imagine your bsf that you’ve fallen in love with suddenly confesses to you and you guys have a lovely prom date in front of everyone and it’s senior year and you guys have your first kiss in the middle of the dance floor to the song that caused ygs to meet. but then she suddenly flees town and all connections are severed and you never hear from her again so you end up throwing away your future to go to the college the two of you have been planning to go to for years only for all hopes of reconnecting are lost and she has you blocked on all platforms. and then imagine like ten years later your dad not dad gets chronically sick and you fall into the worst version of yourself so your uncle not uncle brings her to your old hometown because she was the only one who brought you out of your spirals only to find out she’s engaged to a man she doesn’t love, and that her parents forced her to flee, when in reality she still loves you and would’ve never left all those ten years. how crazy would that be
Spending your Monday night at a frat party wasn’t your ideal way to spend the night, but your friend Cat was quite convincing.
The hoodie you’re wearing clings to your arms as the heat from the frat house surrounds you. A hoodie wasn't your typical choice of clothing for a party, although Cat didn’t give you much time to get dressed. Only having the time throw on the nearest sweater and a pair of pants. Thankfully the dimness of the lights allows for not much attention to be brought to your outfit.
Cat ends up dragging you over to her group of friends she insisted you meet. They’re far better dressed for the occasion, mini denim skirts, frilly tops, and kitten heels, adorned with a perfectly done pedicures.
Cat’s friends are nicer than you expected, they welcome you into their group and even offer you a drink. The pink liquid in the solo cup they handed you slightly burns as it reaches the back of your throat.
A few drinks later and you’ve joined Cat and her friends in the giant crowed of dancing bodies. The music blaring from the speakers starts to get to you after some time. To prevent yourself from feeling sick you head off to the edge of the room, finding a quieter corner to take refuge in.
Pulling out your phone you find Cat’s contact to let her know you want to head home soon. Looking over in Cat’s direction to see where she is, you catch a girl’s piercing stare directed towards you. You don't catch much of her appearance as your eyes follow Cat’s movement to the kitchen for what you assume is another drink.
Before you’re able to direct your attention back to your phone the girl from a few seconds ago is a mere few feet away. She starts walking towards you and you’re now able to get a full glimpse of her. Brown shaggy mullet framing her face, eyes that vaugly sparkle under the lights of the party, and a flannel that’s the same color as the backwards baseball cap that's sitting atop her head.
She’s hot. That’s the only thought that’s going through your head right now. You can hear your heartbeat through your ears as she approaches you.
“Not your kind of scene huh?”
Her words snap you out of your internal freak out. You barely process her question, words getting caught in your throat, not knowing how to respond.
“What makes you think that?” You manage to let out a shaky response, taking a deep breath after speaking.
She lets out a small laugh, “No offence but you’re dressed like someone who would rather be curled up in bed watching a movie.”
You laugh, “You’re not wrong. My friend ended up dragging me here last minute, my outfit isn’t that bad is it?”
“No your outfit is great, you look quite comfortable. And really pretty too.”
Your face heats up at her words, “Thank you, You are- you’re really pretty too.”
She giggles at your flustered response, “Thank you, I’m Ellie by the way.”
You take her outstretched hand and shake it as you introduce yourself to her. It’s silent between you two for a moment until Elllie says something.
“Wanna go somewhere quieter?” She asks.
You nod, too afraid that your words would betray you. Ellie smiles and takes you hand, leading you outside to the front of the house.
Ellie is still holding onto your hand as she guides you guys down the steps, you both sit down, enjoying the quiet setting.
There’s a comfortable silence between you. Ellie’s hand somehow found its way to your knee, gently resting it there for the past few minutes.
You glance over in Ellie’s direction to find her already looking at you. Your eyes meet and you catch the way her eyes flick to your lips.
Ellie leans in a little closer, her breath tickling your face slightly. “Can I kiss you?” She whispers.
You bite your lip as you nod your head, your hand finding its way to hers that’s resting on your knee.
Ellie smirks as she brings her free hand up to your jaw, holding your face in her hand gently as she leans in. Her lips are soft against yours, your lips move against hers. She can feel the shyness in your kiss, bringing your face closer to hers to deepen the kiss. You feel her grin against you as your noses bump against eachothers. As you pull apart for air, a smile makes its way across Ellie’s face as she sees your flushed face.
You glance down to avoid Ellie’s gaze and see a message from Cat saying that’s she’s ready to take you home.
“Sorry, my friend is ready to leave and she’s my ride home so I gotta go.” You say as you prepare to leave.
She smiles, “No worries pretty, can I get your number by chance?”
Your face heats up at the nickname, “Yeah of course.” You hand her your phone with shaky hands.
Ellie hands your phone back to you, “Thanks, text me sometime?” She winks.
“Yeah I will.” You wave goodbye, quickly turning away to hide the red color creeping up your face.
