princess em @elspinkdoll - Tumblr Blog

Jan 24

When stars fade ˎˊ˗

ellie williams x fem!reader

One-shot!

Cw; bullying, slow-burn romance, heartbreak, vulnerability, jealousy, terminal illness (cancer), character death, grief/loss, end-of-life themes, medical treatment, marriage under terminal circumstances, emotional distress, mentions of intimacy, pain/fatigue, oral sex (r!receiving), fingering, nudity, orgasm, sexual exploration, sexual teasing, messy sex,

Summary; After a years of teasing, late-night calls, and a love that grew quietly, they’re finally together again, but life throws distance, dreams, and illness in their path. Through laughter, heartbreak, and stolen moments, they discover what it really means to hold on, and what it means to let go.

Notes; This fic is huge, and honestly, I poured so much time and love into it. I’m really passionate about this story, and I hope you all enjoy the ride <33

Word count; around 20k

Taglist; @gogolsbf

The sun sat mercilessly high above the field, hanging like a weight in the sky, baking the turf into a blinding shimmer of green. The air felt heavy and unrelenting, as though every bit of heat pressed directly against your skin. You shifted your pom-poms from one hand to the other, fingers slick against the smooth plastic strands, and tried to ignore the way your uniform clung. Standing at the edge of the field waiting for the rest of the squad was dull, but at least you had a view.

The players were still dispersing toward the locker room, helmets tucked under arms, jerseys darkened with sweat. You tracked one in particular without realizing it, broad shoulders, the confident swagger in his gait, the way he laughed when one of his teammates shoved him playfully. He looked back once, and you offered him a small smile, subtle enough that maybe he wouldn’t notice. But before the moment could turn into anything, he ducked into the shadow of the locker room doorway and disappeared.

The sudden stillness pressed in. Empty field, empty stands, the faint buzz of cicadas from beyond the track. You might have stayed rooted where you were, but then you saw him, or what you thought was a him. A lone figure sat slouched on the bleachers, high enough up to catch the sunlight directly across their face. Cap tugged down low, arms folded over knees, sneakers tapping idly against the metal. At first glance, it was the same posture you’d seen a thousand times on the football team: restless, cocky, like the field already belonged to them.

You hesitated. For all the times you’d promised yourself to rein in your extroverted impulses, the urge to move, to do, usually won. The rest of the squad wasn’t here yet, and there was no one else around. Curiosity tugged harder than restraint. Adjusting your skirt so it didn’t lift with the lazy breeze, you climbed the first few steps of the bleachers, sneakers clanging softly against the heated metal.

“Hey,” you called, your voice light and teasing as though you already knew him. “You on the team?”

The figure shifted, sitting up straighter, pushing strands of reddish-brown hair back under the brim of the cap. Then the reply came, unexpected, soft, undeniably feminine. “I’m on tryouts. Or, I was supposed to be.” She tilted her head toward the field, green eyes catching the sun even as she squinted against it. “Manager made it pretty clear he’s not interested in girls on the roster.”

For a second, all the air seemed to thin out around you. You stopped mid-step, heat rushing to your cheeks faster than the sunlight could manage. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I thought, I didn’t realize you.., I just assumed—”

Her lips quirked into something halfway between a smirk and a grimace, and she lifted a hand to wave it off. “Don’t worry about it. Kinda the point, right? I blend in just enough, then get told to go home anyway.” The words sounded like she’d rehearsed them, but then her expression softened, a streak of color blooming across her freckled cheeks. “Besides…” she hesitated, then, with a sudden boldness that seemed to surprise even herself, added, “I don’t really mind when a cute girl like you mistakes me for a guy.”

The sentence hung heavy in the warm air. She said it with more confidence than her body language carried, her hand immediately went to rub at the back of her neck, her gaze darting away, the blush deepening to crimson.

You blinked at her, caught between flustered and intrigued, the word cute echoing louder in your mind than anything else. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, laughing a little too high-pitched. “That’s… not exactly what I was going for, but thanks? I think?”

Her smirk tugged back into place as she leaned her elbows on her knees again, clearly pleased she’d managed to fluster you. “You’re welcome.”

You swallowed, your eyes dragging over her now that you were actually looking. The cap was faded and fraying at the edges, her auburn hair messy but intentional, tufts curling around her ears and neck. Freckles dusted her nose and cheeks like someone had painted them on for effect. Her T-shirt was worn soft, sleeves pushed up to her shoulders, showing lean arms dusted faintly with sunburn. And those eyes, bright, restless green, watched you like they were daring you to say something else.

“So…” you started carefully, gripping your pom-poms tighter. “If they won’t let you on the team, why even bother sitting here? Doesn’t it feel… like torture?”

She gave a short laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, probably. But I like watching. Guess I can’t help it. This whole place, it’s…” She trailed off, like she wasn’t sure how much to admit to a stranger she’d just met, then shrugged. “It’s just where I wanna be.”

You tilted your head, curiosity rising again. “Even if they keep telling you no?”

Her jaw tightened at that, her eyes flicking briefly away. “Especially then.”

Something about the conviction in her tone, quiet as it was, made your chest tighten. You wanted to ask more, who she was, why she wanted this so badly, but before you could form the words, a chorus of voices rang out from the field.

“Hey! Get down here already!” one of your squadmates shouted, waving frantically at you from the sideline.

You flinched, twisting back toward them, realizing the rest of the team had finally gathered while you were distracted. When you turned back, Ellie was watching you with that same half-smirk, though there was something softer underneath it.

“I, uh, guess I should…” You gestured helplessly toward your teammates.

She nodded, like she’d expected you to be pulled away. “Yeah. Go. Don’t let me get you in trouble.”

You hovered for a moment longer than you should’ve, wishing you had something clever, memorable, anything to leave her with. Instead, you blurted out, “Good luck. With the whole… tryout thing.”

She tipped her chin at you, the smallest of grins tugging at her lips. “Thanks, cheerleader.”

Heat rushed to your face again, and before she could see you turn red, you spun on your heel and hurried down the bleachers, metal rattling under your sneakers. One hand gripped the hem of your skirt tightly with every step, keeping the fabric pinned down so nothing would flash as you rushed.

The moment your sneakers hit the grass, you knew you weren’t slipping back into the group unnoticed. The squad was waiting, all bows and bright smiles turned sharp, their formation already neat and impatient. You hadn’t even opened your mouth before Madison let out an exaggerated gasp, her manicured hand clutching her pom-poms like pearls.

“Oh my god,” she drawled, her voice thick with disbelief. “Tell me you weren’t just up there… actually talking to her.”

Laughter rippled through the girls, some muffled behind hands, some loud enough to make your ears burn. You blinked, clutching your pom-poms closer, thrown off by the collective hostility. “What? She was sitting there. I didn’t—”

“Didn’t know?” Sarah cut you off, stepping forward with her usual scornful tilt of the head, ponytail swinging. “You seriously didn’t know who that is?”

“Apparently not,” you muttered, bristling.

“She’s Ellie,” Sarah said, like the name itself was a warning sign. Her voice dropped lower, conspiratorial, but sharp enough that you knew she wanted everyone to hear. “She tried out last year. Coach told her no, obviously. She just doesn’t get the hint. Shows up anyway. Hangs around. Watches.” She pulled a face, wrinkling her nose. “It’s pathetic.”

“Loser behavior,” Madison agreed, nodding solemnly as if this were gospel. Then her solemnity slipped into that sly grin she was known for, eyes flicking back up at the bleachers. “Weirdo outcast. Always on her own. Honestly? It’s kinda creepy.”

A couple of the other girls murmured agreement, glancing up with narrowed eyes before looking away quickly, like they didn’t want to be caught staring.

“She looks like a guy,” one of the freshmen whispered behind you, not quite low enough.

“Exactly,” Madison pounced, her grin widening. “No wonder you didn’t realize. Don’t worry, we’ll forgive you. Just… don’t let it happen again.”

Something in your stomach tightened. “I wasn’t— look, I was waiting for you guys. She was there. I said hi. That’s it.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Madison cooed, saccharine. “You really don’t wanna be seen with her. Trust us.”

“Yeah,” Sarah added with a nod, her tone clipped and final. “People already think she’s a joke. Don’t get dragged down with her.”

Your face flushed hotter than the sun beating down on you. You opened your mouth, ready to push back, but the shrill blast of the coach’s whistle cut across the field, and the conversation snapped shut like a trap.

The squad fell into motion with a collective swing of ponytails, and you followed, though your thoughts lagged stubbornly behind. Practice settled into its rhythm: the squeak of sneakers on the turf, the rhythmic clap of pom-poms, the chant-counts you could do in your sleep. The heat pressed into your skin, sweat collecting along your hairline, but you moved with the automatic grace of repetition. Smile, jump, land, clap, spin. Again. Again.

And yet, no matter how hard you tried to focus, your eyes kept straying.

Ellie was still there.

She hadn’t budged from her spot, still slouched on the bleachers like she had nothing better to do. One leg bounced against the metal rung, arms folded, cap tugged low. She looked both relaxed and intent, green eyes following the field with a steadiness that unnerved you the longer you felt it.

Between drills, when the squad shifted formations and you dared to glance up, her gaze caught yours. She didn’t look away. Instead, she lifted two fingers in a lazy mock-salute, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Heat surged up your neck. You spun back to the group, nearly stumbling over Madison’s perfectly pointed foot.

“What the hell are you smiling at?” Sarah demanded during water break, shoving her bottle into the crook of her arm as she squinted at you.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, fumbling with your own bottle, the plastic crinkling in your hand.

“Uh-huh,” Madison hummed knowingly, her eyes following the direction you’d glanced in. She let out a sharp laugh. “Oh my god. You’re not actually, like, into that, are you?”

“Shut up,” you snapped, but the protest sounded weak even to your own ears.

The whistle blew again, saving you from more interrogation, and the squad shuffled back into formation.

The rest of practice blurred in the usual haze of sweat and movement, but your awareness of Ellie never dimmed. Every count, every chant, you knew she was still there, still watching. The others saw a creep. You, against your better judgment, thought it was something else entirely.

At one point, during a stunt, when your skirt threatened to flip higher than it should, you caught yourself tugging it down mid-air, and when you landed, steady and breathless, you knew she’d seen. She tipped her head, almost imperceptibly, like she was laughing at you from across the distance.

The thought lodged in your chest and refused to leave.

By the time practice wound down, your muscles ached, your throat was raw from calling counts, and sweat plastered your uniform to your back. But when the squad collapsed in a heap on the grass, panting and laughing, you found your gaze sliding upward again.

She was still there.

Still watching.

And for reasons you couldn’t explain, not to Madison, not to Sarah, not even to yourself, you smiled. A small, secret thing, tugging at the corner of your mouth before you could stop it.

Because it wasn’t creepy at all. It was… stubborn. Quiet. A little bit ridiculous. And, if you let yourself admit it, it was adorable.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧

It started happening so often that you couldn’t call it coincidence anymore. Every hallway you turned down, every shortcut across campus, every time you ducked into the corner store near school, it was like Ellie was already there, slouched against a wall with her hands shoved deep into her pockets, or pretending to study a vending machine, or sitting on a bench with her headphones tugged low over her ears. At first you thought it was funny, then you thought maybe it was deliberate, and one afternoon you couldn’t help yourself, you said it.

“Are you, like… stalking me or something?” you teased, half-smiling, brushing past her shoulder in the hallway.

The effect was immediate. Her head snapped up, eyes wide, freckles going pink across her cheeks before the color spread deeper. “What? No! No, I’m not—” Her words stumbled over themselves as she tried to defend, hands lifting out of her pockets like she needed to physically ward off the accusation. “I wasn’t— Jesus, no. That’s— why would you even—”

You burst into laughter before she could spiral further, clutching your books to your chest. “Relax, I’m kidding. God, you should see your face.”

Ellie groaned, dragging a hand down over her cap, trying to shield her burning cheeks from view. “Not funny,” she muttered, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her, twitching upward like she couldn’t fight the grin entirely.

