character for him, you tilt your head in confusion.

“Pretty boy?”

You almost choke on your sandwich, bringing a fist to your mouth through coughs. Out of everything you said, that’s what he chooses to focus on?

“Uhm, yeah,” you mutter, laughing sheepishly, and suddenly feeling out of place. Internally, you cringe at yourself. “Have you ever looked in a mirror or something?”

Once the words tumble out of your mouth, you feel the heat of mortification crawling up on the expanse of your skin. Oh my god, do you ever stop talking?

Alhaitham says nothing, he stares you down with the intensity increased by tenfold. If anything, the expression on his flawless face looks displeased.

“I meant platonically, of course,” you blather on, pointedly avoiding eye contact. The table looks especially interesting as of the moment. “I mean—I would never—”

He puts his free hand up, sharply stopping you from going further on your flustered tangent. Something you are all too well acquainted with, Alhaitham does not have much patience for dalliances. Immediately, your jaw locks shut—you’d rather not start a fight with him if you wanted to mooch off all the valentines chocolate he received.

You take another big bite of your sandwich.

You roll your eyes, mumbling. “Okay, whatever. Don’t be a pretty boy, then. As long as I get a share of your chocolate, it’s whatever you want.”

“I didn’t say anything about that,” he deadpans. In his arms, the goodie bags shift as he moves closer.

A small plastic-wrapped chocolate box is dropped inelegantly on your table, resounding with a heavy thump. It’s pink and smells heavily of chocolate and cinnamon. Your eyes widen at the pleasant surprise—but more importantly, the price. A crazed smile curls from your lips, and you clutch the chocolates to your chest.

You gasp. “Oh my—fuck! Haitham, these are like a thousand mora a box!”

Alhaitham raises a perfectly arched brow. “Is that so? I should get it back then.”

Even if you’re pretty sure he’s only messing with you, your hold around the chocolates tightens into a death grip. You turn your chest away from him, shielding the box away from his view.

“That’s too bad,” you sing-song. “No take backs.”

A smug smile tugs at his lips before it completely melts away—the thing that growing up with a boy so ungenerous with his expressions makes these small moments all the more special.

“Then I’ll just have to keep the rest of these for myself.”

“Haitham, no! You promised to share—”

Hey there 🌍💙

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witnessing myself develop a caffeine addiction in real time

to celebrate the birth of my blog im posting all my ao3 fics here

BREAKING OUT OF MY HIATUS to announce that ice fallen back in love with kny

I think people misunderstand "x fell first, y fell harder " trope because it's not about like the one who fell harder loves the other person harder. It's just that the one who fell first falls in a graceful way, one step at the time, maybe gradually over a span of time. The one who fell harder smashes trough the air, there's blood everywhere, everything is fine-