"what'd you make?" your brother yells across the living room, his deep, very very annoying voice seeping in into the kitchen. the one place you could get away from him, and the constant sounds of swords fighting, and guys wooping from the video game thats always on.
but yet, he somehow finds a way to get under your skin.
ellie sits beside him, looking at him tenderly, before her grip on the joysticks slowly taking a halt, before peering over at you through the doorway. your hairs tied up, flour dusted all over the pretty pink apron and your hands wrapped up in gloves as you hold up a tray of fresh cookies.
ellie drops her controller, and slowly moves the pads of her feet over to the kitchen. resting her forearms on the kitchen island in front of you, wearing that soft, easy smile you love. your brother couldn't care, eyes still glued onto the television, even with the smell of sweet chocolate roaming the house.
ellie slowly creeps her fingers over to yours, peeling back the glove you wore, and tapping her fingers over yours, not uttering a single word. you two didn't bother telling your brother. he'd just fuss and make it all about him, how he's gonna thirdwheel. how its gross for ellie to go for his sister. or how he's never gonna have time with ellie anymore.
its silly really, he treats her like his boyfriend. but ellie doesn't mind. that's what draws you to her. in contrast to your brother, she's nice. she's calming and gentle. in a way you're unfamiliar with. your brother can be..rude. or off putting. or maybe thats just something that comes with you being his sister.
ellie kneads the knuckles on your hand, the same ones that have been kneading and mixing for the past hour. your brother finally peels the headphones off his head, hopping off the back of the couch, stomping his way here. ellie lets go, but still smiling at you. her lips move softly, whispering "chocolate peanut butter?" she says. you nod, pushing the tray out to her. "mmhm. your favorite." you make sure to say, knowing thats basically the only reason you chose to even make cookies.
your brother scoffs, coming up to the island, bumping ellie on the way. he takes one look at the tray and rolls his eyes, but still grabbing onto a cookie. "you know i hate these. you always make what ellie likes. c'mon, give me a break." he says, hands flailing around as he takes a huge chunk out of the cookie, crumbs falling on his hoodie.
"oh, owen! you're eating like you don't have teeth!" you exclaim, pulling the tray back to ellie as she just smiles at you throughout the entire time, green, soft eyes keeping on you. "besides. i'm not making a monstrosity of a flavor just for you. me and ellie like peanut butter." you say, so matter of factly. "right els?"
ellie ducks down, hiding her smile with another bite of the cookie. she chews on it, nodding as she taps your brother on his shoudler. "maybe if you actually beat me, she'd make those shit covered cookies you beg her for." and with that, your brother runs off to the couch, mouth still holding onto the cookie, leaving you and ellie in the kitchen. he's too focused, too locked in to even spare you two a glance. so ellie takes the chance and steps closer to you. her hands come up underneath your apron, and she gives you a lingering kiss to the cheek. "thank you. these taste so good baby." you give her one back, eyes always trained on the back of your brother's head.
"your welcome." you simply say. another kiss on the cheek. "i'll see you later? pretty sure your brother's gonna get himself knocked out on all the rootbeer." you spare her another kiss on the cheek, not before pushing her away by the hips, pressing on the waistband of her jeans as your fingers wipe off the lip gloss that clung to her skin.
synopsis. Despite your fantasies becoming reality in such a horrid world, you awaken to find your lover gone without goodbye—left only with a bouquet of forget-me not’s and a letter that reaveals: sometimes the deepest love chooses absence to save the one it cannot bear to break.
this oneshot includes. epilogue!ellie x farmhouse!reader, mostly monologue, ellie’s such a poet guys, i hated the writing in my last oneshot and tried to redeem myself and this was the result soo
word count. 1.4k
Had you known your lover would have left on one fateful night, maybe a lot of things in your life would’ve been different.
Nonetheless, you settle with the pit in your stomach; feeling as if something is tearing apart your insides for the pure sake of self-deprecation.
Ellie had provided you with a love you could only describe as infectious—a love that consumes you wholly, till you are nothing but the map of your lover. A love that can only be described as unfathomable and selfish to the outside narration—but on the inside, it is one of worship. A love that creeps up your spine like fire does oxygen, until all you see left is flames. A love that threads through your ribs like light through lattice. Until every little thing reminds you of her presence. Until there is no life worth living, if your lover is nigh existent.
You suppose that’s where it went wrong, your worthy life, seeing as you’d awoken to an empty side of the bed.
Usually sunrays would filter through the curtains of the farmhouse, the sheep blabbering about, and the peaceful slumbering of your girlfriend's side profile filling your vision. A restful, content surrounding.
The sunrays do not shine.
The outside world is unusually quiet.
And worst of all—Ellie’s absence seems everlasting, an indefinite, terrible, terrible, thing.
Yet you remain still, as though by some cruel miracle she might rematerialize if you but refuse to breathe.
Your hand drifts across the hollow where she ought to be. The linen greets you with a chill so unkind it near burns. Not the warmth of a body newly risen, not the fleeting absence of one who tends sheep ere dawn—but a vacancy long settled. Long decided.