“Kind of funny,” you pressed, enjoying the way she squirmed, the way she never seemed to know what to do with herself when you looked at her too long. “You go red so fast it’s like a warning sign.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, but there was no real venom in it. Just the soft, flustered defensiveness that you were already beginning to find… adorable.

It might have been cute to you, but your friends didn’t see it that way.

They noticed, of course they did. It wasn’t hard. The way Ellie seemed to appear wherever you were, the way her eyes drifted to you even when you weren’t supposed to be paying attention. By the end of the week, the whispers started, slipping sharp and poisonous between stretches and water breaks at cheer practice.

“She’s literally everywhere,” Madison sneered one afternoon as you unlaced your sneakers. “Like, does she even go to class? Or does she just follow you around all day like a lost puppy?”

Sarah snorted, flicking her ponytail back. “Please. Puppy implies she’s cute. She looks more like a stray. Seriously, have you seen the way she dresses? Those jeans are, like, ancient. And that hoodie? God, it looks like she pulled it out of a dumpster.”

A chorus of giggles rippled through the squad, sharp and cutting. “Totally homeless vibes,” another girl added, wrinkling her nose. “Like, does she even own a brush? She’s such a mess.”

You sat stiffly on the bench, pretending to fuss with your shoelaces, not trusting yourself to say anything. The words dug under your skin, leaving something sour in your chest, but what could you even say? If you defended her, they’d eat you alive, and if you agreed, you’d feel worse.

So you kept your head down, let the laughter roll over you, and stayed quiet.

But later, when practice ended and the squad dispersed in a swirl of bows and perfume, you slipped away. You found her sitting where she always was, on the bleachers, or leaning against the chain-link fence, or crouched by the parking lot curb, pulling at loose threads in her hoodie.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, catching the way her face lit up despite the tired slump of her posture.

“Hey,” she echoed, voice quieter than usual, like it was just for you.

After school you found yourself walking beside Ellie down the cracked sidewalks, the late afternoon sun cutting long shadows between the houses. She didn’t say much at first, just kept her hands shoved deep into her hoodie pocket, shoulders hunched like she was waiting for you to change your mind and peel off toward your own street.

Her boots scuffed against the pavement, slow and dragging, and every once in a while she’d flick a glance at you like she couldn’t quite believe you were still there.

By the time you reached the corner where your routes usually split, Ellie hesitated. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, teeth catching on her lip, before she muttered, “Uh… you don’t have to, like, head home right away, do you?” Her hand came up to rub at the back of her neck, eyes darting anywhere but at you. “You could, y’know… come over. If you want.”

Her tone carried this strange mix of offhand and vulnerable, like she was pretending it was no big deal but the edge of hope in her voice gave her away. You could see the faint pink creeping up the tips of her ears, the way she was already bracing for you to say no.

You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder and said, quietly but steady, “I… kinda do wanna see your house.”

For a second, Ellie just stared, almost disbelieving, before her mouth twitched into a grin she couldn’t stop. She ducked her head, trying to hide how much your answer mattered, and muttered, “Yeah? Cool. Uh… it’s just down this way.” She jerked her chin toward the quieter end of the block and started walking again, her pace a little quicker now, like she suddenly had something worth showing off.

When you arrived at her place, it wasn’t at all what you expected.

The house was small, a bit run-down, with paint peeling in corners and the lawn only half-mowed. Trash bins leaned precariously against the side, and a few old bikes were chained to the fence, their tires flat and rust eating away the spokes. It looked lived-in, but not in a polished, “Instagram aesthetic” kind of way. This was her world, messy, chaotic, and completely untouched by anyone else’s judgment.

You hesitated at the door for a moment. “Um… where are your parents?” you asked, stepping inside.

Ellie shrugged, pulling off her hoodie and tossing it onto the sagging couch like she didn’t care if it hit the floor. “Just my dad. He’s working late. Nothing fancy, really.” Her tone was casual, but there was a tiny edge of pride in it, like she didn’t feel the need to apologize for her home being what it was.

Her room was another story entirely. It was cluttered, sure, but full of personality. Posters of comic book heroes lined one wall, shelves sagged under the weight of comic collections, games stacked haphazardly on the floor, and a few potted plants tried valiantly to cling to life near the window. There was even a small corner devoted to dinosaur figurines, each one painstakingly painted and positioned as though they were mid-battle. It was chaotic, yes, but alive. And Ellie was in her element.

“So… what’s your favorite?” you asked, sitting on the edge of her bed, carefully avoiding knocking over a leaning tower of graphic novels.

Ellie lit up, gesturing animatedly toward a set of shelves. “Oh, that one,” she said, grabbing a game and holding it up. “This is the new indie dungeon crawler I’ve been obsessed with. It’s brutal, but the level design is insane. And the characters, don’t get me started on the characters. I’ve literally spent hours just theorizing what their backstories could be.”

You laughed, leaning back against the wall. “You… really know a lot about this stuff.”

“Of course I do,” she said with mock indignation, puffing her chest out slightly. “Just because I look like a scrappy, street-kid mess doesn’t mean I don’t have taste, intellect, or skill. Comics, games, plants, dinosaurs, you name it, I know it.” She pointed to a battered notebook on the desk. “I even write a bit. Doodles, stories… just whatever pops into my head.”

You couldn’t help the way your lips curved, watching her flail around, passionate and unapologetic. “You’re… actually really smart,” you said quietly.

She froze for half a second, cheeks heating again, before she shrugged. “Eh, I guess. Don’t sound too impressed though, or I might start charging you for tutoring.”

You laughed, shaking your head. Somehow, it didn’t matter that your friends had made a mess of opinions about her, calling her names or rolling their eyes when you mentioned Ellie in passing. Here, in her room, she wasn’t a “weirdo” or an outcast, she was vibrant, intense, and utterly magnetic. And you felt yourself leaning closer than you probably should have, drawn in by her energy, by the ease she had in talking about everything she loved without shame or apology.

The afternoon melted away in a blur of comics, debates about which dinosaur could beat which in a fight, and playing through the dungeon crawler game she’d obsessed over. Every time she laughed or furrowed her brow in concentration, your chest tightened a little, and you couldn’t quite explain why you kept coming back. Even with the whispered judgments of your friends echoing somewhere in the back of your mind, you found yourself utterly unable to stay away from Ellie.

By the time the sun started to dip low and paint her room in warm amber, you realized that this was more than just curiosity or amusement. There was something about her, her confidence, her intensity, the way she seemed entirely herself, that had you hooked, no matter how much your friends would frown, whisper, or sneer. Even if the rest of the world didn’t get her, you did.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧

A week later, the morning of your birthday, you woke to your phone buzzing against the sheets, sunlight spilling through the blinds in sharp strips. For a moment you just lay there, half tangled in your blanket, staring at the glow of the screen like you already knew who you wanted to reach out to. Your friends had been planning things for days, decorations, playlists, food, but none of that made your chest tighten in the same way as the thought of Ellie stepping into your house, into your orbit, and seeing you in that light.

You thumbed open her name, hesitating a second before typing, hey, it’s my bday tonight. having people over. you should come by. The words looked too casual for how fast your heart was beating, so you added, come later tho, when it’s calmed down. easier that way.

The three dots blinked, disappeared, blinked again, and finally her reply came through: later works. happy birthday btw. guess i’ll bring myself as a present. You couldn’t help but smile, biting your lip as you stared at the screen longer than you needed to, the kind of grin you’d never admit to your friends.

That night, your house was buzzing with laughter, music, and the faint smell of cake lingering in the air. People moved from room to room, glasses clinking, conversations overlapping in a warm, chaotic hum.

It was around seven-thirty when you spotted her through the living room window, standing hesitantly on the porch, guitar case slung over her shoulder. The house was still loud, still full of people, but the sight of her made your chest flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. You practically ran to the door.

“Ellie!” you called, and her head jerked up, eyes wide, cheeks already pink from either the walk over or seeing you, or maybe both.

She smiled nervously, pushing her hair out of her face. “Hey… uh… happy birthday,” she said softly.

Your face lit up, a grin spreading that felt almost involuntary. “Come on, let’s get out to the backyard,” you said, grabbing her hand and tugging her gently along. Not because you didn’t want her inside, maybe you did a little, but because you wanted a space where it was just the two of you.

Once outside, the cool evening air wrapped around you, and the distant music of the party felt muffled, like it belonged to another world. Ellie followed you to a patch of grass, settling beside you on the edge of the garden, her guitar case leaning against the fence.

“You… uh… wow,” she started, eyes flicking to your dress. “You look really pretty.” Her voice was quiet, soft, and the blush spreading across her cheeks made you want to reach out and brush it away.

“Thanks,” you said, grinning. “I like it too. But I think you just beat me with that compliment.”

Her blush deepened, and she fidgeted with the strap of her guitar case, looking anywhere but at you. “I brought my guitar. I wanted to… maybe play a song for you? For your birthday.” She finally looked at you then, cheeks red, gaze a mix of hope and embarrassment.

You felt your chest tighten, nearly making you want to cry right there. “Ellie… you can?” you whispered, voice almost breaking.

“I… yeah, if that’s okay?” she said, voice trembling slightly. She sat cross-legged, fingers brushing the strings lightly as if they were delicate threads she didn’t want to snap.

“Of course it’s okay,” you assured her. “I’d love that.”

She strummed softly, a gentle melody that matched the warm glow of the string lights you’d set up in the backyard. Her voice, slightly raw and hesitant at first, grew steadier as she sang, a song entirely for you, each word carrying an earnestness that made your heart ache. When she finished, you were shaking slightly, overwhelmed by how much thought, effort, and feeling she’d poured into this moment.

After a pause, she reached into the case and pulled out a small piece of paper with a tiny bag attached. She held it out, fingers trembling. “I don’t have a lot of money, and I hope… I hope you’re not disappointed,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I wanted to give you something anyway.”

You took it from her hands carefully, lifting the paper. Inside was a drawing, yourself, captured perfectly in pencil. The details were intricate: the curve of your smile, the tilt of your head, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed. It was beautiful, breathtaking, and your throat tightened so badly you couldn’t find words.

“Oh my god, Ellie, this… this is amazing,” you whispered, heart hammering. “I don’t even… I don’t know what to say.”

She looked down at her feet, cheeks bright red. “I just wanted… you’re my friend. I… I thought maybe you’d like it.”

“And I love it,” you said softly, then picked up the small bag. Inside was a delicate necklace, the pendant catching the last glow of the sun and glittering in a way that made your chest flutter.

“Ellie… it’s beautiful,” you breathed. “Can you put it on me?”

Her hands shook visibly as she took the necklace, and when she fastened it around your neck, her fingers brushed yours. You felt a jolt, a mix of electricity and warmth that made you hold your breath for a second. She finally looked up, eyes wide, slightly panicked, then quickly looked down again.

“You okay?” you asked gently, noticing the tremor in her hands.

“I… yeah,” she said quickly, shoving a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks burning brighter. “Just… nerves, I guess.”

You laughed softly, reaching over to lightly squeeze her shoulder. “It’s okay… we’ve been out here for a while, huh? I think the party’s still going, but I kinda just want to stay out here a little longer.”

Ellie nodded, sitting back on her heels, but you noticed she didn’t move to leave. “I… yeah. Sure. I can stay.”

You smiled, heart pounding in a way that made the night feel suddenly electric. “Stay put, okay? I’ll be right back,” you said, knowing you had to check inside for a second, maybe grab some water or just glance at the remaining guests, but already, you felt that this backyard, this quiet moment, was the place you wanted to be, with her here, guitar by her side, and warmth between you that nothing else could touch.

Her eyes met yours, and you could feel the unspoken promise hanging in the air, tonight wasn’t just a birthday. Tonight was something entirely yours, shared in the quiet chaos of lights, music, and the soft strum of strings.

You practically barreled back inside, weaving through groups of friends and party guests, only to be stopped cold by the looks on their faces. That immediate, heavy silence that tells you, they’d seen everything.

