The other side of the bed–unoccupied. The wooden table bare, lacking any note. A hook missing a jacket.
Ellie Williams slipped through your fingers in the same way that you feared she would, but still desperately hoped would never happen. Gone to chase after what plagued her mind, she left without a word. No argument, no farewell, no see you soon. No promise of return.
Cruelly so, the Earth still slowly spun.
You swore that you had finally gone mad when the floorboards creaked.
warnings : epilogue!ellie williams x afab!reader. canon universe, so all general warnings may apply. established relationship–uncertain standing. swearing. implications of grief, loss, and ptsd. mention of nightmares, lack of sleep, and a loss of appetite due to grief and trauma. implied themes of hurt/comfort. finally edited and posted after nearly a year... i listened to hozier's version of do i wanna know? on loop while writing this. please see notes at the very end.
w.c : 7.3k
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Timing was a strange thing. Weird concept.
You had a complicated relationship with it.
Complicated in the sense that you could never really tell if the timing of the universe was on your side, or working against you. Logically, you knew that neither were true. Timing was simply timing, and to try to distinguish a relationship between it and you would be foolish–adding an additional weight to your shoulders that you were not strong enough to carry.
Still, it had been easy to feel as though things had cosmically worked out for you when you had ended up residing in the safe town of Jackson at the same time as Ellie Williams–who had become a friend, a best friend, and then a lover. In that very specific case, it felt as though the universe had thrown you a bone. Ellie had been your lifeboat. Unfortunately, you were unable to be hers, too.
You grappled with the concept of timing a lot–a tortuous cycle of what-if’s that often took the shape of self-blame, even when it had no right or reason to do so.
The what-if’s actually might’ve been the cruelest consideration when it came to timing.
What if you had been scheduled for patrol that day, so there could’ve been another person searching for Tommy and Joel, potentially finding them sooner? What if you had been able to get to Ellie sooner, before Joel’s beaten, lifeless, bloody corpse had been burned into her eyes? What if the snowstorm that day hadn’t been as bad?
What if Tommy had shown up to the farmhouse two weeks earlier than he actually had?
The farmhouse, in all honesty, had somewhat originally been Dina’s idea. If you had more truths pulled from your unspoken thoughts, you–admittedly–resented the idea of it at first. A younger version of Ellie–one that had bright eyes and an easy laugh–hated farming tasks. She found them boring. Thought the isolation of a farmhouse, away from town, sounded lonely.
Steadily, Dina sold her on the idea. Lonely transformed into peaceful. Boring turned into kinda nice. You couldn’t fault your mutual friend, but you grew worried. Worried that the idea of a farmhouse would be less of a solace, and more of an escape. Worried that the concept started to resonate more with Ellie because she couldn’t bear to meet the eyes of those around her in Jackson–couldn’t bear to continue to face Jesse’s parents on a daily basis. Worried that Ellie couldn’t bear–just as you couldn’t bear–the way in which Tommy had started to look at Ellie less like a family member that needed to be protected, and instead more like a faulty weapon–a gun that failed to fire in a crucial moment of war.
Shortly after Seattle, you moved into a farmhouse outside of the Jackson gates with Ellie.
Timing.
If Tommy had come two weeks earlier than he had, when Ellie had that short burst when she was actually sleeping through the night, maybe she would've stayed. You had seen her smiling at a photograph of Joel that week, and her eyes hadn’t looked so dazed. Maybe if Tommy had come then, the outcome would've been different.
You knew though, really, that wasn't the case.
Ellie was unwell. Lost in a grief that she hadn’t even begun to comprehend. Traumatized. It's not like Tommy's words suddenly rewired her brain. No, she had only needed to be pointed in a direction. Needed a push.
She would've slipped away regardless, in any sense. She wouldn't have lasted long. It was a horrific truth that you had worried yourself sick over. You knew it. You knew it, and yet, you couldn't help but mull over the different possibilities. The way in which things could have unfolded, but didn't. Always back to those terrible, horrible, enticingly cruel what-ifs.
You always did carry the habit of overthinking.
Ellie would frequently smooth her thumb over the crease between your eyebrows, with a tsk and a shake of her head… a faint smile tugging on her lips. "I can literally see you thinking. Now you're starting to stress me out," she would say.
I'm sorry, you thought silently to her now. It's hard when you're not here.
Love can't fix everything. It's an unfortunate lesson that you've had to learn time and time again. You could love Ellie like your life depended on it–maybe it did–but it wouldn't take away her nightmares. You could squeeze her, hold her tightly like it was the last shred of anything that mattered, but it couldn't put back together everything that she had lost.
It wouldn't make her eat. It wouldn't make her sleep.
But it didn't stop you, either. You loved her–hard. More than anything. Easier than breathing. You loved Ellie with every inhale, every exhale, every single blink of your eyes.
And she loved you, too. God, did Ellie love you too.
Even when she couldn't find the words. Ellie loved you in the way in which she would allow you to take her hand and lead her to bed, even though she knew that she wouldn't be sleeping. She loved you in the way in which she would remind you to take breaks, despite the darkening circles underneath her own eyes. She loved you in the way in which her book of puns remained on her bedside table, meaning she would recite off the most stupid ones in the dark of your shared bedroom–anything to hear you laugh before you were lulled into your slumber.
Ellie might stay awake–red matter and gore on her mind, the sound of impact and pain ringing in her ears… but you giggled before you fell asleep, and she was glad for it.
Yeah, she loved you. There was never any doubt about that.
But it couldn't change anything. And it didn't.
Because one morning, you woke up without your lover’s arms wrapped around your form. You woke up, and the bed was cold. Missing her. Bedding slightly askew, like Ellie had just slipped out from under the covers to make a quick trip to the bathroom, or to retrieve a glass of water.
You knew, though. The realization caused by the absence of her body next to your own rapidly washed over you with a vile wave of sickness. Regret. Guilt. You should’ve known, should’ve figured, should’ve done something.
Realistically, however, you knew there was nothing that you truly could’ve done, anyway. Ellie had left without a word. No note. Nothing. It wasn’t your fault, but you felt as though it was your fault, even though you knew that it was not your fault. Still–you had been asleep. You had gotten no final words. No last, lingering glance. No goodbye. No kiss. No squeeze of the hand. No quiet promise.
You knew–in your heart that you loved Ellie very dearly and deeply with–that was how she had intended for it to go. The semblance of an easy goodbye–one lacking tears, desperate pleas, and hands that refused to let go. Ellie chose that. You knew that she did, that her departure was intentional, but the weight of it all still hung over your head.
Surely, Ellie had planned it. At least somewhat.
Any other night, you were prone to stirring whenever Ellie would stir. Every shift from Ellie was something that you were extremely aware of. When nightmares plagued her mind, you stayed up with her–talking, holding her, kissing her forehead. When she got up to pace in the kitchen, you followed. Lingered until she wanted your hands, your words, your reassurances. You were in tune with every single breath, every single beat of Ellie’s heart, every fiber of her very being. Any other night, you would’ve known. Any other night, you would’ve felt her shift–felt her sliding out of bed and you would’ve gone with her. You could’ve had a conversation, or at least kissed her one more time before you were left to desperately chase any lingering indication of her presence throughout the farmhouse. Any other night, you would’ve stirred due to Ellie’s movement, and you would’ve gone with her. Santa Barbara, or wherever else she may have ended up, you would’ve followed that girl to the end of the goddamn world.
But you knew, exactly due to that reason, why Ellie had chosen that night in particular.
The day had been good. Not just good in a wishful way–it had genuinely gone by without a fault. The two of you had wasted time that day, just sitting together in the grass and watching the sheep. Ellie had a moment where she had laughed so hard, her cheeks tinted pink. That evening, she had twirled you in the kitchen. (You had wondered–torturously, every single day since her absence–if her leaving was premeditated, or if she had just woken up and realized that she had to go. With how Ellie had been staring at you while she had twirled you around the kitchen, and with how her hands had settled on your hips, maybe she knew. At least, maybe there was an inkling of her knowing at the time. Like she was taking it in. Silently saying goodbye to the moment, while you were blissfully unaware.) You didn’t like to drink–not much, not anymore, especially after Ellie’s habit of it had picked up–but you had a few glasses that night. Just for fun. The two of you had showered together–soft kisses, healing touches, and dim lighting. You had been so gentle with each other, as you always were, as you lathered each other up and then washed everything away. You were cuddling before slumber hit you, you knew that much. But you never felt a shift.
Maybe it had been the long hours spent outside, or the alcohol, or the shower that had relaxed you down to your bones… that had caused you to sleep so heavily that night, you didn’t wake up as Ellie left. And you hated yourself for it.
And yes–you knew, deep down–that had most likely been the plan. Ellie didn’t want to say goodbye. She didn’t want to see you cry, or hear you plead with her. You knew that she did not want those things–not out of cruelty, but the exact opposite. Even more than that, though, you knew that Ellie didn’t want you going with her. And you would’ve. In a heartbeat, without a second thought, you would’ve joined her journey.
You knew that Ellie didn’t want that. Couldn’t bear it, most likely. So, she left you to sleep. Left you at the farmhouse, without any final words. Left you safe and sound. Left you alone.
The grief was all-consuming.
You cried for her. Endlessly. You were sick over it. Like the rug had been pulled out from under you, the floor falling away from your feet, you felt like you were quite literally flailing. You loved her. For years, you had loved Ellie. Every single night, she had been there.