“Ellie,” you murmur, though the name finds no witness.
No answer comes.
Oft she wakes before you. Oft she slips from your embrace to chase the sun or quiet the restless flock. You tell yourself this must be such a morning. That she is naught but outside, sleeves rolled, brow knit in that stubborn concentration you adore beyond reason.
And yet.
The house is too hushed.
No footfall upon the boards.
No kettle set to boil.
No off-key humming drifting through the rafters like some broken hymn.
You rise.
Each step from the bedroom feels a trespass, as though you intrude upon a truth you are not meant to see. The corridor yawns long and unfamiliar. The air tastes of absence.
Her boots are gone.
You pause.
They are never gone.
Her knife too—missing from its accustomed place upon the table by the door. The guitar case no longer rests against the wall. The space it once claimed stands accusatory, dust disturbed in the shape of farewell.
Something ancient and feral coils within your gut.
You descend the stairs.
And there, upon the kitchen table—so deliberate it wounds you to behold it—rests a small, trembling bouquet of forget-me-nots, cradled in a chipped mason jar. Their blue is gentle. Their stems still cling to the earth from whence they were torn. Handpicked. Not bought. Not careless.
Chosen.
Beneath them lies a letter.
Not a note.
A letter.
Pages upon pages, folded thrice and pressed flat as though weight alone might keep them from flying after her.
You do not at once reach for it.
Your gaze lingers instead upon the flowers. Forget-me-nots. A cruel jest, or a plea. You know not which is worse.
Your fingers tremble ere they dare unfold the parchment.
The handwriting is hers—sharp, impatient strokes, ink pressed so deep in places it near rends the page. There are blots where the nib lingered too long. A line struck through. Another begun and abandoned.
My love,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone—and I hate that. I hate that I’m not there beside you now, tangled up in the sheets, whispering some sharp, silly thing to make you roll your eyes. I hate that I’m not there to trace the morning light on your skin or to see you blink at me with that look you always wore when you didn’t want to smile, but did anyway—because of me.
And I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for leaving without a goodbye, without one last kiss, without even the courage to watch you cry. I didn’t want you to beg me to stay—I knew I would’ve stayed. And you, Y/N, would have let me. You would’ve loved me until the end, and you would’ve broken yourself to do it.
But you don’t deserve to be broken.
You deserve to dance barefoot in that little kitchen, to press your palms against the fogged glass of the windows and breathe in the life we never thought we could have. You deserve to be kissed every morning and every night, to write poetry on napkins and burn bread and laugh about it. You deserve years. You deserve decades full of love and happiness, without the need of outrunning my past.
Everytime I close my eyes, I see him. There is not a world that exists in which he won’t ever flood my memories. If there is anyone to blame—please, blame me. He is dearer to me than anything else in this world, for if he is gone I must avenge, as he did for me.
I see his face in the quiet. I hear his voice when the wind hits the porch just right. I wake up reaching for a gun that isn’t there because for a second I forget I’m safe. And then I remember that I’m not. Not while she walks free. Not while the weight of it sits on my chest like a stone I can’t swallow.
I tried, baby. God, I tried. I planted seeds with you and told myself that was enough. I watched you laugh with the sheep and told myself this—this soft, stupid, beautiful life—was enough. I held you at night and counted your breaths instead of counting the ways it all went wrong.
But it doesn’t leave. It festers. It rots. It whispers that I’m a coward for choosing peace when he didn’t get to. It tells me I don’t deserve this—don’t deserve you—while the score is still unsettled.
I don’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t find a bit of peace. When you look at me, I see the future you’re offering, and it terrifies me. Not because I don’t want it—but because I do. And wanting it makes me weak. Wanting it makes me consider letting her live.
And I can’t.
I must make it stop. I have to find her. Abby was the start of this, and she will be the end of it. She has to be.
If I stay, I will wither into something resentful. I will wake up one day and look at you and see all the ways you saved me—and hate myself for needing saving. I will poison the very thing that kept me alive. I won’t let that happen. I won’t let my ghosts crawl into our bed and make a home between us.
So I’m choosing the only thing I know how to choose. I’m choosing the path that feels like fire instead of the one that feels like forgiveness.
Please don’t follow me.
That’s the one selfish thing I’m asking of you. Don’t come after me. Don’t trade the softness we built for the brutality I’m walking back into. If there’s any part of you that loves me still when you finish this letter, let it love me from here. Let it love me enough to let me go.
If I come back—God, if I come back—I swear I’ll try to be better. I’ll lay it down. I’ll bury it for good. I’ll spend the rest of my life earning the peace you offered me so freely.
And if I don’t…
Then remember me like this: in the golden light of the fields, mud on my boots, guitar slightly out of tune. Remember the way I looked at you like you were something holy. Because you are. You always were.
You saved me in every way a person can be saved. I just don’t know how to live like someone worth saving.
I love you. In every lifetime. In every version of this broken world.