“Whoa,” one of them started, smirking cruelly. “Is that… seriously Ellie out there? What the hell, you actually invited her?” The words were sharp, dripping with judgment.

Another leaned in, shaking their head like it physically pained them. “She’s… pathetic. Look at her, sitting there like some stray dog. Who even does that?”

A third joined in, echoing the sentiment, “Totally. She doesn’t even belong here. I don’t get why you’re wasting your time.”

Your chest tightened, but instead of defending Ellie, you felt this weird, sharp pressure to act like you belonged with them, to throw Ellie under the bus yourself. You opened your mouth, letting the words slip out without thinking.

“She’s… kind of a charity case, you know?” you said, forcing a casual shrug. “I mean… she’s sweet and all, but let’s be real, she’s just… there because nobody else wants her.”

Immediately, you felt the weight of the words in your own mouth, but your friends perked up, nodding vigorously, leaning into the cruelty.

“Exactly!” one of them said, smirking. “See? You get it. She’s totally pathetic.”

You could practically hear the soft shuffle of footsteps against the grass outside, subtle but unmistakeable. You froze mid-step, heart hammering, as you realized… Ellie had been standing there, right in the backyard doorway, hearing everything.

You turned slowly, and your stomach dropped. Her eyes were red, the kind of red that made your chest twist painfully. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even move at first, just looked at you, stunned and hurt.

And then she turned on her heel and ran. Her small figure disappeared into the night, barely making a sound beyond the shuffle of shoes against the patio. The second you saw Ellie’s frame vanish past the back gate, something inside you snapped. The laughter and chatter from the party became background noise, meaningless, a blur of voices you couldn’t even process. All you knew was that you had to catch her. You couldn’t let it end like this.

You tore after her, the sound of your heels smacking against the pavement echoing harshly in the cool night. “Ellie! Ellie, please, stop!” you shouted, breathless. The skirt of your dress tangled around your legs as you stumbled forward, hair whipping in your face. You could feel people staring from the porch, but you didn’t care, not even for a second.

Ellie kept moving, her figure hunched and stiff as she bolted down the empty street. Her shoulders were tense, her fists clenched, her whole body radiating anger and humiliation. You pushed harder, your lungs burning, until your heel caught on a crack in the sidewalk. You pitched forward and nearly slammed face-first into the ground, catching yourself on your palms with a sickening scrape. “Fuck—” you hissed, pain shooting up your hands.

Ellie must’ve heard the thud. She slowed, then stopped several feet ahead, chest heaving as she turned reluctantly. Even from a distance you could see her face; wet, red and streaked with tears glistening under the streetlight. She hesitated, but then came back, muttering under her breath. “You’re such an idiot,” she said, reaching down to grip your arm and haul you back up. Her hands were rougher than they looked, strong from the guitar and whatever else she did. “You’re gonna break your damn neck in those heels.”

“Ellie, please,” you blurted the second you were standing again, clutching her wrist like a lifeline. “Just… listen to me, okay? I didn’t mean any of that. I swear I didn’t—”

She yanked her arm back violently, eyes flashing with fury through her tears. “Don’t lie to me!” she snapped, her voice cracking but sharp enough to cut through your chest. “I heard you. Every single word. You called me a charity case.” Her voice rose until she was screaming, hands balled at her sides. “Do you have any idea how that felt? Sitting out there, waiting for you to come back, and hearing you… say that shit? Like I was some, some fucking pity project you dragged along to make yourself look better?”

You shook your head frantically, stepping closer, reaching for her. “No, no, Ellie, that’s not what I meant, I swear, I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did!” she shouted, backing away from your hands, her tears catching on her lashes. “You did. And you know what? You should’ve never talked to me. You should’ve just kept walking that first day, pretended I wasn’t there. Because this? This—” she gestured wildly between you two, her voice raw “is worse. I should’ve never met you. I should’ve never thought…” Her breath hitched and broke, like the words hurt too much to finish.

The sight gutted you. Her cheeks were flushed, streaked with hot tears, her lips trembling as though holding back more. Instinct took over, you reached forward, cupping her face with both hands despite the sting in your scraped palms. Her skin was hot, damp from crying, her jaw tense under your fingers. “Ellie,” you whispered, desperate, your own throat tightening, “please, look at me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t care what they think, I care about you.”

She froze at the touch, lips parting in shock, and for a moment you thought she’d soften. Heart pounding, you leaned in, closing the space between you, your lips almost brushing against hers—

But Ellie jerked back violently, eyes wide with betrayal. “No,” she snapped, voice shaking. She shoved your hands away from her face. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare. I don’t want your pity, and I definitely don’t want some… some slut who opens her legs for anyone pretending like I matter to her now.”

The words hit like a slap across the face, each syllable heavy, poisonous. You flinched, stunned, your breath catching in your chest. For a second, all you could do was stare at her, the burn of tears pricking your eyes, threatening to spill over.

Ellie didn’t wait for you to answer. She turned on her heel and ran again, faster this time, her sneakers pounding against the pavement until her silhouette blurred and vanished into the shadows at the end of the street.

You stood there in the glow of the streetlight, trembling, the cool night air biting at your exposed skin. Your hands dropped uselessly to your sides, palms throbbing from the fall. Slowly, your gaze fell to them, staring at the faint bloodied scrapes, and that’s when the tears finally broke loose. You bit down hard on your lip, choking on the sob that ripped through your chest.

By the time a full week had passed, it felt like someone had ripped Ellie straight out of your life and left a gaping hole where she used to be. Your phone was still littered with unsent drafts of messages, apologies you kept retyping and deleting, half-hearted jokes you thought might make her laugh, desperate little “please just talk to me” pleas, but every one you actually sent was left unanswered. No read receipts. No replies. Just silence.

When you went to her house, knocking until your knuckles hurt, her dad answered once with a confused look and told you she wasn’t home. The second time, you could swear you saw the curtains shift in her bedroom window, but no one came to the door.

And practice, god, that was worse. You kept glancing at the bleachers out of habit, expecting to see her slouched there, pretending she wasn’t watching while she totally was. But they stayed empty, like she’d never even existed in the first place. You hated how heavy that felt, how the absence made the field seem too wide, too quiet, even with your teammates shouting all around you.

Of course, your so-called friends noticed everything. And they didn’t let it slide.

“Dude,” one of them snorted in the locker room after practice, tossing his shirt into his bag, “you seriously ran after her? In heels? What were you even thinking?”

“Tragic,” another chimed in with a fake sigh, grinning at the others. “Imagine chasing after a homeless weirdo like that. I thought you had standards.”

Laughter broke out, echoing off the tiled walls. You shoved your shoes into your locker harder than necessary, pretending not to care, but your ears burned.

“Better yet,” someone else added, “maybe she put some spell on you. That would explain why you keep looking at the bleachers like she’s gonna come crawling back. Creepy.”

You slammed the locker shut with a metallic clang. “Shut up,” you muttered, but that only seemed to encourage them.

“What? You mad because your little girlfriend ditched you? Boohoo. Poor thing, guess even the charity case doesn’t want you.”

They howled at their own jokes, and you wanted to scream, but you didn’t. You bit your tongue so hard you almost tasted blood. Because even though you couldn’t stand them in moments like this, you still stayed. Some twisted part of you clung to the group, to the familiarity, to the way their approval kept you afloat at school. It was pathetic, and you knew it, but you stayed anyway.

The cherry on top was the football guy, the one you’d crushed on for months, cornering you at lunch with that cocky grin plastered across his face. “So,” he drawled, leaning over your table, “everyone’s saying you’re single. You wanna change that? Go out Friday?”

Your friends perked up instantly, eyes wide, nudging each other like they’d just witnessed a miracle. “Say yes!” one hissed under their breath. “Come on, he’s hot.”

The entire cafeteria seemed to wait for your answer. And for a split second, you thought about it. Saying yes, letting yourself get swept up in the noise, maybe drowning out Ellie’s absence with someone else. But the thought made your stomach twist.

You looked him dead in the eye and shook your head. “No.”

His grin faltered. “No?”

“Yeah. No,” you repeated, louder this time. “I’m not interested.”

Gasps and groans broke out around you like you’d just committed a crime. “Are you serious?” one of your friends blurted, staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “You turned him down? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“She’s hung up on the freak,” another snickered, pointing his fork at you. “Told you, she’s obsessed.”

Heat crawled up your neck, but you didn’t fight them. You just shoved your tray away, stood up, and walked out while their voices chased after you.

That was the moment you knew you couldn’t keep letting this spiral. Ellie wasn’t just ignoring you, she was gone. Completely, deliberately, out of reach. And the longer you let it drag, the worse it would get.

So you started thinking. Scheming. Turning it over in your head during sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling. How the fuck were you supposed to get her to talk to you again? Apologies hadn’t worked. Showing up at her door hadn’t worked. Waiting around like an idiot definitely wasn’t working.

It took days of pacing, of scribbling plans only to tear them apart, of second-guessing every idea until finally something clicked, a way to catch her off guard, to make her look at you and really listen. Something bold enough that she couldn’t just brush off, something so unlike your usual careful, image-conscious self that maybe she’d believe you meant it this time. You knew exactly when and how you were going to do it.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧

The stadium lights burned like artificial daylight, white beams cutting into the Friday night sky. The bleachers were packed, the hum of voices blending with the thrum of drums from the marching band and the sharp whistles of coaches corralling players onto the field. The air smelled of popcorn, hotdogs, and late autumn chill, the whole town pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in anticipation of kickoff. Around you, your teammates stretched and adjusted bows, some laughing at the football players jogging onto the field, their easy chatter filling the sidelines. But your stomach wasn’t knotted over the game, or the crowd, or even the performance waiting under those blinding lights.

It was because you’d seen her.

Ellie.

She was slouched near the far end of the bleachers, hood pulled up even though it wasn’t cold, legs tucked beneath her. You caught her instantly, like your eyes had been scanning for her all along. She wasn’t looking at you, she was pretending to be focused on some sketchpad balanced on her knees, but you knew. You knew she saw you. And if she didn’t, she would.

Your heart pounded against your ribs like it wanted out. You could still back out. You could go through the motions, cheer like normal, stay safe, and go home pretending this whole idea never crossed your mind. But that wasn’t enough anymore. You’d already lost her once. If you didn’t do something drastic, something stupid, she’d slip away completely, and the thought of that was unbearable.

So while the others lined up to get ready for the halftime routine, you touched the little mic clipped at your collar, the one you’d begged the captain to let you test for a “special performance.” Your palms were sweaty, knees weak, you almost laughed at yourself because this felt like something out of a dumb movie. Except this wasn’t for a crowd, not really. Not for the guys on the field. Not for your friends who’d roll their eyes. It was for her. Only her.

The whistle blew, and the cheer squad jogged out onto the grass, the crowd erupting in cheers. Your teammates grinned, flashing their practiced smiles. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Because the second you hit your mark in the center of the field, your chest seized up, but you forced yourself to breathe. Forced yourself to move.

And then you did it.

You broke from formation, ignoring the confused glances, and started the cheer you’d been practicing in your bedroom mirror all week, loud, bold, a little clumsy, but completely yours.

“Ellie, hey, this one’s for you! Not the team, not the crowd, not the whole damn crew! You’ve got me spinning, flipping, falling apart, So here’s my cheer straight from the heart!”

The words tumbled out too fast, but your voice carried across the field through the mic, echoing against the bleachers. Gasps and laughter rippled through the crowd, you could feel your teammates staring at you like you’d grown a second head, but you kept going, refusing to look at anyone else. Not even the football players warming up.

“E-L-L-I-E, You’re the only one who matters to me! Forget the game, forget the score, It’s you I’ll cheer for forevermore!”

Your arms shot up in the motions you’d practiced, clapping, spinning, even throwing in a jump you almost botched from how much your legs were shaking. Somewhere in the stands, someone wolf-whistled. Someone else shouted “what the hell is this?” But you tuned it all out, locked in on the vague outline of Ellie’s hooded figure.