She had comforted you through every single one of your nightmares, even when hers were surely worse. She had made sure that you were always eating, even when she couldn’t stomach anything at all. She knew more about space than anyone you had ever met, and spoke so confidently about dinosaurs… even when she stuttered on the name pronunciations. She painted with steady hands, her loved ones nearly always the subjects. She laughed at the same puns that she had laughed at when she was fourteen. She helped you name every single one of your sheep, and always referred to them as such. She made the boring things fun. She kissed you like she meant it every single time, because she did. She called you babe–her voice soft, and her gaze even softer. She tended more carefully to your wounds than she did to her own. She was your best friend. Your girlfriend. Your girl. And just like that, she was gone.
You missed her. You were worried sick. You wanted her. You loved her.
Your girl, your girl, your girl.
Your girl was no longer. It felt impossible to survive.
The world was cruel, and Ellie had never been given a break. You wanted that for her though, so terribly. You wanted the sun to break through the clouds. You wanted the rainbow after the rain. You had a fucking bone to pick the universe, forget the one that it had thrown you. Ellie Williams deserved better, and you would say it with your dying breath. You hated seeing what the world had done to her. You despised it. Spoke out loud to Joel about it, hoping that he could somehow hear you, as if he could offer you acknowledgement from beyond the grave.
Everything ached. Sometimes, you were sure that you were genuinely going crazy purely due to the not knowing. You didn’t know where Ellie was, not really. You didn’t know if she was okay, or injured, or dead.
But, truth be told, you were convinced that she was alive.
Even on your very worst days, you had a twisted sort of optimism that Ellie was alive. You were so convinced, in fact, that you were nearly certain of it. You were sure about your girlfriend’s longstanding survival, because you were convinced that if she were to die, you would feel it. Like everything in the world would somehow stop, no matter how far away she was from you. Like your body would feel it–perhaps with a hitch in your breath, or a prickle at the back of your neck. You and Ellie were so intertwined, sometimes you were convinced that if her heart were to stop beating, yours would simultaneously cease, too.
Regardless of your potential delusions, you grieved her.
Nearly everything of Ellie’s had been left behind at the farmhouse. Of course, she didn’t take many of her belongings with her–why would she?
You found solace in a gray hoodie. It was battered, truly. Ellie’s had it for years, as most people hold onto things for as long as they possibly can (just like you do with her) because items in this world are precious. Even so, Ellie’s dedication to the hoodie was practically admirable. The fabric was entirely worn–lint and little fuzzbulls littering the expanse of it. Tiny holes were worn within the fabric. Still, she had worn that thing dutifully–and now, you held onto it like a child that clings to a blanket for security.
Your relationship with the hoodie was a tricky one, though. You wanted to hug it close to you each night, to give yourself some sort of comfort from your girlfriend… but you didn’t want the material to start smelling like you instead of her. You could very much use her soap, but then it wouldn’t be the real thing. Fraudulent.
For the first few days of Ellie’s absence, you had been in a daze. You slept with the hoodie tucked carefully within Ellie’s side of the bed, exactly where she would be. The hoodie was now your lifeboat, taking up the space that Ellie should’ve been filling. You didn’t eat, you didn’t sleep. You had begun to mirror your missing girlfriend.
That had been weeks ago. A few months?
Staying on the farm wasn’t feasible, you knew that much, even if you weren’t in the most sensible state of mind. It was a lot of land–you couldn’t manage that and the animals on your own. It wasn’t necessarily safe to be on your own like that anyway–at least, in your opinion it wasn’t. You didn’t prefer it.
For the first few days after Ellie’s departure, you had been lost within your emotions. Eventually, you knew that you had to do something. You didn’t go after her. You didn’t seek out Tommy for more information. No. Despite your own personal feelings, you would keep yourself safe, because you knew that it was what Ellie had wanted for you. You would do it for her.
Jackson was safe. You went back to Jackson.
Others had helped you, various trips of lugging belongings and leading animals back to the secured safety within the walls of the town. You moved back into your old place. You saw Jesse’s parents, and spent large amounts of time with Dina and her baby, JJ. He looked so much like Jesse, that sometimes it made you feel sick.
Despite your departure from the farmhouse, you were adamant about leaving it in very fine condition. Supplies were left behind, just in case. The most valuable things of Ellie’s, you had taken to Jackson so that they could be kept safe and not be abandoned. Some things though, you had left behind. Some changes of clothes, items for getting clean… and a note.
Nothing that would jeopardize Jackson, or the safety of the people. Just a simple nod in the right direction, just in case.
You know where to find me.
Just in case. Just in case Ellie really was alive, like you swore that you could feel in your bones. Just in case she decided to return. Would she? You didn’t know. You didn’t like the possibility of yourself being abandoned, and quite honestly, you didn’t view it as such. The unfortunate truth was that the situation was much bigger than yourself. Bigger than Ellie, and bigger than your relationship. You were hurt. Angry. Devastated. And yet, you couldn’t help but be understanding. Because, once again… you knew.
The days passed by slowly and painfully, but they also managed to blur together in a haze of grief and loss. You felt weighted by it all, consistently aware that you very well may never see Ellie again. You could tell that they were trying not to do so, but people were treating you like a widow. You felt like one. Every sound in the world was bland compared to Ellie’s voice, or the way in which she would laugh when she was truly comfortable. It felt as though your heart and mind could not agree on any sort of feeling. You couldn’t get used to it, the loss of her. Your girlfriend was essentially a ghost. A ghost that you couldn’t let go of.
And the farmhouse.
You couldn’t get rid of that, either.
Maria was fed up with you, you could tell. All of your coming and going. You made trips to the farmhouse–obsessively at first, and then had to be talked down to once every couple of weeks–just in case. Just in case Ellie had been there, or whatever your mind had managed to convince you of. Yes, you had left a note, but you frequently feared that it wouldn’t be enough. Again, it was your overthinking. You could also tell that Maria was tired, and her threats to put you on lockdown were in vain. Half-hearted. As long as you were safe (god forbid she lost someone else) and not potentially leading anyone back to Jackson, well… there wasn’t much that Maria could do about it, was there? You were too stubborn, apparently. Stubborn like Ellie. You had heard her mutter it once as she begrudgingly relented.
As for the current state of your being, your mental state was… shaky. Even after time had gone by, you didn’t feel normal, didn’t feel steady on your own feet. But how could you, when half of you was missing?
And there was that thing about timing, again. How things manage to work out, or how they don’t.
You were at the farmhouse–lingering.
Curled into your old space on the bed that you had formerly shared with Ellie. In Ellie’s spot was her pillow and that hoodie. Your eyes were shut, because you could imagine her presence better that way. You would not forget her face. Could not. And–you were not crazy, you would testify until you were blue in the face–you were speaking to her.
Of course, Ellie wasn’t actually there. Of course, she could not actually hear you. Maybe, most likely, you would never be able to actually speak to her ever again. You spoke to her anyway. Stomach twisting, a weight on your shoulders, and tears forming quickly behind your eyelids–you spoke to her. Until, entirely by accident and due to the exhaustion of managing your own emotions, you had fallen asleep.
For how long, you didn’t know.
You jolted awake, however, due to the familiar yet startling sound of one of the wooden floorboards creaking. Before your eyes even managed to snap open, your arm had practically lunged for Ellie’s side of the bed. You had instinctively reached for your girlfriend (or rather, where she should’ve been) over your own weapon. Stupid.
Your eyes snapped open, your blood going cold as your mind rapidly worked to process the sound. It was quiet now, but you had heard it. The house was old, settling often, but you couldn’t excuse the sound away. You reached for your gun that you had discarded onto the bedside table, and then you froze.
Another creak.
Like a slow, cautious step.
You weren’t alone. You shouldn’t have come alone. You should’ve stayed in Jackson. Should’ve played with JJ over lunch, should’ve maybe finally attempted to have a proper conversation with Tommy for the first time in months–
Footsteps, definitely. Downstairs. Not confident ones–or at least, careful ones.
You were good at being quiet, good at cautious, usually. You slowly pulled yourself away from the bed, heart pounding as you gripped your weapon. You knew where to step, and where not to step. Without a sound, your back hugged the wall as you slowly approached the bedroom doorway.
Your mind, however, was not being cooperative. You had no idea about the state of whoever was making those noises. This could be bad. This could be it.
The thought caused you to falter. Maybe this should be it. Maybe it was your time (timing) and you should just relent and seek the end and see the end and let it be. Maybe, for once, something would be easy if you went down without a fight.
You could see the indication of a human just below the stairs. You couldn’t decide whether or not you should die. You slowly crept down the stairs. You didn’t know if you had the energy to plead for your life. You raised your gun anyway, pointing it directly at the approaching figure.
And then, every bit of air left your body. You went rigid, head dizzy. Eyes wide, the corners of your vision went hazy. Blurry. You were frozen, shoes rooted to the wooden floor as your eyes met a pair of green ones.
Had you been killed that quickly, that Ellie was now coming to greet you in the afterlife? Had you actually gone insane, as you had admittedly pondered the possibility of a few times before? Were you stuck in a hallucination? In a dream?
Almost immediately, your hands began to tremble. You gripped your gun tighter, not faltering with the angle in which you were holding it–pointed directly at her, a lethal shot if you were to make it.
You were still. Ellie (?) was still. Real? Not real? You didn’t know. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t even blink, afraid that it was false imagery and maybe the sight of her would vanish if you even briefly closed your eyes. If this was a hallucination, and your last chance to ever see your girlfriend (?) you would prolong it at any means necessary. You did not move, in case she would disappear, because you could not lose her again.
Wide, green eyes. Hard to read. A slow hand raised.
“You’re–”
The word choked out of you before you could comprehend it, though it sounded more like a gasp for air. Were you suffocating? Or had seeing her actual (?) face for the first time in months finally given you back your ability to breathe?
Your voice–even the slightest, strained sound of it–made Ellie’s heart pound almost painfully in her chest. She missed hearing it. Her ears felt like they were ringing. She was more focused on you, rather than the fact that you were aiming a gun right at her. No matter that part. You were directly in front of her, and Ellie couldn’t even speak. She’s dedicated multiple journal pages to you alone. She’s thought about what she wished that she could say to you, over and over again. Went over it in her head. Wrote it down. Whispered it to herself whenever she was trapped, waiting for a horde of an infected to pass. But now? Speechless. Terrified. Guilty. Unprepared.
Ellie had expected an empty farmhouse–which, for the most part, it was. She had expected, maybe, a door slammed in her face. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. Not you, right here, right now. Though… it’s what she had come back for, wasn’t it? And yet, she hadn’t let herself fully believe it until now. She didn’t exactly believe it still, but it was happening. Her eyes were glued to you like you were an entity of her own salvation.
Both of you–unmoving. It appeared like a silent stand off, when in reality it was merely two people that were unable to process what was right in front of them.
“I–”
Ellie’s voice cracked as she attempted to speak, hoarse from a mixture of emotion and strain. She swallowed hard, and tried again. “I…”
Your eyes were watering. Had you blinked yet?
The house was a confusing sight for Ellie. Some things there, some things gone. The air was thick with tension, despite the lack of ill-feelings.
It was instinct, the way in which Ellie’s eyes quickly darted over you, as if taking inventory. Quick breathing, chest rising and falling rapidly. Frozen, rigid limbs. Shaky hands, clutching the goddamn weapon that you were still pointing at her. Not out of malice, Ellie knew. Your eyes were still wide. The sight of your dark circles made her stomach lurch. Ellie’s mind was a mess, as she had no idea what to say to you. Not to mention the fact that she hadn’t had a genuine conversation with someone in… quite a while.
“I didn’t think you would still be here,” Ellie managed, a crease forming between her brows as she continued to study you. A truth. She did not, necessarily, expect to find you here. Did she hope for it? Yeah, more than she’d fucking like to admit. But as for the reality of it?
The sound of Ellie’s voice hitting your ears prompted a visceral reaction from you. A sound that you had thought that you would never have the privilege of hearing again, yet you hoped for it and yearned for it every single day since she had left.
Your physical falter did not last long, as breathless words spilled from your lips. “I thought you were dead.” A truth? You couldn’t be sure anymore.
Ellie’s throat tightened as you spoke a full sentence. Dead? Ellie had died maybe a thousand times over throughout the last couple of years or so, but she would still find her way back to you. Anyway, she wasn’t dead. Very much alive, judging by how deeply her bones ached.
Fingers curling into fists, Ellie’s shoulders tensed. She managed a small nod, maybe. She wasn’t sure if it translated. “I’m not.”
“Guess not,” you croaked quietly.
It was too much–the situation–for both of you. You looked terrified, which made Ellie feel like she had to throw up. You were standing relatively close, but you felt so far. Ellie wanted to feel your skin beneath your own, to feel some sort of warmth, but she was hesitant.
It was the longing, really. The longing mixed with guilt that was making Ellie feel so sick.
She tried again. “I…”
Finally, you slowly lowered the gun. You stared at her, waiting for your brain to tell you if it was real or not, because you’ve had the same dream of seeing Ellie again countless times–only to cruelly wake up alone. You were in a daze, maybe you had been since the first time that you had woken up alone. Ellie’s attempt at speaking, though, seemed to snap something within you.
You blinked, like your brain finally registered her presence. “Ellie?”
Ellie sucked in a breath, her fists getting tighter. She hadn’t heard her name spoken in… how long? Hearing it from you–spoken softly, with so much fucking care, even now… it was going to undo her. Immediately, it was going to undo her. How many times had she wished to hear you say her name like that again? How many times had she desperately tried to imagine the real thing, or heard it in her dreams? Ellie swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. She didn’t know how to interpret your expression, and that made her uneasy.
“Yeah?” Ellie replied, voice straining against the growing lump in her throat.
For some reason, that did it for you.
“You’re– Oh my god.” Your feet carried you with more urgency than you had moved with for months.
Ellie’s form was rigid with uncertainty–her body instinctively stiffening at the first touch. She was overwhelmed–so fucking overwhelmed. Ellie had previously been prepared for the worst, while desperately hoping for… something good, or at least anything other than the worst possible outcome that she had been somewhat anticipating. The worst possible outcome–which was… what? You telling her to leave? You being gone? Dead?
Your body collided into Ellie’s, a force that neither of you were prepared for, yet didn’t pull back from. You hastily wrapped your arms around her, burying your face against her shoulder just as the first sob escaped from your lips.
Ellie’s form softened, just a little. Just barely. Like it was always meant to be, her arms wrapped around you in return–at first loosely, and then tight around your waist. She squeezed you once, briefly, as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did.
You clung to her. You were crying. Ellie hated herself for it.
Your body convulsed with each sob, causing Ellie to close her eyes tightly. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip–hard–as she silently and desperately willed herself to keep it together.
Ellie swayed on her feet, and it took her a moment to realize that you were faintly rocking her. Just as Joel used to do in moments of comfort, or how Tommy did after Joel’s death. You were sobbing against her shoulder, your form trembling, and yet you were instinctively swaying with her–your automatic attempt at comfort. Ellie bit down on her lip even harder, squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
Every one of her senses was screaming you. The feeling of your hair. The warmth of your skin, even through the clothes. Your scent, so fucking familiar and comforting and fuck, Ellie wouldn’t cry, she would not–
“Fuck,” Ellie rasped, tightening her arms around you. Months of anguish and solitude were rapidly threatening to take over, the kind of breakdown that she hadn’t had since the beach, now approaching her much quicker than she would like to admit.
The sounds of your breathing mixed together in the otherwise silent farmhouse–shaky, ragged, uneven.
It took a long moment of you clinging to Ellie to realize that, technically, you didn’t even know where you stood with her. Truthfully, you never took her leaving as a breakup. You knew that the situation, and Ellie’s struggles, were much bigger than that. Silently, in your head, you still always referred to her as your girlfriend. It was only then, at that very moment, did you suddenly feel unsure about your standing. It felt trivial, compared to everything else, but the weight of it was there.
Just as quickly as you had initiated the physical contact, you pulled away. It was sudden, like a silent, regretful apology for rushing forward and touching her like that. Ellie’s arms fell back to her sides, her body feeling numb.
“Sorry,” you mumbled. You raised fists, quickly wiping at your wet eyes with the backs of your hands.
Ellie watched the movement, her fingers twitching restlessly at her sides. She wanted to reach for you, but she was in the exact same boat as you. She couldn’t just come back after months, and assume that she had a place with you. Couldn’t assume that you had waited for her, or that you would still want her.
The trepidation from the both of you was fueled by circumstance. Individually, you both knew that your hearts still beat so strongly for the other person–for them and them alone, completely and wholly. Ellie knew that you were it for her. If you would not have her, she would not bother you, but her heart would remain to be yours, even if it went unused. You knew that there wasn’t a single universe where you could manage to be pulled away from Ellie. She was your person, through and through. Not once, despite every single emotion you had felt after everything, had your love for her faltered.
You both knew that, but the situation was unprecedented.
After dropping your hands away from your eyes, you stared at Ellie. Ellie stared back, biting the inside of her cheek. Your eyebrows were furrowed, your expression extremely troubled. You were shaking maybe even more than Ellie was.
Ellie knew that you must have questions. A lot of them. Maybe you were going to yell at her–she would probably deserve that, too. She wouldn’t fight it. Even so, she wanted to comfort you, somehow. Wanted to soothe the dark circles that looked worse now, compared to several months ago. Wanted to grab your trembling hands in her own.
She owed you answers. A lot of fucking answers. And yet, still, Ellie didn’t know what to say, what she could say, what she was even capable of explaining at this time.
In a strange way, Ellie was better off now–after the beach–than she was before the beach. Her real, true, grieving process had begun as she lingered in the sand and the salty water, the physical pain so horrible that she thought she might just die there with the waves sweeping her away.
She did not die.
Joel was dead. Abby was alive. That ended something, while simultaneously started something. Acceptance, she supposed, while she was still in Santa Barbara. And fuck Santa Barbara, by the way–which is something that Ellie would probably eventually tell you if you allowed her to stick around long enough to do so.
“How–?” you attempted, causing Ellie’s eyes to snap back to your own.
“I just…”
Ellie closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling as she forced a breath.
In the brief, quiet moment, you continued to study her.
Ellie was pretty cleaned up, all things considered. It made you wonder where she had been before this, if she had cleaned up specifically before there was a chance of seeing you. Her face still looked slim, in the way that it had become after Joel’s death. You could spot new scars across her skin. Faint scratches on her cheek that still had a lingering of red–somewhat new? Her hair was starting to grow out, just a bit. Her collarbones were prominent, too prominent, you almost wanted to shove some food into her mouth at once. A scratch near her collarbone. Ellie’s skin held a red hue… damaged–sunburn, it looked like. Her hands looked rough from use, and her–
The sound of a sharp inhale caused Ellie’s eyes to fly open. Before she could determine why you had gotten so startled, you were closing the gap between your bodies and gingerly grasping her left hand. Your free hand hovered above the spot of Ellie’s missing ring and pinky fingers.