“And when the lights are shining bright, I swear I’ll fight for you tonight! So, Ellie, please just look my way, And know I’ll cheer for you every day!”

You finished with a final clap above your head, dropping into a bow, chest heaving, face burning so hot you swore the whole school could see your humiliation from space. For a heartbeat, the crowd was silent. Then the noise hit, laughter, confusion, your teammates whispering furiously among themselves.

You didn’t wait to see her reaction. Couldn’t. The second the last word left your mouth, you sprinted off the field, ignoring the stares, shoving past the line of girls who grabbed at your arm. “What the fuck was that?” someone hissed, but you didn’t answer.

Your only thought was get out, get out, get out.

You hit the dressing room hard, the door clanging shut behind you. The noise from the field dulled to a muffled roar through the walls, but your pulse was still thundering louder than any of it. You sank down on the nearest bench, covering your face with your hands, heat searing your skin.

“God,” you muttered into your palms. “What the fuck did I just do?”

Because maybe it was brave. Maybe it was insane. Either way, it was done. And you had no idea if she’d stay in those bleachers, or if she’d bolt the second your voice had reached her ears. But for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel paralyzed. You’d actually done something. Even if it killed you with embarrassment.

The thud of your heart hadn’t even slowed down when there was a cautious knock on the dressing room door. You froze, mid-sit on the bench, fingers still tangled in your hair, because your brain immediately went through a hundred horrifying scenarios. Coach, parents, teammates, the marching band, all of them just waiting to mock you mercilessly. You groaned, brushing imaginary lint off your uniform and muttered, “Yeah… come in.”

The door cracked open, and there she was. Ellie.

Even from just a few feet away, you could see her face was flushed, as red as yours probably was, almost blending with the pom-poms scattered across the locker room floor. Her hood was down this time, hair messy, strands sticking out like she’d run her hands through it too many times, but somehow she still managed to look effortlessly perfect in that way that always made your chest tighten. You wanted to laugh, cry, and pull her into your arms all at once.

“I…” she started, voice trembling, so soft you had to strain to hear her over the faint echo of the stadium outside. Her eyes darted down to the floor before she forced them back up to yours. “I thought it was… really cute. What you did.”

You froze, breath catching. Cute? Your knees felt like they were about to give out. “Ellie…” you whispered, not even knowing where to begin.

She shifted, pulling at the edge of her sleeve, fidgeting like she wanted to fold in on herself. “Did you do that for me? I mean, I know you’re a cheerleader, you do stuff like that all the time, but this… it was for me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, chest tight. “For you. Only you.”

Her face softened for a second before her mouth pressed into a thin line. Her shoulders rose as if she was bracing herself. “I need to say something.” She swallowed hard, her voice low, almost breaking. “I shouldn’t have called you that. A whore. I—” her voice cracked and she shook her head, blinking fast. “I was angry, and jealous, and I didn’t know what to do with it, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Your heart clenched. You took a step closer, words tumbling out before you could even think. “Ellie… no, I should be sorry. I didn’t stand up for you when I should have. I said things I shouldn’t have. I should’ve said something to defend you, instead of letting people look at you like that, talk about you like that. You didn’t deserve that. And I hate myself for not doing more.”

Ellie’s lip trembled, just for a second, before she bit it back and gave the smallest, messiest nod.

“I forgive you,” you said quickly, desperate for her to hear it, to believe it. “I really do. And I don’t ever want us to hurt each other like that again.”

Her eyes lifted to yours, green and wet and burning with something that felt like relief. “I forgive you too,” she whispered, her voice steady now, even as her hands still twisted in the hem of her hoodie. “But… if you ever do something like that again, make me feel like I don’t matter—” she hesitated, breath shaking. “…I’ll walk. I swear I’ll walk. No warning, no second chances.”

Your chest ached at the weight of it, but also, God, it was a second chance. She was still here. “Okay,” you whispered, nodding so hard you nearly stumbled forward. “I promise.”

And without thinking, you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around her. She stiffened at first, like she wasn’t sure if she should let herself melt into you, then slowly gave in, hugging back, her face pressing into your shoulder. The warmth of her, the faint scent of rain still clinging to her hair, mixed with the sweet trace of shampoo, made your head spin.

When you finally pulled back enough to look at her, you kept your hands tangled in hers, terrified to let go. “So…” you tried, your voice still shaky but forcing a smile, “my parents are out of town this weekend, and I’ll be lonely. Do you maybe wanna come over? Just for movies, pizza… whatever.”

Her eyes widened, blinking like she wasn’t sure she heard you right. “You want me to come over?”

“Yes,” you said, nodding quickly. “Just us.”

Her lips twitched, the faintest smile breaking through her blush. “Yeah,” she said softly, finally nodding. “I’d like that. But first… go out there and kick ass. For me.”

The words stunned you, Ellie’s voice had a spark in it, teasing and fierce all at once. You laughed, giddy and breathless, your whole chest buzzing. “I will. Don’t you worry.”

Ellie smiled shyly, tugging the straps of her backpack higher on her shoulders, lingering for just a second longer. “But don’t get hurt. And… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Ellie…” you started, wanting to say more, but she was already glancing at the door.

“Go,” she said softly, her grin tugging wider now. “Show them what you’ve got.”

You left the locker room still buzzing, Ellie’s arms lingering like phantom warmth around your shoulders, her quiet apology and forgiveness echoing in your head. For the first time in what felt like forever, your chest didn’t feel like it was caving in. She wasn’t gone. She’d said yes to coming over. She’d smiled at you.

But you didn’t even make it twenty feet down the hall before it all shattered.

“Holy shit,” a voice barked, laughter already curling at the edges. You turned your head, and there they were, your so-called friends, lounging against the wall near the bleachers like they’d been waiting for you. “Was that seriously for her?”

Heat rose in your face immediately. You opened your mouth, but before you could get a word out, another one cut in.

“Yeah, what the fuck was that? Pom-poms and all? You looked like a clown out there, begging Ellie Williams to notice you. That’s low, dude. Pathetic.”

Their voices were too loud, on purpose, echoing down the hall so anyone could hear.

You tried to keep walking, eyes locked straight ahead, but their laughter followed. “She’s never gonna touch you, man. She doesn’t even look at people like you. You really think shaking your ass is gonna change that?” More laughter, sharper this time, mocking.

The knot in your stomach twisted tighter with every word. Your palms were slick, your throat thick. You wanted to yell at them, defend yourself, defend Ellie, something, but your voice wouldn’t come.

One of them whistled low, cruel and cutting. “First she calls you a whore, and now you’re crawling back for more. Jesus. Kinda makes her right, doesn’t it?”

That word. Whore. It punched the air right out of your lungs, left you staggering even though you forced your steps to stay even. The hallway tilted for a second, but you forced your chin up, forced yourself not to look at them.

Because if you looked, they’d see it. The burn in your eyes, the way your jaw trembled. The way their words had gone straight through you.

“Nothing to say?” another jeered. “Yeah, that tracks.”

Their laughter finally started to fade as you pushed through the doors leading back to the field, the air colder, cleaner out there but not enough to wash the sting off your skin.

The stadium lights blazed down, the noise of the crowd hitting you all at once, and you plastered a grin on your face that felt like glass cutting your cheeks. Pom-poms in hand, heart thudding like it wanted out of your chest, you took your place.

Because no matter what they said, no matter how humiliated you felt, you still had to smile. You still had to leap, kick, cheer.

And you did. Every move sharp, every spin precise, every chant louder than it should’ve been, like if you made yourself big enough, loud enough, bright enough, it might drown out their voices in your head.

But you could still feel them. Every jeer clung to your skin, tucked into the corners of your grin. And somewhere, beneath it all, the memory of Ellie’s arms in the locker room clashed hard with the weight of their laughter, leaving you raw, aching, and desperate not to let it show.

After the whole performance, you got into your car, eventually pulling into the driveway, heart hammering a little, but your confidence didn’t waver. Your friends’ snickering and judgmental glances didn’t matter anymore. Not tonight. Tonight, there was only one thing on your mind, Ellie.

She was sitting on the porch, knees pulled up, backpack resting against her side. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear made your chest tighten. Her cheeks were faintly pink in the cool evening air, and her eyes lit up when she saw you. “Hey,” she said softly, almost a whisper.

“You been here long?” you asked, keeping your tone light, even though part of you hoped she’d been waiting.

She shook her head, but her slight shiver told you she’d been here a while. It didn’t matter. You hopped out of the car, letting the cool night air brush past you, and held the door open for her. “Come on. Let’s get inside before I start melting from excitement.”

Her fingers brushed yours as she stepped onto the porch, and you felt the tiniest spark from the contact. Inside, you led her through the hallway, your home glowing softly from the warm lights. You didn’t mind showing her everything, the gleaming trophies on the shelves, the photos of family trips, the expensive details scattered around, but you did it casually, like it wasn’t a big deal.

Finally, you stepped into your bedroom, kicking off your shoes and motioning for her to sit on the bed. “Make yourself comfortable,” you said, stretching out across the silky burgundy comforter.

Her eyes were wide, and she didn’t try to hide her amazement. She took in your room piece by piece, your neatly arranged shoe wall, the designer handbags on display, the soft lighting casting gentle shadows across the room. “This… this is so nice,” she breathed, voice a little awed.

“Nice? It’s just a room,” you said, shrugging, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’d probably call it extra.”

She laughed softly, and it sounded like music in your ears. “Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a little extra,” she admitted, leaning closer to inspect your closet, eyes bright. “But I love it. I mean, look at all these shoes!”

“Too many to count,” you said, rolling onto your side to face her. “But each one tells a story, you know?”

Ellie’s gaze softened as she glanced around. She lingered over your bookshelf, ran her fingers over the spines of books, and even inspected a small pile of your favorite clothes folded neatly in a corner. “You’re not even embarrassed about any of this?” she asked softly.

“Why would I be?” you replied. “It’s me. Everything in here is just part of my life. If you like it, cool. If not, that’s fine too.”

She smiled, a real smile that made her eyes glimmer. Then her gaze drifted to your TV, a massive screen perched on the wall, practically dominating the room. “Wait… you have a TV this big in your room?”

“Yeah,” you said, grinning. “It’s perfect for movie nights. Wanna see?”

She nodded, eyes wide. You picked up a DVD, Jurassic Park, since you’d heard her mention dinosaurs before and popped it in. As the theme music filled the room, her shoulders relaxed against yours, and for the first time all week, she seemed completely at ease.

“I’ve never seen a TV this big,” she murmured, resting her head lightly against your shoulder.

You laughed softly. “Welcome to the ridiculous perks of my life.” Then your tone softened. “But honestly? Your reaction’s way better than any of this stuff.”

Ellie’s cheeks turned pink again, and she snuggled a little closer. “Everything’s so extra,” she said softly, almost shyly. “But I like it. I like that it’s yours.”

You reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’m glad you’re here,” you whispered. “Honestly, I don’t care about any of this stuff. I care about you.”

She looked up at you, her eyes shimmering in the soft light. “I’m glad I’m here too,” she whispered back, a small smile playing at her lips.

You hit play on the movie, but neither of you were really paying attention to the screen. Instead, the room was quiet except for the low hum of the opening music and the soft, warm presence of Ellie beside you. The way she rested against your shoulder, the way she laughed quietly at the dinosaurs’ antics, it felt like the first time in forever that the world outside didn’t exist.

The movie had been playing for what felt like forever, though you couldn’t really focus on it anymore. Your attention was too busy stealing glances at Ellie sitting beside you, her leg pressed lightly against yours, her breathing a little faster than it had been at the start. You’d laugh softly when her commentary slipped out, little mutters about the dinosaurs being “scientifically inaccurate” or how she could “totally survive this park better than these dumb scientists.” But beneath the playful chatter, the air between you was heavy, thick, charged with something unspoken.

Halfway in, when the screen glowed with the image of a roaring T-Rex, Ellie suddenly shifted. She turned, eyes locking on yours, lips parted like she was about to say something important. Instead, she hesitated, her fingers tugging nervously at the hem of her hoodie. Then, before you could ask, she climbed into your lap, knees on either side of your thighs, straddling you with a boldness that made your breath hitch.

“Can I… can I kiss you?” she asked, voice low, almost uncertain despite the position she’d just taken.

The fact that she was the one to ask left you reeling. Ellie, hovering above you, her breath warm against your skin, lips so close you could feel the space between them hum, was actually asking for permission. Your chest tightened, heart stuttering, but you didn’t even think about it. You nodded quickly, almost desperately, your hands finding her waist like they belonged there.

And then her mouth was on yours.

It was desperate and messy at first, her lips crashing against yours with the urgency of someone who had been holding this back for too long. She was good, better than you ever expected. She kissed like she wanted to memorize you, like she never wanted to stop.

Her hands explored timidly at first, resting on your shoulders, then sliding down to your ribs, curling against your sides. Yours trailed up her back, urging her closer, until your chest pressed fully against hers. The movie was long forgotten as the room filled with the sound of your mouths meeting again and again, your breath mixing in the space between kisses.

Eventually, Ellie pulled back just enough to look at you, her cheeks flushed pink, her pupils blown wide. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. The way she looked at you was question enough. Slowly, she shifted down, sliding off your lap and settling between your thighs. Her green eyes flicked up, searching yours.

“Can I…?” she whispered, voice husky now, uncertainty slipping through the cracks of her confidence.

Your chest rose and fell sharply. “Yes,” you breathed out, your fingers curling in the sheets. “Please.”

That single word seemed to unlock something in her. She reached for the hem of your cheer uniform, her hands surprisingly gentle, sliding the skirt down your legs. She didn’t rush, didn’t tug carelessly. Instead, she folded the skirt neatly, setting it aside like it was something precious. The small gesture made your heart ache.

Her eyes fell to your panties, and her breath hitched, trembling before she leaned down, pressing her nose against the thin cotton. The heat of her exhale brushed against your soaked folds, and when she sighed into the fabric, it made you shiver violently. “Fuck…” she murmured, reverent, her lips ghosting over you without hesitation.

Your hips jerked up instinctively, your fingers clenching into the sheets as you tried to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. Your nipples hardened under the fabric of your shirt, and she noticed instantly, a low hum vibrating from her chest as she let her fingers trail up to your breasts. Her thumbs brushed over your peaks through your bra, teasing, flicking, and twisting just enough to make your chest ache.

Then her tongue flicked at the damp patch of your panties, hot and wet. Your eyes flew shut, your hand flying to your mouth as a shiver tore through you. She licked again, longer this time, dragging her tongue in slow, deliberate circles over your clit through the fabric. The friction of her wet mouth and the pressure of your panties made your hips press down instinctively, grinding against her face without thinking.

“Ellie…” you whined, voice broken, your chest heaving as your nipples brushed against her fingers, her thumbs rolling over them in sync with the teasing of her tongue below.

A low groan vibrated from her throat as she pressed closer, sucking and licking at your folds through the soaked cotton. Every flick of her tongue, every press of her lips, made your thighs quake and your back arch. Her hands cupped your breasts, kneading lightly, rolling your nipples between her fingers while her mouth worshiped you below. The combination of sensations, nipples pinched, clit rubbed, folds pressed, made you almost lose control.

Minutes stretched into a haze of sensation. Her gaze lifted to yours intermittently, pupils dark and glistening, watching every shiver, every twitch. She murmured breathless praise between licks, “God, you’re so fucking wet… and so fucking perfect…” and dove back in, muffling herself against your cunt while rolling your nipples between her fingers.

Your hands dug into the sheets, your hips moving on their own, desperate for more of her mouth, her fingers, her heat. She teased your clit through the fabric with slow, circling licks, her tongue pressing and dragging until you were trembling, thighs quivering, chest heaving. She alternated between brushing your nipples with her thumbs and dragging her tongue lower, tracing circles over your folds, pressing soft, wet kisses through the soaked cotton.

Every moan, every shiver, every desperate, broken gasp you made seemed to feed her hunger. She didn’t need to speak; her hands, mouth, and green eyes devouring you were enough. You were melting under her attention, utterly consumed by the heat, the friction, the worship, every nerve ending on fire as she worked you, inch by inch, twist by twist, until your body shook with need.

Your back arched, your chest heaving, and your thighs quivered as she continued, relentless, devouring every inch of you through your soaked panties. The room filled with the sounds of her mouth moving over your folds, her hands kneading your breasts, and your broken cries echoing against the walls. Every sensation was magnified, every nerve on fire, and all you could do was surrender to the way she worshiped you.

By the time twenty minutes had passed, your thighs were trembling and your throat was raw from trying to keep your moans quiet. The movie was long forgotten, hell, you could barely even remember your own name when Ellie was between your legs like that. But still, you found yourself laughing softly, breathlessly, as you reached down to stroke her messy auburn hair.

“Ellie,” you murmured, voice shaky with both amusement and arousal, “it’s alright if you wanna take them off, y’know. You don’t have to keep them on just because… well, if that’s your boundary or whatever. I’m not making you keep them there.”

Her head jerked up slightly, her green eyes wide, lips glistening with how soaked your panties had become. “Wait, you mean I can—” she paused, swallowing like she had to work up the courage. “I can really take them off?”

You grinned down at her, cheeks flushed but your tone confident. “Of course you can. Trust me, you’re not gonna scare me off.”

Ellie blinked, a look of relief and excitement crossing her face all at once, before she hooked her fingers under the waistband and carefully slid your panties down. She didn’t rip or tug, didn’t do anything careless, she took her time, like each second was sacred. When she finally had you bare in front of her, she stared for a beat too long, lips parting like she was trying to memorize the sight.

“Jesus Christ…” she muttered under her breath before leaning back down, her tongue pressing back against your folds without hesitation this time.

The direct contact sent a cry spilling out of you before you could stop it. “Fuck, Ellie—”

She groaned into you, like your reaction alone was enough to keep her going forever. Her tongue moved eagerly, messy and desperate but so, so good. She worked every inch of you like she was starving, and you had to grip the sheets to keep from bucking into her face too hard.

“Ellie,” you gasped again, hips rolling. “Can you—” your voice cracked as her tongue flicked your clit, making you whine. “Can you, um, use your thumb there? On my clit?”

Her eyes shot up at you instantly, her mouth glistening as she pulled back just a little to nod frantically. “Yeah! yeah, I can do that.” Her thumb slid up, pressing against your swollen clit in slow, steady circles as her tongue dipped lower, pushing into you with sloppy precision.

The combination made your back arch, a loud moan slipping out before you could bite it back. “Oh my god! yes, just like that.”

Ellie’s free hand curled around your thigh, holding you open as she devoured you. Between strokes of her tongue, she murmured praises, her voice muffled but still audible. “Taste so good… never wanna stop…” and then, more quietly, “so fucking perfect.”

You could tell she was still learning, but she was a damn quick learner. Every twitch of your hips, every moan that escaped you, she picked up on instantly, adjusting her pace like she’d been doing this forever.

At some point she slowed just enough to ask, voice thick and shaky, “Can you… can you grab my hair? Push me in? I just— I need to make sure you’re really, really enjoying it.”

Your chest clenched at how earnest she sounded, and you immediately slid a hand into her messy hair, tugging just enough to guide her mouth harder against your cunt. “Fuck, Ellie—yes, yes, don’t stop—”

She moaned against you, the vibration making your whole body jerk. Your thighs tightened around her head, your fingers tangling tighter in her hair as she worked you relentlessly, thumb never leaving your clit.

It didn’t take long after that. The coil inside you snapped, and you came hard, moaning her name so loudly you were half afraid the neighbors might hear. Your body shook with the force of it, every muscle tensing before unraveling all at once.

Ellie didn’t let up until you were whining from overstimulation, pulling lightly at her hair to signal her to stop. She finally pulled back, cheeks flushed, mouth shining, her chest rising and falling fast. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and looked up at you like you’d just handed her the whole world.

As you caught your breath, you reached down, tugging at her hoodie. “Ellie, let me return the favor, yeah? Please?”

Her expression shifted instantly, her shoulders stiffened, her jaw tightening. She shook her head quickly, almost too quickly. “No. No, I—I don’t want that.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why not? You deserve—”

She cut you off, her voice firm but not unkind. “I just… I don’t need it, okay? Not right now. I wanted, fuck, I wanted to make you feel good. That’s all I care about.”

The intensity in her voice silenced you, but your heart swelled anyway. She wasn’t refusing because she didn’t trust you, she was refusing because she cared more about you than herself.

Ellie’s gaze darted around your room before she cleared her throat. “Uh… where’s your towels and stuff? I should, y’know, clean you up.”

You chuckled, your chest still rising and falling unevenly. “In the bathroom. Door in the corner.”

Her head whipped toward the small door and her eyes went wide. “Wait, you have a bathroom in your room?”

You grinned, shrugging like it was nothing. “Yeah. Perks of being spoiled, I guess.”

She shook her head in disbelief, muttering something about “rich kid shit” under her breath as she slipped into the bathroom. When she came back with a warm towel, she was careful, almost tender, as she wiped you clean. Every touch was featherlight, every glance toward you filled with something soft and unguarded.

When she was finished, she tossed the towel aside and climbed into bed next to you. You immediately curled against her, her arm sliding around your shoulders, pulling you into her chest. The scent of her, cedar and laundry detergent, filled your nose, grounding you as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Thank you,” you whispered, not even sure if you meant for the orgasm, for the care, or just for her.

Ellie pressed her lips against the top of your head, her voice quiet. “Don’t thank me. Just… stay.”

It wasn’t long before sleep pulled you both under, tangled together in a warmth you didn’t want to end.

The morning light bled through the blinds in thin golden stripes, catching on the dust motes drifting lazily in the air. Your room smelled faintly of Ellie, of worn denim, faint smoke, and that cedar-sweetness that clung to her like it was stitched into her hoodie. She was still asleep when you opened your eyes, her head turned toward you on the pillow, auburn hair sticking up in ridiculous angles, her mouth parted just slightly as soft, steady breaths escaped her.

For a long moment you just lay there, your body half curled toward hers, your chest heavy with a kind of quiet realization. This, her, was what you wanted. Not the storybook fantasy you’d grown up with, not the glossy magazine version of the football player boyfriend and the cheerleader girlfriend holding hands in the bleachers. Not the shallow attention or the cliché. You wanted this messy, freckled, stubborn girl, the one who’d crawled on top of you like she was terrified and brave all at once, the one who made you laugh harder than anyone else, the one who looked at you like she couldn’t believe you were real.

You didn’t want the trope. You wanted Ellie.

Your chest tightened as you studied her features in the light, softer like this than you’d ever seen them. Her lashes curled against her cheeks, the faintest crease between her brows even in sleep, like she was always fighting something, even her dreams. You reached out before you could stop yourself, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, and she stirred, nose scrunching like she could feel the weight of your gaze.

She blinked awake slowly, disoriented at first, then looking at you with sleepy green eyes that sharpened the second she realized where she was.

“Mornin’,” she croaked, voice rough, low. Her cheeks colored immediately, pink rising beneath her freckles as if she remembered everything at once.

You didn’t give her time to overthink it. You leaned in, pressing your lips to hers before she could ask why you were staring, kissing her slow, gentle, and sure. She stiffened for only a second, then melted into it, returning the kiss with a sleepy kind of sweetness.

When you pulled back, you whispered it before you could lose your nerve, words tumbling out against her mouth. “Ellie… can I be your girlfriend?”

For a moment she froze, eyes wide, pupils darting across your face like she was trying to see if you were joking. But then her ears went pink, her whole face following suit as her blush spread down her neck. She nodded quickly, shy but certain, her lips tugging into the smallest, most bashful smile.

“Y-yeah,” she whispered, voice cracking a little as if the word alone made her nervous. “Yeah, you can. You already… kinda are, aren’t you?”