“Ellie, what–” you breathed out, cradling her hand in your own like it was something that you needed to be careful with.
Sometimes, Ellie had nearly forgotten about the injury, only to be brutally reminded in the most sudden, painful moments. She had adjusted rather quickly, because she had no choice. Still, she had to fight the instinct to jerk her hand away from your own, the urge to physically retreat in order to hide the raw, ugly truth of her injury from you. But she didn’t.
Ellie clamped down on her expression, and watched your face carefully. She held still, allowing you to gingerly turn her hand over in your grasp, inspecting the healed wounds without prodding at them. Ellie’s cheeks felt hot, but she didn’t look away from you.
You tilted your head to look at her, eyes wide with concern that you just couldn’t hide. You shook your head slightly in a silent question, your eyebrows knitted together.
Ellie gave the slightest nod in return. Later.
You swallowed hard, accepting her silent answer while trying to suppress the feeling of sickness that was rapidly taking over your body. Not due to the sight of her hand, but because you absolutely detested thinking about Ellie in pain. You couldn’t fathom what she could’ve possibly been through, and it made you want to cry all over again.
You released your hold on her hand, allowing Ellie to retreat it. Your focus switched to her other hand, and you repeated the touch by carefully grasping for it. Partly just holding, and partly examining. You gingerly traced over the lines of her hand–breathing softly, eyebrows furrowed. Your gaze was fixated upon Ellie’s right hand, and Ellie’s gaze was fixated upon your face.
The bite mark that Ellie had gotten on her right hand had certainly not been as brutal as the bite that she had originally gotten on her forearm. It had been smaller, not as deep, and therefore healed differently. Not as jagged or rippled. Honestly, it went undetected.
But with the way in which you were so intently tracing her skin, turning her hand over and studying it, Ellie felt as though you were able to see through the surface. Like somehow, you just knew.
“The bite,” Ellie started, her voice quiet and rough.
Immediately, your head snapped up. “The what?”
Ellie blinked, breath hitching at the eye contact. At once, she felt stupid for even mentioning it. “It– My hand.”
“You’re… You got bit again?”
You sounded a touch bewildered–maybe you could’ve been pissed if you had more energy and were in less shock. You focused your attention on her hand once more, as if you could seek out the mark.
To be entirely honest, that bite was something that didn’t even cross Ellie’s mind. At this point, it was ancient history. A non-issue at the time, and a non-issue now. With everything that had happened, it was the very last thing on her mind. But now, seeing your concern, and your intense focus… it made her skin crawl a little.
Silently, you were spiraling.
“Yeah,” Ellie rasped, slightly flexing her fingers as you turned her hand over, her palm facing up. “I’m still immune, I swear,” Ellie attempted.
You paused, your eyebrows twitching upward. “I know,” you muttered, slowly raising your gaze to meet Ellie’s eyes. “But can you stop testing your luck? You fucking… stress me out.” Despite your words, your tone was soft–voice slightly breathless.
A faint huff escaped Ellie, like she almost felt a hint of something that resembled amusement. The comment was so utterly you, she almost couldn’t handle it. She fucking missed you. So much.
“Trust me,” Ellie muttered, her gaze flickering across your facial features. “It wasn’t exactly on my bucket list.”
You went briefly still, the corners of your lips just barely twitching at her dry, weak comment. Gingerly running your fingers over Ellie’s, your expression twisted. You dropped your hand, and took the smallest step back from her, despite how much you just wanted to be closer. The lack of touch was painful.
Ellie’s hand flexed, wanting to grab your wrist or your hand and just touch you, to let herself feel safe.
It was stupid, really. She had abandoned you, yes. But Ellie hadn’t intended for that to be what she had done. She didn’t want you to feel abandoned. She wanted you to be safe.
“Ellie…”
“I know.”
Minimal words were being spoken, but you understood. Of course you did. And it was enough to cause you to frown as you wrung your trembling hands. Ellie practically mirrored you, shifting her weight.
You inhaled, trying to find any of the words that you had mulled over during her absence. Something eloquent, or understanding, or the right questions to ask. But instead, all you came up with was–
“You scared the fucking shit out of me,” you managed, your voice breaking as you spoke. You wrapped your arms around your own torso, and Ellie ached to replace them with her own. “I thought– I really fucking thought–”
“I know. I know, I know. Fuck, I know,” Ellie replied, her right hand raising and hovering near your arm.
“And like, just now,” you clarified, swallowing thickly. “I heard fucking footsteps and I thought– Like, the gun–”
“I know,” Ellie repeated, though she really, genuinely, had not expected you to be at the farmhouse. “I wasn’t– I wasn’t thinking.”
“No shit?” you croaked. There was a hitch in your voice, something that could’ve been a very wry, dry huff of amusement, but it was entirely too faint.
Ellie caught it anyway.
“Yeah. Yeah, no shit. I wasn’t– I just wanted…” Ellie bit down on her bottom lip, scared to say the words, in case this was it.
Thankfully, you knew her. You always were the more sensible one, anyway.
“Ellie,” you said, repeating her name once more. Almost like you couldn’t hold yourself back from saying it now, due to the fact that she was actually in front of you and could respond, rather than you crying it into your pillow or pleading her name to the night sky. Ellie relished in it, wanting to hear nothing else for the rest of her life.
You swallowed thickly, fingers digging into your own arms as you continued to hold yourself. “Is this– Are you really here? Is this–?”
Before your sentence was finished, Ellie was nodding. She clenched her hands into fists, pulled her lip between her teeth, forehead creased–but it did absolutely nothing to relieve the lump of emotion building within her throat to the point of being overwhelming.
“Yeah,” Ellie muttered, managing a slight, jerky nod. “Yeah, it’s–”
You took a small step closer, your arms loosening around your form.
“Like, are you– This is for real? You’re here?”
“Yeah–”
“You’re home? Ellie, are you home?” The words left you with a sob, as you took another step toward her, your face twisting due to the sudden onslaught of tears.
“Yeah,” Ellie replied hoarsely. She shifted on her feet, right hand rubbing over her left wrist. “Yeah, I’m–”
The sob that you choked out was one of relief. Your arms found Ellie quickly, though she found you just as fast. Ellie buried her face in your neck, inhaling the scent of you. The scent of comfort, the scent of familiarity. The scent of home.
You squeezed Ellie tight, and then mumbled an apology, to which she shook her head. Of course, there was so much left to be said, and so much left to be explained… but that could be later. For now, you clung together, gently rocking each other and relishing in the fact that–despite everything–there could still be this.
It was a start, at the very least. Something sacred and real and pure to hold onto.
Ellie was home, and she could breathe again. You both could.
. . . . .. . . . .
notes : as i was editing this, i thought it might be nice to write a little something about this ellie and reader a bit into the future, after ellie had more time to heal? idkkk if anyone would possibly be interested in that, please let me know!
the title was inspired by the hozier song (surprise surprise) because i just think it's a super beautiful sentiment. farewell, obviously, is a term of goodbye... as ellie had left reader. fare well, however, is how one does. the song essentially displays situations of darkness in life, but a resilience despite them. so, a farewell to a dark period, as a person will now fare well in life.
i like it a lot and it's what i picture for ellie as she continues to heal, which is why i used it as the title lol :)
a portrait of ellie, (still) hopelessly in love. a series of small moments following your relationship after borrowed time runs out.
or... long distance gf!ellie headcanons ˎˊ˗
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie learns very quickly that your texting speed is its own language. a text every few minutes means a regular day. a wall of messages arriving all at once —like seventeen notifications in the span of thirty seconds— means something good happened. she'll open her phone to a tsunami and she'll read every single message in order, carefully, and then she'll put her phone down and she'll be smiling like an idiot and she'll hope nobody in the vicinity notices.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is just not a natural texter. if anything, she's a caller —always has been, always will be— but the time zones don't exactly cooperate, so she had to learn. it cost a lot. there was a period, early on, where her response time was just awful. you'd send her something and then wait and wait and wait. and the waiting would start to feel like something it wasn't, and more than once you sent her something like are you mad at me?
slowly, she got better. it took time and it took you telling her, once, that the silence made your brain do things. once she did, her messages became unbearably tender. tiny updates throughout the day, pictures of things that reminded her of you, half-finished thoughts sent at three in the morning because she suddenly missed you too much to stay quiet about it.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie treats facetime like the sacred thing it is. there are loose scheduled times that you two try to keep but honestly it just happens whenever it happens. she'll be deep in research at midnight, papers spread everywhere, and you'll call because you just got off your shift and she'll always answer immediately, without hesitation. sometimes you two talk for hours. sometimes you two just exist together on screen. her at her desk, you wherever you are, neither of you saying much. just there, present. it's more than enough.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has fallen asleep during your calls more than once and this embarrasses her deeply. you have a collection of pictures and screenshots, evidence of her sleeping like a log. one of them has her drooling slightly on her notes. the irony is, you're statistically the more frequent offender; you've fallen asleep on call more times than either of you can count, but ellie's cases are documented and that's what matters. she has pretended, every single time, that it didn't happen. you have let her have this because you sense her embarrassment.