You laughed, giddy and light, kissing her again just to seal it, to ground the moment into something real. “Guess I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Ellie groaned, burying her face into your pillow to hide how red she was. “You’re such an asshole.” Her voice was muffled, but the grin in it was unmistakable.

You tugged at her hoodie until she surfaced again, freckles and all. “Maybe. But I’m your asshole now.”

Her eyes softened at that, and she kissed you again, this time with a little more confidence, like the word girlfriend had given her permission to stop holding back.

And lying there, with the morning sun on your skin and Ellie tucked against you, you knew this wasn’t just some temporary rebellion or phase or cliché. This was it. This was her.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧

Graduation came soon and had barely finished echoing in your ears when Ellie told you. You were still in your cap and gown, her hair messed from shoving her own cap off in relief, when she looked at you with that sheepish half-smile and muttered, “So… I got into this art school. Couple states away.” The words hit harder than the humid summer air clinging to your skin. You swallowed, your grin faltering just slightly as the stadium lights buzzed above.

“A couple states?” you repeated, fighting to sound casual.

Ellie shrugged, fingers worrying at the tassel on her cap. “Yeah. Like… far. But it’s good. It’s, fuck, it’s what I’ve wanted.” Her voice cracked at the end, and you could tell she was bracing herself, waiting for you to flinch, to say no, to let the cliché play out and let her walk away from you.

Instead, you grabbed her face right there, lipstick smearing the corner of her mouth as you kissed her. “Then we’ll make it work,” you said firmly against her lips, ignoring the curious glances from classmates drifting past. “You’re not losing me, Ellie. Not over state lines.”

Her green eyes softened then, shining in the dusky light, and she gave a weak laugh. “God, you’re stubborn.”

“Always,” you shot back, lacing your fingers with hers like you were daring the world to test you.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧

Long distance was hell at first. Nights were too quiet, your bed too big without her sprawled across half of it. But you both learned fast. You had a rhythm: her dorm room walls covered in charcoal sketches while she sat cross-legged on her mattress with her phone propped up, you in your little apartment after long days of being bossed around by some rich prick who paid you to fetch his coffee and laugh at his jokes.

“Guess what my boss made me do today,” you’d say into the phone, collapsing into your bed still in your skirt and blouse.

Ellie’s grin would stretch through the pixelated screen. “What? Shine his shoes? Iron his boxers?”

You groaned, kicking your heels off. “Worse. His dog’s vet appointment. I swear that thing looked at me like it knew I was below it on the company ladder.”

Ellie laughed so hard she nearly dropped her sketchbook. “Holy shit, you’re telling me you’re basically a dog chauffeur?”

“Don’t start, Williams,” you muttered, but your smile was real, glowing. “What about you? Still drawing sad naked people?”

Her freckled nose scrunched as she flipped the camera toward her sketchpad. “It’s called life drawing, thank you very much. And yeah, lots of naked people. Don’t get jealous.”

You rolled onto your stomach, propping your chin on your hands. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” she teased, winking at the camera before dissolving into laughter at your glare.

Calls lasted hours. Sometimes you both fell asleep mid-conversation, her snoring softly into the microphone, your phone slipping from your hand until it vibrated against your sheets. You sent her little things, care packages with ridiculous snacks, shirts she forgot in your closet, photos of your room when you’d rearranged it. She mailed you doodles, postcards scrawled with messy handwriting: Wish you were here. Everything sucks without you.

The years blurred by faster than you expected. Work became routine, her classes turned into projects, then exhibitions. You both grew, but never apart.

When Ellie finally came home, your chest felt like it might burst. The airport was buzzing, suitcases rattling across the tile, voices blaring from overhead speakers. You wore heels just because you knew she’d tease you for them, but when you saw her, hair longer now, shoulders broader, lugging a backpack heavy with sketchbooks, you forgot about everything except running.

Your heels clacked across the terminal, people staring as you bolted toward her. “Ellie!”

Her head snapped up, and the way her entire face lit up nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. She dropped her bag instantly, arms wide before you even reached her.

You collided, nearly knocking her off balance as you jumped into her arms, legs curling around her waist. She caught you with a laugh, muffled by the way your lips pressed against hers before either of you could say a word.

“Jesus, I missed you,” Ellie breathed against your mouth, holding you so tight you swore she’d never let go.

You pulled back just enough to see her face, her cheeks flushed, freckles brighter than you remembered. “You’re not allowed to leave me like that again. Got it?”

She smirked, brushing her nose against yours. “No promises. But I’ll drag you with me next time.”

You laughed, tears pricking at your eyes as the two of you ignored the stares, the murmurs, the way her bag lay abandoned on the floor.

“C’mon,” you said, slipping your fingers through hers once you finally let her down, though you didn’t let go for a second. “Let’s go home. You’ve got years of cuddles to make up for.”

Ellie grinned, squeezing your hand as if grounding herself. “Guess I’d better get started then.”

And just like that, it felt like no time had passed at all.

Ellie slipped into the rhythm of your apartment life faster than you’d expected. The first week, she mostly hovered around the living room, nose buried in sketchpads, scanning every corner of the place as if she were mapping it out for some secret project. “You have way too many throw pillows,” she muttered one evening, dragging one from the couch into a corner. “And what is this?” she asked, poking at a stack of fashion books on the coffee table.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smiling. “Artistic chaos, Ellie. You’ll get used to it.”

She shot you a skeptical glance, biting her lip before shrugging. “I’ll try. But don’t get used to me not rearranging your entire apartment.”

By the second week, she’d started working at a small local comic design studio, a tiny, sunlit office with walls plastered with sketches and drafts from every artist in town. The team fell in love with her instantly, offering her a full-time position to bring her ideas to life. You watched her excitement bubble over in texts, calls, and sometimes just sitting across from you at the kitchen table, sketching while sipping on black coffee. “They want me to lead a project,” she’d whisper, eyes shining. “They’re letting me design the main characters, plot, everything!”

You leaned over her shoulder more than once, admiring her precision, her messy strokes that somehow made perfect sense. “God, Ellie,” you’d murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re amazing. Honestly, they’re lucky to have you.”

She’d blush, her hair falling into her eyes. “I’m lucky to have you, too. I swear, if I could draw you into my comic, I would.”

Evenings became a world of their own. The apartment would transform from a quiet, tidy space into something alive, chaotic, and undeniably yours. Paints and sketchbooks on the floor, half-finished comics leaning against every wall, blankets strewn across the couch. And yes… sex was very much a part of that world.

It started small, lingering touches while cooking, kisses stolen by the refrigerator while one of you reached for a snack, hands brushing over the counter. But slowly it became bolder. Your first real kitchen counter incident was accidental, of course.

She was standing on her tiptoes to grab a mug from the top shelf, and when she stumbled slightly, you caught her, pressing her against the counter. One kiss led to another, then hands wandering, and soon she was on her knees in front of you while the steam from the kettle curled around the both of you.

The bathroom wasn’t safe either. A simple shower together, supposed to be quick, turned into fingers tracing lines across wet skin, teasing kisses along shoulders and neck, laughing when one of you slipped slightly. The tile floor was cold, but it didn’t matter; she didn’t care, and neither did you.

The bedroom was, of course, the ultimate battlefield of passion and comfort. Blankets twisted around your legs, pillows scattered across the floor as you tried to steal kisses between tangled limbs. Hands explored, lips pressed, breath mingled, and every time you caught each other’s eyes mid-moment, there was that shared thrill of being utterly known, utterly safe, utterly wanted.

Even the couch fell victim to your impulsive lust. One evening, you were watching some random animated movie she’d begged you to sit through, and a simple brush of her hand across your thigh was all it took. You barely made it to the living room rug before the couch became the site of whispered names and soft laughter, punctuated with moans and gasps echoing against the walls.

Yet, it wasn’t all sex. You made sure of that. Dates were sacred too. Farmers’ markets on Sunday mornings, exploring bookstores in town, or simply walking to the nearby park with her sketchpad tucked under her arm. You’d hold her hand in quiet solidarity, sometimes teasing her when she drew overly dramatic versions of pigeons or squirrels, sometimes just kissing her temple and letting her work in silence while you watched.

And through it all, the apartment smelled like coffee, art supplies, and each other; warm, chaotic, and alive. Your neighbors probably did hate you, judging by the muffled sounds that sometimes drifted through the thin walls, but you didn’t care. Every laugh, every kiss, every scream of joy or frustration from a creative brainstorming session or a particularly heated evening in bed felt like the soundtrack to your life together.

Ellie had made your apartment a home, and you had made it hers. And in that chaos, art, passion, and life all rolled into one, you couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

But life isn’t always perfect. Life can fuck you up. And it did.

It was subtle at first. Just a dull ache in your stomach, a slight headache that lingered longer than normal, moments where you felt dizzy when you stood up too quickly. You shrugged them off, blaming stress, long hours at work, or maybe the poor takeout you’d been surviving on.

But when the headaches and stomach pains became daily, consistent, insistent, even your boss noticed. “You okay?” he asked one afternoon, frowning over the rim of his glasses. You had just waved him off with a weak smile. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

But tired didn’t feel right. And by the time you were shuffled into the doctor’s office, then sent quickly to the hospital for a battery of tests, you knew something wasn’t. You didn’t tell Ellie. You couldn’t. She had work, a full schedule, the excitement of her own projects to manage. You didn’t want to cloud that, didn’t want her to worry over something you couldn’t control yet. So you kept it to yourself, smiled when she walked into the apartment, kissed her softly on the cheek, and pretended everything was fine.

That day, you came home ten minutes before her. Ten minutes where the world felt suspended in a haze of sterile hospital smells that still clung faintly to your clothes, the harsh words of the doctor echoing in your head. Terminal cancer. The words circled endlessly, hitting you in waves you couldn’t stop. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it. Trying to hold it together. You rehearsed the words in your head, wondering how you could possibly tell Ellie, how you could possibly let her see you like this.

When Ellie finally arrived, pushing the door open with a bright smile and her hair falling messily around her face, you snapped upright, standing to greet her. “Hey,” you said lightly, forcing the warmth into your voice. “How was work today?”

Ellie dropped her bag by the door and smiled, stepping closer. “Long,” she admitted, “but you wouldn’t let me get home and collapse without a snack, right?” She laughed softly, but there was an edge to her laugh you couldn’t quite ignore. Her eyes scanned you instinctively, the same way she always did when something was off.

You kept smiling, let her wrap her arms around you in a hug, feeling the comfort of her familiar warmth, the steady beat of her heart against your chest. It was enough to ground you for a second, enough to forget the fear gnawing at your insides. But Ellie was perceptive. Always had been. Even when you were the best liar in the world, she noticed the subtle tremble in your hands, the way your eyes flicked to the ceiling when you thought she wasn’t looking, the stiffness in your posture.

Four days passed. You continued your charade; working, laughing, cooking together, sharing quiet moments on the couch, but Ellie’s gaze lingered longer than usual, her questions slightly sharper, her smiles tinged with concern. You felt the walls of your own lies pressing in. You wanted to tell her so badly, but the words stuck, a weight in your chest you couldn’t shift.

And then, one evening, she cornered you. Not aggressively, not yelling, just quietly, decisively. You had been folding laundry in the bedroom when she appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyes fixed on you. “Stop pretending everything’s fine,” she said softly, but with an intensity that made your stomach drop. “I can see it. I know something’s wrong. You’re hiding it from me.”

Your hands froze over the shirt you were folding. Your chest felt tight, and your vision blurred. The dam broke. “Ellie…” you whispered, voice cracking almost immediately. “I… I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t know how…”

She stepped closer, kneeling in front of you, taking your hands in hers, holding them like she could physically anchor you. “You’re scaring me,” she admitted, voice low, trembling. “I can’t—” Her words broke as her eyes filled, searching yours. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

And just like that, you couldn’t hold it anymore. Tears streamed down your face as you finally confessed everything: the persistent pain, the doctor, the tests, the words that had shattered your world: terminal. You spilled it all, your voice breaking, your body shaking, your soul aching with the fear of losing her.