͙͘͡★ will watch you do your skincare routine with her chin in her hand and not say a single word. you prop your phone up against the mirror and just talk, rambling about your day, about your students, about whatever is happening in your busy head at eleven pm. she listens and watches carefully every single time. something about the domesticity of it does something to her that she couldn't name even if she tried.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who sometimes plays guitar on call because you ask her. at first, she refused but you asked again and then asked again after that. she caved eventually and now it's a thing. her, her guitar in her lap, her phone propped somewhere nearby, playing quietly while you listen. if she's feeling particularly daring she'll even sing a little, just a bit. she acts embarrassed every time, but she's not that embarrassed anymore. she loves it and she loves that you love it.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who secretly saves every photo you send her, every single one. selfies, coffee pictures, random screenshots, your classroom decorations, your dog, your lunch. it doesn’t matter. her camera roll is basically just evidence that she’s deeply in love with you.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie never gets used to missing you, but also never stops feeling grateful that she gets to. missing you means that she gets to love you and to her that’s worth every ache.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie struggles with the distance more than you do, even if she doesn’t always know how to say it. she isn’t clingy exactly, but she needs and craves closeness. she just feels the distance differently than you do. you miss her terribly but you can hold yourself together with words, the connection sustains you as long as it's there.
ellie needs the words and the physical. she doesn't need much, she just needs something. kissing your temple while passing behind you in the kitchen, feeling your fingers play with the baby hairs at the back of her neck, you, specifically, scratching slow circles between her shoulder blades... she especially misses all the tiny unconscious intimacy.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who genuinely cannot believe she’s dating you, like actually. sometimes she’ll just look at you and think what the fuck. the prettiest girl she’s ever seen is talking to her... willingly. that's crazy.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie gets sent a lot of pictures per week of your newest coffee creations. little foam flowers, hearts, leaves... one time, somehow, an actual swan. most of these look a little curious but that's okay.
ellie 🦕
oh i know that coffee is fire
you
you don’t even like coffee so how would you know...
ellie 🦕
the barista is gay as hell so i know actually
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie especially loves when your hands are visible in the photos you send her. when she can see your rings, the chipped red nail polish, the little ink stains you get from correcting papers. sometimes there’s glitter stuck to the side of your hand from classroom crafts or faint marker smudges near your wrist. all these tiny traces of your life she’s grown so painfully fond of. tiny fragments of a life she wishes she was standing inside of instead of only witnessing through pictures on her phone.
she stares at those pictures longer than she means to because she misses your hands terribly. misses the feeling of them in her hair, your fingers softly tracing shapes against her arm while talking or the outline of her tattoo, misses holding your hand while walking somewhere with no rush to get there.
sometimes she catches herself staring at a picture and thinking how badly she wants to hold your hands again. not even for long, just once.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie thinks you’re beautiful in a way that actually disorients her a little. especially because you’re not just hot — you’re sweet. she does think that you’re the hottest person alive but also the sweetest. and somehow the combination completely ruins her. because okay yeah your tits are incredible but you also remember little things she says in passing and send her voice notes when you walk home and talk about your kids so lovingly and suddenly she’s sitting there like damn... i’m doomed.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who sends you bouquets of flowers quite frequently. she found a flower shop near your house and even though they didn't do house deliveries, she got them to do it somehow. the florist on the other end of that call was charmed within thirty seconds when ellie first called and agreed to deliver a bouquet to your house.
it started because you had a terrible week. like genuinely awful — double shift at the café, a difficult class, one of your kids was having a hard time and it was breaking your heart, and you mentioned it to ellie scattered across three different conversations that she was paying close attention to even when she didn't say much.
the flowers arrived next day. you just got home from your classes when your mom called you to the door and there it was, a bouquet of pink flowers with a little card.
"you're doing really good. i mean it. - e"
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie after that, it becomes a thing, though not on a schedule. it just happens when it happens, which somehow makes it more devastating each time because you never see it coming. tucked between the stems there’s always a tiny little note. in it it's not her handwriting, but definitely her words.
"obviously. you studied for two weeks straight. - e"
“i kissed you in my thoughts did you felt it... -e"
"that bus driver will go to hell. -e"
"i beleaf in you -e"
“for my favorite teacher ♡ -e"
"you're worth every mile between us. -e"
“sometimes i think the universe made you specifically for me. like okay. pretty girl who smells like coffee and oranges and kisses me softly. alright man. - e”
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie once opened tiktok late at night and got one of those tarot readings that are now flooding her fyp thanks to you. the woman in the video was saying something like "YOUR PERSON IS A STUBBORN FIRE SIGN WHO MISSES YOU EVERY NIGHT. YOU WILL BE SOON TOGETHER ONCE AGAIN." she was already prepared to scroll past it but she opened the comments and noticed your profile picture in the comments, dead serious:
"i claim this energy ✨🧿"
she laughed so hard she had to put her phone down for a second. still, she found the whole thing weirdly endearing... it was just so painfully you. romantic and earnest without embarrassment. you love things wholeheartedly and openly in a way ellie still still isn't fully used to.
okay, maybe the universe is speaking directly to her girlfriend through tiktok tarot readings. WHO is she to judge.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie teases you relentlessly for your tarot habits but also listens with complete seriousness whenever you start explaining them. she'll sit there nodding while you talk about crystals and energies and card pulls like you're presenting groundbreaking scientific research.
sometimes, she'll pretend to be skeptical just to hear you defend it harder. she even lets you do readings for her and acts deeply unimpressed about it. "this is bullshit.... okay, pull another card though."
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is incapable of saying goodnight first, you've noticed. no matter how tired she is, no matter what time it is, ellie will not be the one to end the conversation. you have to do it every single time, and even then she always sends one more thing after just in case.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie misses your country’s summers so much it physically pains her, even though she spent the entire time complaining. she genuinely hated it. your room had no AC, only that loud ass fan that sounded like a plane preparing for takeoff and barely helped at all. secretly, she loved feeling your skin warm and sticky against hers. both of you were always too overheated to fully cuddle but still found a way to touch each other somehow; a leg thrown over hers, your fingers sleepily scratching her stomach, her face tucked into your chest at 3am while the fan rattled violently in the background...
she complained about it and yet, she would give anything to be back in your bedroom right now. she misses those horrible sweaty nights more than she can explain once she’s back in jackson.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie randomly sends you songs, and you do the same. it's like another form of communication at this point.
ellie’s are usually late night sends with absolutely zero context. just a link, no caption. just the song and the implication that she heard something and thought of you or thought of herself or thought of the two of you and couldn't not send it.
you send her songs too, even though your music taste is a tad different than hers. she listens to every single song carefully because a song you love is information about you and she wants all the information about you she can get.
your contributions to this arrangement include playlists with titles like songs to kiss me to when you see me again and, inexplicably (or not so inexplicably if she thinks about it), multiple tracks from the shrek soundtrack.
you
this is the greatest song of all time
ellie 🦕
disespectfully i disagree
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie cannot, under any circumstances, maintain a single linear conversation and neither can you. this is a ongoing issue. you will be mid-sentence about something important and one of you will say something that reminds the other of something completely unrelated and suddenly you're three topics deep with no map back. many important conversations have been lost this way. every discussion becomes like ten different discussions stitched together badly.
the solution you implemented, after one too many "wait what were we talking about" moments was the parentheses system because otherwise neither of you would ever finish a story.
you say parentheses out loud and whatever comes after is a detour. you're allowed to go as far off road as you want but when you close the parentheses, you go back, no exceptions. and it works! you actually finish conversations now... occasionally.
both of you say the word “parentheses” out loud constantly because both your brains work at the speed of light apparently.
“PARENTHESES. did i tell you dina and jesse are dating again?"
“okay so my professor said— wait, parentheses. remind me to tell you what happened at the café afterwards.”
of course, you forget to close the parentheses half the time anyway. you absolutely enable each other’s tangents too, neither of you are helping the situation AT ALL.
͙͘͡★ the issue now is nested parentheses, which happen constantly and were not accounted for in the original system design.
"so the kid did the funniest thing— PARENTHESES this reminds me of what you said about the museum tours— PARENTHESES wait that also reminds me of— okay i have THREE parentheses open right now."
"well, close them in order?"
"i don't remember what order i opened them in."
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie actually loves listening to your brain jump around topics though. loves seeing how excited you get when you remember something halfway through another sentence. she thinks it’s very cute!
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie gets sent approximately eight hundred tiktoks per day. genuinely an alarming amount considering you are both busy adults... you send her tiktoks like you're being PAID per video sent. ellie wakes up to at least five notifications minimum on a slow day. she's completely baffled by it, but she still watches every single one, always.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie on the other hand, is an instagram reels person and this is genuinely incomprehensible to you. you receive reels from ellie that were funny approximately four to six months ago. memes that have been dead and buried and mourned.
you
ellie. this meme is from february
ellie 🦕
okay? it's funny
you
it was funny... in FEBRUARY
ellie 🦕
it was funny in february and it's still funny now
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie who receives a good morning texts from you every single day, without fail. even if it's just "gm <3" at 6am while half asleep. ellie wakes up to them and her whole morning is different.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie quietly opens her camera roll and just looks at your pictures for a while when the missing gets particularly bad. she always avoided cameras, even before meeting you. always turned her face away or groaned whenever someone pulled out a phone, but now she wishes she had documented every ordinary little moment that felt infinite at the time. she regrets not taking more pictures so much.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is a composed person... generally. she acts all cocky over text until you tell her “i’ll send you something later” and suddenly she’s typing like her hands are vibrating because they, in fact, are. her body just responds before her brain can do anything about it. she genuinely shakes in excitement when she knows you’re about to send boobs or ass, like a damn chihuahua. pacing around her room and checking her phone every four seconds.
you figured out very early that you have an extraordinary amount of power in this specific situation and you use it responsibly (well... no.)
ellie 🦕
i was in a meeting????
you
i know 😚
ellie 🦕
ok so you did that on purpose
you
it was on purpose yes
ellie 🦕
i hate you
you
booo you don't
ellie 🦕
were you actually thinking about me or
you
literally yes. i'm thinking about you alllll the time <33
ellie 🦕
okay
i don't have another meeting until 3
you
LMFAOOO
ellie 🦕
what
you
nothing nothing 😇
you're so cute i can't stand it
ellie 🦕
i'm not cute
so about that 3pm window
you
yes els
yes okay 😭
ellie 🦕
cool cool cool
i mean
good
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie literally gets hit with longing at the the most mundane moments that have no business making her feel like this. like, when she's doing the dishes, or when she hears a song you love, or when she wakes up from naps and reaches for you before remembering... just yearning and daydreaming all day long.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has a moment, just a few months in, where she genuinely cannot see how this works long term and it terrifies her. she almost texts you about it at 2am. instead, she stared at the ceiling for an hour and then send "i really like you" completely unprompted. you answer immediately "i really like you too ILOVEYOUUUU <3333 go to sleep. long day tomorrow"
and the crisis passes, just like that.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie owns an “i ♡ my girlfriend” pin. it’s clipped onto her backpack right beside the one joel got her for her birthday a few years ago. she looks super proud every time someone points it out and will talk about her awesome girlfriend—you, of course. it has never been removed and it will never be removed. it will be on that backpack until the backpack disintegrates.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie gets a summer position doing guided tours for children at her local natural history museum. this is objectively perfect for her and also a disaster because ellie is great at information but not so great at children, or so she claims. she called you in a quiet panic on her second day.
"there's so many of them and they won't stop moving and one of them just licked a bone?"
obviously, you immediately appoint yourself as ellie's unofficial child-wrangling consultant. you had been handling this exact category of chaos for some time now, so you gave her the tips you'd collected the hard way. the advice starts coming in unprompted, but ellie listens to all of it and takes notes.
"okay, if a kid won't stop touching the display, what you do is give them a job. tell them they're the official display guardian. suddenly it's their responsibility to protect it."
ellie tries this the next day, and it miraculously works.
͙͘͡★ so, this becomes a thing. ellie encounters a child situation, texts you, you provide a strategy, ellie implements it, and it works most of the time, so she ends up using your techniques constantly.
“okay guys, if you can hear me clap once!” and suddenly twenty children are listening to her. holy shit. witchcraft? maybe.
ellie starts looking forward to having problems just so she can ask you about them.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie by the end of the summer is genuinely good with the kids on her tours. like actually really good. she crouches down to their level and speaks to them like small intelligent people and gets them excited about bones and fossils they did not care about in the first place.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has a contact photo of you that you hate with your whole entire heart. it was taken during autumn. you're sitting on a park bench, mikey in your arms, laughing at something off camera — something she said, probably, though neither of you can remember what. you were not aware that she was taking a picture; your hair is messy from the wind and your mouth is wide open mid-laugh, your nose scrunched the way it does when you laugh. mikey is looking at the camera with his whole little face.
you've asked her to change it an ungodly number of times but ellie genuinely loves that picture so much that her eyes go a little watery when she looks at it for a long time.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is not a words of affirmation person in general EXCEPT with you over long distance. because she can't touch you or show up the way she wants, so she has to say it. and every time she does, you stores her words up like treasure.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is not sending nudes. this is a non-negotiable that she established early and has maintained with great conviction. she's glad that you respect that completely and never make her feel weird about it.
you, on the other hand, have no such convictions. you send her nudes like you're sending a good morning text. she receives these and has to take a minute because holy fuck? she loves receiving them, loves them BAD. but sending things back? uh, that's an horrifying concept. she just doesn’t feel fully comfortable with it at first, not because she doesn’t trust you —she trusts you completely— she’s just awkward and weirdly shy about it.
the first time ellie sent something, it was completely unannounced. just a mirror picture of her in her sports bra after coming back from the gym.
she slowly starts getting more confident over time, little by little. at first it’s just mirror selfies in sports bras. then maybe the waistband of her boxers peeking out low on her hips, maybe a blurry picture of her stomach while she’s laying in bed... she always sends what she's comfortable with and nothing more, so, her face isn't showing in most of these pictures.
the no face rule is also firm and you think it's actually really cute.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie spends like twenty minutes deciding whether or not to send a picture only for it to be the tamest thing you’ve ever received in your life, but to her it feels insanely vulnerable. she gets embarrassingly proud of herself afterwards too, trying to act all casual while clearly waiting for praise.
ellie 🦕
so
was that like. cool or whatever.
you
i almost passed out in the middle of the grocery store
ellie 🦕
okay relax
you
NO because why are you casually sending me stomach like that ??? happy pride to ME !!!!
need you so bad phone sex isn’t enough anymore actually i’m being serious
and then you said the most explicit shit she ever read.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie gets so flustered when you’re explicit because she never expects it despite the fact that you have literally been dating for ages. you’ll say the most insane out of pocket thing imaginable and she’ll just stare at her phone blinking slowly with her cheeks burning bright red. she secretly loves knowing she can affect you like that, loves when you lose your mind over the smallest things she sends. she still genuinely can’t believe you want her that much.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie is, however, extremely and immediately down for phone sex every single time. her consistency is actually remarkable... this is not something she needs convincing about AT ALL. she's down for it literally every time, there is no situation where she’s turning down phone sex. you could text “u busy" and she’s already plugging her headphones in. the contrast between "will not send a single picture" and "phone call? yes. right now? yes." is something you find both hilarious and incredibly her.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has a name for you when you're grumpy. it started because you called her once when you were in a sour mood that had no single cause, just the accumulation of a long day. she listened to you rant for minutes before saying, very calmly:
"okay, miss trunchbull."
you got grumpier immediately, which made her laugh. and you cannot stay grumpy through that laugh, you've tried, and it's physically impossible, but you were determined that day so you stayed grumpy a little while through sheer force of will before it cracked you open.
so, she calls you miss trunchbull just when you're grumpy because it makes you grumpier first and then not grumpy at all. it's the most efficient method of fixing your mood and she uses it without shame.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie almost cried tears of joy when your old phone finally died. not because she hated it or anything — she had defended that thing for months actually. “it’s still working” she’d say every time you complained about storage or battery life or the camera quality resembling active surveillance footage. it served you well. it was a good phone. she harbors no ill will toward it whatsoever.
but the second you texted her my phone finally gave up she sat up so fast because okay, that meant you were getting a new one… a better one. with a better camera, probably. which meant she got to see you in HIGH DEFINITION.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie was genuinely stunned into silence for a second the first facetime call after you got the new phone. because suddenly there you were, her girl. all pretty and alive looking on her screen. your face clear and detailed in a way she hadn't seen in months. she could see the exact shade of your eyes, the little moves your eyebrows made while talking, the texture of your lip gloss. the tiny beauty mark in your face that she used to kiss all the time.
her eyes went embarrassingly wet.
obviously, she became immediately unbearable afterwards.
“wait hold on move closer.”
“lemme see your makeup.”
“baby your skin looks crazy good on this thing, what the fuck?"
“wait, smile again”
“okay now turn your head to the side please— wait, you got a new piercing?"
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie did not come pre-assembled for this relationship. opening up —about feelings, mostly— did not come naturally to her. it took time, an embarrassing amount of time, by her own private admission.
joel miller raised her, so one can do the math.
early on she'd go quiet when something was wrong and you'd be on the other side of it not knowing what you'd done or what she needed. more than once you asked are you okay and got yeah and had to decide whether to believe it or not. sometimes you pushed gently and sometimes you waited, but you got good at reading the difference.
she's quite good at it now. not perfect, and she's probably never going to be perfect, but now she'll tell you when something's wrong and she'll tell you what she needs and she'll say it was a bad day and instead of just not saying it and hoping you somehow know.
you think it's one of the bravest things about her, and you love her a little more for that.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie thinks loving you feels a little like adding honey to bitter things. the bad parts don’t disappear completely, but somehow they become easier to swallow.
you are, very literally, the sweetness of her life.
since you got into her life, her days started feeling softer around the edges simply because you were in them. she notices it especially on bad days, because even when everything feels exhausting and frustrating, there’s still this quiet thought in the back of her mind:
i can call her later.
and somehow, that makes everything feel a little more survivable.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie doesn't talk about you much with joel. not because she doesn't want to, it's just kind of weird, so she keeps it brief. like, she mentions you occasionally. "she's good" when he asks about you. "yeah, we're good" when he asks how's everything between you two. joel doesn't push much and she's thankful for that. still, somehow, he ends up knowing plenty about you anyway through little things she mentions.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie whose lockscreen is a strip of those vintage photobooth pictures with three frames.
in the first, the two of you are side by side, just looking at the camera, her arm around your shoulder
in the second frame, you've turned toward her, one of your hands grabbing her face with absolutely zero gentleness, and you're kissing her cheek so hard she has her eyes closed. her expression is somewhere between laughing and suffering, even though she was delighted.
in the third one you're sitting in her lap and you're kissing her properly.
she’s changed phones twice and somehow the lockscreen always stays the same. she's never changed and never will because you look so pretty in it. she's told you this more than once and she's not saying it to be nice, she's saying it because it's just true.
once she admitted very quietly that she likes it so much because it captured you exactly as she remembers you, just loud and sweet and all over her in the most loving way possible.