Ellie’s hands never left yours, squeezing gently, refusing to let go. Her forehead rested against yours, tears spilling freely now, matching your own. “I… I’m here,” she whispered, voice thick. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll… we’ll get through this, okay? Together.”

For the first time since leaving the hospital, you exhaled. Not because the fear was gone, it wasn’t, but because you were no longer carrying it alone. And even amidst the terror and uncertainty, even knowing the clock was ticking against you, you felt the strength of her presence, the unshakable certainty that no matter how much darkness lay ahead, you wouldn’t face it alone.

Ellie pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “We’ll figure this out, one day at a time. And if you need to cry, scream, or just hold me, you do it. I’m not leaving.”

For hours, you held each other on the bedroom floor, letting the tears fall and the silence stretch, punctuated only by soft murmurs and the occasional sob. And even in that overwhelming despair, there was a glimmer of something else: love, fierce and unwavering, stronger than fear, stronger than any diagnosis.

You knew life had thrown you a cruel hand. But with Ellie, maybe you could still find moments of grace, moments of joy, moments worth fighting for, even in the shadow of the inevitable.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧

Ellie’s world shifted without a word from her. Slowly, quietly, she rearranged her life around yours, making sure you were never alone during the long, grueling hours of treatments and appointments. She started scheduling her workdays around your doctors’ visits, asking for mornings off or shifting shifts, her boss accommodating every request with understanding that went beyond professionalism. “I don’t know how you do it,” her boss said once, after Ellie explained she needed to attend your infusion session. “But she’s lucky to have you.”

Ellie didn’t hear the compliment as praise for herself. She only heard it as validation for what she already knew in her bones: that she would be with you through everything, no matter how long or hard. She showed up at every appointment, sitting beside you in the sterile chairs of hospital waiting rooms, holding your hand through every needle prick, every IV insertion, every dull ache and burning nausea.

As the weeks wore on, your body grew weaker. Chemo and treatments left you exhausted, sometimes barely able to lift a fork, sometimes unable to even hold a book. Sex, once a constant and playful presence in your relationship, disappeared entirely. You never asked for it, and Ellie never mentioned it. There were no complaints, no sighs of frustration, just quiet understanding and a tenderness that almost hurt with its intensity.

Instead, the nights became something different. After dragging yourself to bed, trembling from exhaustion, Ellie would climb in beside you. She never rolled away if you trembled from nausea, never shifted impatiently if your body curled into hers like a fragile shell. She’d cradle you in her arms, kissing your forehead, your temple, the side of your face, whispering soft reassurances that had no need for words beyond their touch.

“You don’t have to move,” she’d murmur, voice low and steady, “I’ve got you.”

Her hands were always there, tracing the curve of your shoulder, sliding through your hair, brushing against your cheek. She’d hum softly when you were too weak to speak, letting the sound fill the silence of the room. Even the small, mundane moments, shifting the blankets over you, bringing you water, adjusting your pillows, were infused with love and attentiveness.

Sometimes you’d wake in the middle of the night to find her still awake, tracing gentle circles along your back as you slept. “I just want to make sure you’re okay,” she’d whisper when she noticed you stirring. Even when you were too tired to respond, she never left. The warmth of her body against yours, the soft press of her lips against your head, became your anchor, a reminder that even in the worst days, you were not facing them alone.

And though the intimacy of before; the teasing touches, the shared laughter, the messy, passionate closeness, was gone, there was a new closeness now. A quiet, unspoken bond forged from vulnerability, endurance, and relentless love. You began to see it clearly: Ellie wasn’t just your girlfriend, she was your shelter, your home.

Every touch, every kiss to your temple, every whispered word of reassurance stitched a layer of safety and warmth around you, a cocoon in which the world’s cruelty and your illness could not reach.

Some nights, lying in her arms, exhausted, you would murmur softly, “I don’t deserve you.”

Ellie would smile faintly, brushing her fingers through your hair. “Stop that,” she said gently, “you deserve everything. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Even as the chemo left your hair thin and your body fragile, Ellie’s devotion never wavered. The world outside could keep spinning, the days could grow heavier, the treatments harsher, but within the walls of your shared apartment, in the quiet of the nights, love was patient, love was constant, and love, Ellie, was unstoppable. And yet, even wrapped in that certainty, one ache lingered, the ache of a dream you’d carried with you your whole life.

Marrying.

You’d always been obsessed with the idea of marriage. As a little kid, you’d drawn elaborate wedding plans, filled notebooks with dream venues and dresses, and imagined the faces of the people you loved most gathered around you. That dream had followed you into adulthood, tucked safely into your heart, and Ellie had always known it. Your parents had, too. But since the diagnosis, it felt like that dream had been ripped from your reach, a future you might never touch. Everything had changed, the laughter, the plans, the intimacy of the life you were building, and suddenly, even the thought of walking down an aisle seemed impossible, a cruel reminder of what you could lose.

That evening, the apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the heater and the soft ticking of the wall clock. You were tucked under the heavy blankets of your bed, the day’s treatments weighing on you like stones, your body weak and trembling from exhaustion. You barely had the strength to move, let alone entertain the thought of anything beyond the next breath.

Ellie came in a little later than usual, her shift running longer than expected. As soon as she saw you, her eyes softened, a careful, tender worry shadowing her face. “Hey, how are you feeling?” she asked, her voice low, almost hesitant. Her bag fell to the floor with a soft thud, but she didn’t sit yet. She crouched beside the bed, one knee resting on the floor, the other propped up, leaning toward you so she could reach your hand without strain.

You watched her, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest, the one that had always made the world outside fade when she was near. Her fingers brushed yours lightly, hesitating, as if she were about to step into something sacred. Then, she took a deep breath, her gaze steady and unwavering.

“I know things have been… really hard,” she said, her voice catching just slightly. “And I know that your dream of… everything you’ve wanted, everything you’ve imagined… it might feel impossible right now.” She paused, squeezing your hand gently. “But I want you to know… I don’t care about impossible. I don’t care about time, or sickness, or anything. I just care about you.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, a mix of fear and hope tangled together. You didn’t have the energy to speak; words felt heavy, and your throat was tight.

Ellie reached into the pocket of her coat, pulling out a small velvet box. Your eyes widened before you even realized it, a trembling gasp escaping your lips. “Wait— Ellie…” you started, voice trembling.

She shook her head, smiling softly, tears already glinting at the corners of her eyes. “No, just listen.” She opened the box, revealing a delicate ring, simple yet impossibly beautiful, catching the light in a way that made your chest ache. She shifted closer, tilting her head slightly, her eyes locked on yours.

“Will you marry me?” she whispered, the words so soft and full of love they wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, you felt your body respond, not with the exhaustion that weighed it down, but with life, with energy, with pure, unfiltered emotion. You didn’t hesitate. The word tumbled out of you almost instinctively: “Yes!”

Ellie’s eyes lit up, and in an instant, she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around you completely. Her body pressed close to yours, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you, the quiet hum of the apartment and the pounding of your hearts. She slid the ring onto your finger with a gentle, reverent touch, and you could feel the warmth of her fingers lingering against yours.

The tears started then, slowly at first, then in a torrent. You couldn’t stop them, and Ellie didn’t try to. Her own tears streaked down her cheeks as she held you close, whispering your name, murmuring soft “I love yous” over and over, her lips pressing against your hair, your temple, your forehead.

For hours, you cried together, wrapped up in each other, the room silent except for your sobs and her steady, grounding heartbeat. It wasn’t just a proposal, it was a promise, a defiance against the world that had been trying to take everything from you. In that moment, it didn’t matter that the future was uncertain. What mattered was the love you had, the life you shared in every touch, every glance, every whispered word.

And as the night wore on, still wrapped in each other’s arms, the ring glinting on your finger, you realized that some dreams were never truly lost, they just needed someone like Ellie to make them real.

The moment the proposal had settled into your heart, the reality of planning a wedding, any wedding, hit you like a cold wave. You were still lying in bed, wrapped in Ellie’s arms, your fingers tracing the ring over and over, and the thought of months of planning made your chest tighten. There wasn’t time. How could there be? You couldn’t be sure how many months, or even weeks, you had. Every plan felt like it was balanced on a knife’s edge.

Ellie, of course, didn’t let that stop her. She kissed the tears off your cheeks and whispered against your temple, “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll handle it.” And she did.

The next morning, she started pulling every string she could; phone calls, emails, even a personal contact with a local official she somehow knew through her art school connections. By the middle of the week, she’d done the impossible: she found someone, some kind of registrar or government official, to come to your apartment and marry you there. Next week.

You wouldn’t have to leave your bed, wouldn’t have to sit in an office or a chapel that smelled sterile and wrong. You’d be able to do it surrounded by the chaos and love of your home, where you and Ellie had built your life together.

It was surreal, and for a moment, your chest tightened with disbelief. “Ellie… you can’t just— how did you even—”

She cut you off with a grin, brushing a stray hair from your face. “I told you, I don’t care about rules. I care about you. You’re marrying me in your bed if you want. Done.”

The practicalities of the dress came next, and Ellie insisted on making it fun. You weren’t leaving the bed, so there was no chance of a traditional dress shopping trip. Instead, you did it online together. You knew your measurements well enough to navigate the sizing charts, but there was still an undercurrent of nervous excitement every time a new gown popped up on the screen.

Ellie hovered beside you, her shoulder brushing yours as she scrolled, muttering little commentary about every dress. “Ooh, that’s delicate… That one’s got a vintage vibe… I can see you in this one, you’d melt everyone’s heart.”

You laughed, the sound shaky, but genuine. “I don’t even know what ‘vintage vibe’ means in this context.”

Ellie grinned, nudging your shoulder. “It means you look effortlessly perfect in it. Trust me. It’s not about the fabric; it’s about you. Always about you.”

It took hours, hours of scrolling, of imagining, of exclaiming over lace patterns, off-shoulder cuts, and flowing skirts that would never touch the floor because, honestly, who cared about a train when your love could fill a room? You debated satin versus silk, strapless versus capped sleeves, blush versus ivory, and every time you got overwhelmed, Ellie would grab your hand and whisper, “It doesn’t matter what you pick. You’ll look incredible, and I’ll be here the whole time.”

Eventually, you found it, a dress that was soft ivory, flowing without being fussy, delicate lace along the shoulders, cinched perfectly at your waist. You could picture it on you, sitting in bed with Ellie holding your hand, your fingers intertwined as you promised forever to each other.

Ellie clapped her hands softly, her eyes shining. “That’s it. That’s the one. You’ll look breathtaking. And I don’t care if it’s next week, next month, or next year, you’re mine, and I’m yours, and no one else matters.”

You let yourself cry again, this time tears of relief and overwhelming love. The wedding wasn’t going to be traditional. It wasn’t going to be extravagant. You didn’t have months for the perfect dress, a full guest list, or a reception. But Ellie made it more than enough. She made it possible. She made it yours.

That night, wrapped up in blankets, the dress chosen and the officiant confirmed, Ellie pressed a kiss to your forehead and whispered, “We’re really doing this. We’re really getting married. And I promise… it’s going to be perfect because it’s us.”

You leaned into her, feeling the exhaustion and fear of the past months wash away just enough to make room for hope. Your dream of marriage, once a faraway fantasy, was finally within reach, and it wasn’t some picture-perfect fairy tale. It was messy, it was urgent, it was alive, and it was with her.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧

The morning sunlight streamed through your bedroom window, warm and soft, as your mom gently helped you into the dress. It wasn’t perfect, it didn’t hug every curve the way a tailor might have wanted, and the sleeves were a little long, but it didn’t matter. When you looked in the mirror, you saw yourself reflected back in a way that made your heart ache and soar at the same time.

The delicate ivory lace brushed against your shoulders, the flowing skirt pooled softly around your legs, and the faint blush of satin along the bodice caught the light just enough to make it feel ethereal.