“i dunno,” she shrugged afterwards, all awkward about the vulnerability. “you just look really happy with me in them. i like it.”
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie sends you a picture immediately every single time she sees hello kitty and spiderman together anywhere. doesn’t matter where she is. random stores, at the shopping, on gas stations, when she's doing her groceries... you best believe she’ll stop dead in the aisle to take a picture.
ellie 🦕
thought you should know we’re apparently luggage now?
ellie 🦕
you and me
ellie 🦕
i got these two. they reminded me of us
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie stole your hello kitty plushie before leaving. technically, you let her borrow it while she stayed in your place, but one day she left with it tucked under her arm and never gave it back.
in her defense, she fully intended to tell you before leaving. then she forgot. she got back to jackson and unpacked and there it was, sitting in her lap looking guilty as hell. you discovered the theft like four days later.
you
ellie. WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?
turns out, she underestimated how emotionally attached you were to that thing. she should've known, of course, since it was very obviously beloved. poor thing looked like it had survived several wars. one eye missing, fur all faded and discolored, stuffing slightly lumpy from years of being held too much. maybe that’s part of why she loved it immediately.
eventually, after a long dramatic exchange where you accused her of kidnapping and demanded visitation rights that she had to pay, you relented.
you
okay okay okay… you can keep her
take care of my daughter please ☹️
now it sits on her bed in jackson like it belongs there. she uses it as a pillow sometimes, mostly when the missing you thing gets particularly bad. not because it’s comfortable but because it smells like you. like coffee, your shampoo, and that sweet clean scent that clings to your sheets. every time the smell faded a little more she genuinely felt devastated.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie cannot peel an orange without getting nostalgic.
it’s genuinely baffling to her how specific the memory is, too. every time she peels one, the memory just hits her. the juice on your fingers, the smell sharp and sweet in the warm air.
it's this really specific memory: the two of you sitting outside in the sun, eating oranges like two elderly people with nowhere to be and nothing to do. you beside her, handing her a piece before she asked.
you’d peel them together and leave little piles of orange skins between you while talking about absolutely nothing.
it was genuinely nothing. no special occasion, no milestone. just a random afternoon in your backyard eating oranges in the sun because you insisted you needed “vitamin D and enrichment,” so you dragged ellie outside with a bowl of oranges.
she'd been so hot that day, she remembers. she'd also been so happy, but she hadn't said that part out loud.
every time she peels one, she immediately gets hit with this horrible ache in her chest because suddenly she could practically hear your voice again in her ear.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie has a locket with a tiny photo of you inside it.
you both do. they're small matching ones in silver, heart shaped and worn from constant use — your idea, which she called cheesy and agreed to in the same breath.
inside hers there’s a tiny picture of you on one side and a picture of the two of you together on the other. inside yours, the same. just ellie where you were. the photos are cut unevenly because you were laughing too hard while trying to trim them with tiny scissors.
she touches it constantly without realizing.
when she’s stressed, her fingers drift there automatically. when she’s tired. when she’s thinking. when she misses you. she’ll rub her thumb over the edge of it absentmindedly over it.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie knows the distance is hard and ugly sometimes. there are nights where missing you sits so heavy in her chest she genuinely doesn’t know what to do with herself besides call you and listen to you breathe for a while. there are days where the time difference frustrates her so badly she has to put her phone down and walk around the block before she starts feeling too miserable about it.
but still, underneath all of that there’s certainty. quiet certainty, but certainty anyway.
it won’t be like this forever.
maybe she’ll come back to you, or maybe you’ll come to her. maybe it’ll take longer than either of you want, but it will happen because she’s sure of it, like the way she’s sure the sun rises every morning in the east. it's not blind optimism, just faith. in you and in what this became. faith in the fact that loving you has rooted itself too deeply into her life to ever become temporary
she doesn't know when it will happen and she's made peace with it, mostly. the logistics are complicated, after all. visas, flights, money, schedules and a thousand more small bureaucratic obstacles that stand between two people who just want to be in the same room again.
she knows all of them by heart. she's been working through them one by one, but she doesn't talk about it much. doesn't say i've been researching flights or i asked about visa requirements again or i've been putting money aside every month since i got back. she just does it without fanfare.
you know, anyway. you can tell by the way she says when instead of if. always when. from the very beginning, it has always been when.
when i visit.
when you come to jackson.
when we're in the same place again.
when i see you again.
when, when, when.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie works so hard for it too. probably harder than you realize. taking extra shifts at the museum and saving money whenever she can, researching programs for once she graduates and jobs late at night when she should be sleeping.
she's building a bridge back to you, piece by piece. slowly but surely.
͙͘͡★ bittersweet!ellie once told you, after one particularly difficult night apart:
“i don’t know exactly how yet. but i know i’ll find my way back to you.”
and she meant it with her whole heart.
───────── ⋆ ˖ ─────────
⋆｡° ⋆ ˖ a/n:
honey-sick because... homesick. but honey. because she misses you and you’re the sweetness of her life. get it... 😚 maybe it sounded better in my head BUT WHATEVER. maybe i’ll rename this part later hehe
this was originally written as a little extra or as companion piece for my one shot bittersweet, but honestly i think it can be read as a standalone too. it’s basically just ellie and reader being painfully in love across several time zones and trying to survive it <3 also this is my first time writing in this format so i genuinely have no idea if i did this correctly LMFAOOOO but i had so much fun writing it. these two mean everything to me actually. like genuinely i think about them all the time
i wrote this in one sitting and didn't proofread it so the tenses are probably all over the place i’m SO sorry i’ll probably fix them later. or not..
anyway thank you so much for reading ♡ and if you have any requests or thoughts about these two PLEASEEE send them my way because i will take literally any excuse to write more of them 😚 mwah
Your roommate has a really bad dating life, almost every weekend she ends up crying in your arms and begging for the universe to bring her the perfect girl instead of someone who’ll cheat on her just because she loves too hard. While you both question why the one who always loves less wins, you start falling for her— her enthusiasm to show you her sketches, talk about her interests, and how she always takes care of your needs subconsciously. You’re both falling. Hard.
content: friends to lovers , roommate au , crying , comfort , ellie is a nerd and a lovergirl someone save her , playful banter , ellie asks you out , fingering , kissing , nipple sucking , biting , hickeys , ellie is very good at sex and very bad at love , pussy pronouns
word count: ~ 2.4k words
Ellie was curled up in your arms, her face pressed into your chest as far tears rolled down her face. The room smelled softly of her cologne and the air was tense with sadness that was practically radiating off of her. Her shoulders shook, voice cracking as she mumbled about how her love life was absolutely hopeless.
You didn’t know what to do.
You sat there and let her bawl her eyes out. God knows she needed it.
“Oh, Els, come on.” You reached out and tucked a loose strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, “you know you deserve a better date. Someone who won’t make you pay for everything while knowing you’re only in college yourself.”
Ellie sniffled, wiping at her face roughly with one hand, “I know… but it sucks because most girls out there just want a—” she hiccuped and started sobbing loudly into your chest again, “—they just want someone who can take care of their needs and I want to be that someone.”
“Oh… oh, there you go.”
You patted her back, a little awkward but you mainly felt sorry for the poor girl. You know how deeply Ellie loved when she fell in love.
Flowers and chocolates and love letters.
She was a hopeless romantic.
She wasn’t rich. She barely earned enough to pay her half of rent but you knew she had a big heart. If she couldn’t afford an actual bouquet, she’d make a paper bouquet from scratch, and that was more romantic to you than any kind of real flower.
Ellie sobbed harder into your chest. Your arms came around her, embracing her gently. “It’s okay, shhh…”
“I just wanna be loved too.” Ellie said, voice almost so miserable you just wanted to cuddle her in your chest and never let her go.
“Yeah, I get it. Everyone wants that.”
After a little bit of sitting there with her, you moved. Ellie blinked at you with her teary eyes. You reached back and grabbed a bottle of water from your bedside table. You uncapped it and offered it to her.
“You’ve been crying for a while, Els, you gotta drink some water now.”
Ellie whined and shoved at it weakly, “don’t wanna.”
“But you gotta.”
Ellie groaned, almost as if annoyed but not really and finally wrapped her fingers around the base of the bottle, taking it from you. She took a sip, then another.
“You really gotta start getting to know someone first before you date them, y’know?”
“But I do.” Ellie defended, voice almost whiny.
“No, you don’t. I guess you take them out too fast.”
Ellie paused, thinking about it.
“I guess so.”
You sighed, “alright, we’ve spotted the problem. Next time, let yourself court the girl for a bit before you jump into trying to take her out on an expensive date.”
Ellie pouted. “But what if she thinks I’m some cheapskate?”
You flicked her forehead playfully, “you’re a master at attracting gold diggers because of your dating antics.”
Ellie capped the bottle of water, and quietly gave it back to you. “But then, what if when I’m trying to get to know that girl, she gets bored of me?”
“Why’d she get bored of you?”
“I’m not exactly the most interesting person on the planet.” She paused. “For starters, I don’t know what to talk about if it’s not my art, my journal and… comics.”
You stifled a laugh.
“Hey! Don’t laugh at me!”
“I’m sorry, it’s— you’re really cute.”