Your mom’s hands lingered on your shoulders, brushing away a stray strand of hair as tears welled in her eyes. “You’re… you’re absolutely breathtaking,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. You reached out and took her hands, squeezing them gently. “I can see why I turned out alright,” you said with a small, shaky laugh. Your mom smiled through her tears, shaking her head. “No, you’re more than alright. You’re… perfect.”

Hours later, as the evening settled in and the last golden light slipped from the windows, everyone was ready. Ellie stepped into the room, her suit tailored perfectly, sleek and elegant, with a subtle silk tie that shimmered faintly in the low light. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw her. It wasn’t the suit that made her breathtaking, it was the way her eyes softened when they found yours, the little crease of a smile she always had when she was trying not to cry, the steady, unwavering presence she radiated even in the chaos of this moment.

The room was small but filled with warmth. Ellie’s dad sat quietly in the corner, his hands clasped tightly together, eyes glossy with tears. Your parents flanked the side of the bed, both dabbing at their cheeks with tissues, the pride and sorrow of the moment written in every line of their faces. And then there was the officiant, clipboard in hand, eyes shimmering like everyone else’s, clearly struggling to keep composed.

You could feel Ellie’s hand slide into yours, fingers intertwining perfectly. Neither of you needed to speak, every glance, every squeeze, every small, shaky inhale said everything that words could not.

When the officiant started, the words came out halting, half-choked with emotion. “We… are gathered here… to witness…” The sentences wavered and cracked, but you didn’t care. You didn’t need perfectly polished vows or a flowing ceremony. You only needed each other, here, now, alive in this room, legal and bound to one another.

Ellie’s voice was soft but steady when it was her turn to speak. “I promise to love you… to hold you… to be yours in all the ways I can, always.” You could hear the catch in her throat as she blinked back tears, and your heart ached with love so fierce it felt like it could crack you open.

When it was your turn, your own voice trembled, but you pressed on, “I promise to be with you… to be your home, your chaos, your soft place… forever. Even when it’s hard, even when it hurts, I choose you.”

The officiant nodded, tears rolling down their cheeks, and took a small breath. “By the power vested in me and with the love that fills this room, I now pronounce you legally married. You may… kiss the bride.”

Ellie’s hand squeezed yours so hard you could feel her pulse through your skin. She leaned down, brushing her lips to yours in a kiss that was at once tender, desperate, joyous, and full of all the love and grief and relief you’d ever felt. You clung to her, whispering, “We’re married… we’re really married.”

She laughed softly through her tears, pressing her forehead to yours. “Yes. yes, we are. Always.”

And in that room, filled with sobs, tears, and barely-formed words, none of it mattered. The flowers weren’t arranged just so, the dress didn’t trail perfectly, the officiant stumbled over syllables, none of it mattered. Because in that moment, you and Ellie were married, fully and truly, and the rest of the world, the rest of the future, could wait.

The days after your wedding blurred together in a strange haze of sweetness and pain. The ring on your finger became both a comfort and a reminder. Every time Ellie’s thumb brushed over it while she held your hand, you felt safe, anchored, but also achingly aware of the ticking clock. The sickness had been creeping forward steadily, and though you tried to hide how much worse you were getting, there was no hiding it from Ellie. She saw everything. She always had.

You refused the hospital. The sterile white walls, the mechanical beeping, the fluorescent hum overhead, it wasn’t where you wanted your story to end. You wanted home, the smell of Ellie’s shampoo in the pillows, the creak of the old floorboards, the warmth of your shared blankets. You wanted to die in the place where you had lived and loved, not as a patient hooked up to machines. Ellie didn’t argue. Not really. She pressed her lips tight, nodded with tears shining in her eyes, and promised to keep you home.

Eating became harder. Food lost its taste, lost its appeal, and no matter how many times Ellie tried to coax you with little bowls of soup or toast cut into shapes that made you laugh once, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat more than a few bites. She pretended not to notice, but you saw the way her hands shook when she cleared your untouched plate, the way she stayed awake at night just watching your chest rise and fall, terrified it might stop in the dark.

One afternoon, the sunlight was weak through the curtains, dust drifting lazily in the air. You could hear Ellie moving around the apartment, dishes clinking, her quiet humming under her breath, but the weight in your chest had grown too heavy to ignore. You swallowed hard, tears stinging your eyes, and called softly, “Ellie? Can you come here? Sit down… please.”

She appeared in the doorway almost immediately, worry already etched into her face, hair falling loose around her temples. She crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, taking your hand automatically. “What’s wrong, baby?” she whispered, her voice gentle, as if even words might shatter you.

You stared at her for a long moment, your throat tight. Her green eyes, so full of stubborn love, met yours, and it nearly broke you in two. But you knew you had to say it. You owed her that.

“Ellie,” you began, your voice trembling, “when I’m gone… I need you to promise me something.”

Her brows furrowed immediately. “Don’t—”

“No, listen,” you cut in, squeezing her hand weakly. “Please. Promise me that… you’ll move on. That you’ll marry someone else one day. That you’ll be happy again. I don’t want you to—” Your voice cracked. “—to spend the rest of your life sulking over me. You don’t deserve that. You deserve love, and laughter, and someone who adores you.”

Ellie’s lips parted, her whole body going rigid, and for a second you thought she might pull away. But she didn’t. She stayed there, clutching your hand like it was her only lifeline, tears spilling over her lashes. She shook her head violently. “Don’t you dare ask me that.”

You felt your heart twist painfully. “Ellie, please—”

“No,” she said, sharper now, but her voice still cracked under the weight of her sobs. She pressed her forehead to the back of your hand, shaking as she cried into your skin. “You don’t get it. You’re it for me. You’ve always been it. I can’t— I won’t replace you. Don’t you dare think for one second that anyone could.”

Her words were muffled against your skin, but every syllable dug deep into your chest. You reached out with your other trembling hand and stroked her hair, combing your fingers through the soft strands. “I’m not asking you to replace me,” you whispered. “I’m asking you to let yourself be loved again when I can’t be the one doing it. Please, Ellie. Promise me you won’t lock your heart away forever.”

Ellie lifted her head, her face wet, her eyes red and raw. She looked at you with a mixture of desperation and fury, as if the world itself was cruel for making you have this conversation. “You are so damn unfair,” she whispered hoarsely. “You’re asking me to let go of the only person I’ve ever wanted.”

You smiled through your tears, brushing your thumb across her wet cheek. “I’m asking you to live. For me. For you. Please, baby.”

She shook her head, but her lips pressed to your knuckles, lingering there like a prayer. “I can’t promise that,” she choked out. “Not now. Not when I can still hold you.”

And though her words broke you, you also understood. Ellie wasn’t ready to think about a world without you. She wasn’t ready to picture herself in someone else’s arms. All she could do was love you with everything she had left, in every moment she still had with you.

You didn’t push her again that day. Instead, you pulled her into bed, into the curve of your arms, and the two of you lay tangled together, tears drying slowly on your cheeks. The night stretched on endlessly, the shadows crawling up the bedroom walls, the faint hum of the city outside muffled by drawn curtains.

The pain had been unbearable that evening, a gnawing fire in your bones that no pill or warm blanket could dull. Ellie had done everything she could, held you when you trembled, pressed cold cloths to your fevered skin, whispered soft nothings into your hair, but nothing eased it. Sleep wouldn’t come. It hadn’t for hours.

By the time the clock blinked 4:03 a.m., you were still wide awake, eyes stinging with exhaustion, whispering prayers you didn’t even know you believed in. To God. To the universe. To anyone who would listen. Please, just let me rest. Just let me close my eyes and drift for a while.

Ellie was lying beside you, her arm curved protectively around your frail body, her cheek buried in your shoulder. She hadn’t closed her eyes once. You could feel the way her chest hitched every few breaths, the way her fingers twitched against yours like she was grounding herself against the possibility that at any second, you might slip away.

And then her voice broke the silence. Soft at first, almost like she was scared to let it out. “Hey,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your temple. You turned your head slightly, eyes heavy, and saw her looking at you, her face blotchy from crying, green eyes glistening in the dim light. “It’s alright if you… if you need to go.”

Your breath caught, but she pressed on, her hand trembling as it cupped your jaw. “I can see how much this hurts you. Every second. And it’s killing me to watch you fight so hard when you’re so tired.” Her voice cracked, a broken sob catching in her throat, but she kept going, needing you to hear it. “You don’t have to fight for me anymore, baby. You’ve done enough. You’ve loved me more than I ever thought I deserved, and that’s… that’s more than enough.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, spilling weakly down your cheeks. You wanted to answer, to tell her you loved her one more time, but your voice wouldn’t come. Your chest was too heavy, your lips too dry.

Ellie leaned closer, forehead pressing against yours, her breath warm and ragged. And then she said the words that would stay etched into your heart, even as it slowed. “I promise you I’ll never forget you,” she whispered fiercely. “I promise I’ll open my heart again one day. Not to replace you, no one could ever replace you, but because you’d want me to. Because I can’t let it close forever. I swear it.”

Her tears fell onto your face as she kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, over and over as if trying to memorize you. The world began to blur, her voice echoing faintly in your ears. You clung to the sound of her, the warmth of her, the smell of her shampoo, and then, gently, quietly, you let go.

The last thing you carried with you into forever was Ellie’s voice, steady despite her breaking heart, promising you love even beyond the life you shared.

୨୧・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈ ・ ┈┈・ ┈┈・ ୨୧

Time has a strange way of folding in on itself. In the first weeks without you, Ellie lived in a haze. Your clothes still hung in the closet, your perfume still lingered on the pillows, and your laugh still echoed in her dreams. The apartment was impossibly quiet, though she still caught herself talking to you, asking if you wanted tea, if you wanted her to pick up groceries, if you wanted to come with her on a walk. For a long time, she lived in those ghosts.

Your wedding ring never left her grasp. She wore it on a thin chain around her neck, tucked under her shirt, safe against her skin. Every morning she kissed it like a ritual, like a prayer, before she left for work.

Years passed, slowly softening the edges of grief without ever erasing it. Ellie kept drawing. Her comics became strangely bittersweet, filled with tender little moments; two girls laughing in bed, a kiss beneath the rain, quiet hands intertwined. People called her work honest, said it had a pulse of raw love. She never explained that every panel was a love letter to you.

But she also kept her promise. She lived. She didn’t lock herself away in sorrow, even though it would’ve been so easy. She went to gallery openings, to cafés with friends, to the kind of late-night art shows she knew you would’ve teased her for. And one day, years later, someone new came into her orbit.

Her name was Autumn, a painter. The first time they met, Ellie caught herself staring, not because Autumn reminded her of you, she didn’t, but because she had the same spark in her eyes that you always carried when you talked about something you loved. That passion. That life.

It scared Ellie at first. She felt guilty even sitting across from Autumn at a café, laughing at her dumb jokes. But one night, after walking home beneath the streetlamps, Ellie stood in the doorway of your old bedroom, the one she’d kept untouched for so long, and touched the photo of you both on the dresser.

“Don’t be mad,” she whispered into the silence, her thumb brushing your smile behind the glass. “She’s not you. No one ever could be. But… I think you’d want this for me.”

And slowly, she allowed herself to open again.

Autumn never tried to erase you. She asked about you sometimes, listened when Ellie spoke about the wedding, about the way you used to run down the street in heels just to catch her at the airport, about how you loved Jurassic Park even though you pretended not to at first. Autumn smiled softly and said, “She sounds amazing. I’m glad she loved you like that.”

Ellie loved autumn, in time. Not in the same way, never the same way, but in a way that was real, and warm, and alive. And every time she let herself laugh so hard her stomach hurt, every time she pressed a kiss into Autumn’s hair and felt her heart swell, she knew she was keeping her promise.

Because loving again didn’t mean forgetting you. It meant honoring you. It meant proving you were right: that her heart could keep beating, keep giving, even after it had been shattered.

And every night, before she fell asleep, Ellie still reached up to the chain around her neck. The wedding ring was still there, cool against her skin. She kissed it, eyes closed, and whispered, “Goodnight, baby.”

Because love like yours didn’t end. It just changed shape.

Thank you for reading! <3

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