The words escaped before you could stop yourself and now you both were left blushing, and the proximity between you both was suddenly so… clear.
“Thank you…”
You nodded, looking away as if your face wasn’t a dead giveaway of how flustered you felt in the moment.
“But I’m serious. I’m really not that interesting of a person if I’m to be honest and I don’t know if most girls even like that sort of stuff…”
“Well, you might eventually find someone who likes that kinda stuff. You just gotta be patient.”
Ellie huffed and face-planted into a pillow, “I hate being patient!”
You smiled, “too bad, Els. Good things come to those who wait.”
Ellie didn’t respond, she remained like that with her face pressed into your pillow. You nudged her with your foot.
“Els? You alive?”
No response.
You nudged again, “Ellie.”
She groaned in response.
“You alive?”
“Barely.”
You rolled your eyes, “you can’t move into my bed forever.”
She groaned again. “Maybe I can.”
“Your coping mechanisms are so weird.”
“They work.”
“You’re literally sobbing into my fresh bedding.”
“I’m marking territory.”
“What are you, a puppy?”
Ellie didn’t respond verbally. She just made a whining sound that very much did sound like a puppy’s. It made you roll your eyes. You snatched the pillow away, forcing her to look at you. Her eyes were a little swollen from crying and there were tear tracks drying on her freckled face. You sighed, wiping at her cheeks with your thumb.
“You can’t be moping around forever.”
“But I can.”
“And it’s not healthy.”
“Healthy.” Ellie snorted. You felt embarrassment crawling up your neck. “You eat snacks for meals.”
“Shut up!”
Ellie grinned, smug.
“You’re impossible.”
She pulled the pillow away and tossed it aside. It bounced off the edge of the mattress and plopped on the floor. Ellie didn’t look back. She crawled on top of you and laid there, her long legs tangling with yours as she wrapped both arms around your waist. She rested her face on your plush chest, getting comfortable.
“Am I hard to love?”
She didn’t look at you when she asked you that, and somehow that made the question hurt more. Your heart squeezed, trying to formulate an answer. Then you answered,
“No, you’re not hard to love.”
“But—”
“Ellie, you’re not hard to love,” you stroked her hair idly, “you’re thoughtful. You make handmade gifts.”
“Because I’m broke.”
“That’s besides the point.”
“That’s absolutely the point.”
You shook your head with a sigh.
“Ellie, you notice things about people that others don’t and the little things that you do, like listening to someone when they’re ranting instead of just waiting for your turn to speak, they make you special. You’re one of a kind.”
The silence that filled the room right after you’d said that made you want to handcraft a coffin and crawl into it for the rest of the summer.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, you’re fine.”
Ellie grinned, cheeks red, but she looked so fucking smug.
“It’s okay if you think I’m attractive.”
“Ellie, that’s not what I—”
“I mean, I’ve known you for longer than any girl I’ve been on a date with so… would you wanna go out with me?”
“Ellie…”
“Would you?” Ellie pressed, swallowing thickly as the nervousness started crawling up her spine.
You pulled her closer, “yeah, okay, I will. Try not to talk my head off about dinosaurs.”
Ellie flushed. “I wouldn’t!”
“Sure,” you drawled.
“So when do you wanna go out?” Ellie asked.
“Whenever you wanna.”
“Right now?”
“It’s 2 am.”
Ellie blinked. As if there was nothing wrong with going out on a date at 2 am.
You sighed softly and pushed at her, voice tired and sleepy, “go to bed.”
“Oh, my heart. You wound me.” Ellie said, mockingly grabbing her chest.
You rolled your eyes, lips twitching in a smile but you kicked her off your bed this time, curling up into a tight ball.
“Go to your room, turn off my light when you go.”
Ellie crawled back in your bed and kissed your forehead, “alright, princess.”
Your eyes snapped open, wide. “El—”
“Goodnight!” Ellie said loudly, switching the light off and leaving— you could hear her laughing as she left down the hall.
So what if you wanted to date your roommate?
There were only two possible ways things could go. A: You both end up being perfectly compatible and live together happily forever, get married and have two cats together. Or… B: you both become a classic situation of doomed yuri, and live in complete tension and awkwardness for the rest of your lives because moving out while relying on such a little paycheck was near impossible for the both of you.
You’d really hoped this wouldn’t fuck up.
If you hadn’t been really sleepy, maybe you’d even decline her on her offer but Ellie looked so fucking cute like an excited little puppy, and you couldn’t reject her when she was already heartbroken because some Jessica broke her heart.
You hated that you were smiling in the dark like an absolute idiot. You were so gone.
You grabbed your blanket and pulled it over your head hastily, squeezing your eyes closed.
The dress you wore flowed down your waist perfectly. It wasn’t anything too gorgeous, it was simple and pretty in its simplicity. You turned once, then twice.
“Lookin’ so good, princess.”
You heard Ellie at the door.
You looked over. She stood there dressed in a loose graphic tee— looking like she picked the one that looked the least embarrassing. You smiled before you could stop yourself. She looked absolutely adorable in her little boy clothes. You crossed the room in a few strides until you were standing only a few inches away from her. You put your arms over her shoulders.
“Hi, baby. Lookin’ so good too.” You said with a little wink.
All air seemed to evaporate from Ellie’s lungs the moment you leaned close and said it. She wrapped one arm around your waist instinctively, “o-oh?”
“Yeah, baby, oh.” You giggled, “you smell good. You wore the cologne you only save for your special occasions, awww!”
Ellie’s face was resembling a fresh tomato.
“Stop, you’re so embarrassing!”
“I’m the one that’s embarrassing?” You giggled, leaning closer until your nose brushed hers, “you look like you spent all night staying up and cleaning your shoes.”
Ellie’s eyes widened, “how do you—?”
You pressed your finger to her lips, “shh, don’t say another word.”
“You’re teasing me.” Ellie mumbled.
“Am I now?”
“Yeah, you are.”
“What are you gonna do other than point and pout?”
Ellie’s eyes flashed with something you hadn’t seen ever before and before you knew it she had you pinned against the wall of your room, her hand gripping your waist as the other held both your wrists pinned above your head— expertly enough for you to know she’d done this before.
You stared at her, lips parted in awe and eyes wide with shock.
“That’s what I thought, baby.” Ellie kissed your jaw, peppering more kisses down your neck as she pulled you closer.
Your eyes fluttered shut, throwing your head back slightly to allow her more access to the sensitivity of your neck. Ellie’s chapped lips sucked a pretty dark hickey on the side of your neck.
You whimpered, opening your eyes just for a second to make eye contact with her before you felt one of her thighs shifting between both your legs. She started moving it slowly, letting your clothed heat rub against her.
It didn’t take you long to start grinding back against her, letting your stupidly soaked cunt drench the cotton of your panties as you rubbed yourself on your date’s thigh.
“I need you, Els…”
“You were the one teasin’ me just a bit ago, and now you can’t take a little of your own medicine?” Ellie asked, tone playful.
“I wasn’t doin’ any of this!”
“Maybe.”
Ellie kissed you, swallowing all your protests, not that you wanted her to stop either because she felt so good in the moment. She guided you to the bed and laid you down, pausing just for a moment, holding the hem of your dress.
“May I?”
You blushed. Fuck.
Asking for consent this gently was so hot.
“Yeah.”
Ellie pushed your dress up to reveal your soaked panties and kissed your thighs, spreading out the span of her kisses along your inner thighs before she finally slipped the garment down your legs, exposing you bare to her eyes.
Ellie kissed the mound first, rubbing it with her hand. “There… she’s so pretty.”
You blushed, “I need you, Ellie…”
“How badly do you need me?”
You reached down and pushed your pussy lips open using one hand. Warm, wet arousal slipped between your folds and trickled down. The sight alone could turn on any lesbian.
Ellie cussed under her breath, “fuck, she’s drippin’ for me.”
She rubbed your clit with one hand, using the other to finger you. She licked the length of her two fingers first before she gently stuck them inside.
She moved them in and out gently, curling and uncurling as she searched for that one sweet spot that would have you cumming within seconds.
She wasn’t rough. Not at all.
She was the gentlest anyone had ever been with your body.
Your fingers dug in the sheets, chasing the way she fingered you. She curled again— brushing your g-spot effectively. You gasped, cumming before you even realised.
Ellie didn’t stop, she kept her fingers going. She moved up, and pushed your dress up further until your chest was exposed. She tugged your bra over your tits, letting your perfect breasts sit at their natural place.
Her tongue found them first, circling a nipple to perk it right up. She played with your nipple— sucking and biting freely.
“You’re so gorgeous, I can’t get enough of you.”
Your arms wrapped around her. Her thumb pressed on your clit, fingers still pumping steadily in your cunt.
“She makes the best sounds too.” She said, referring to all the wet sounds your pussy was making.
Her words only made you more and more embarrassed.
♡₊˚ ──── need ellie who has the most icky perverted thoughts about her gf all the time :( i want her obsessed with me !!!!!
you have no idea she's really like this—after all, she's just so sweet n so gentle with you. it's bcz she knows that if she were to do the things she often thought about to you, there's a chance you'd just explode. something about you makes her so feral. every piece of you, she loves, like your loveable doe eyes or soft lips, your tits that are just so grope-able, your tummy, your supple thighs, your ass, your pussy and how it responds to her so well. it's all in her head all the time. a little bit of midriff gets her goin' like nothing else!
it's not that you're a prude. but you're sensitive! she doesn't want to upset you. but she's so desperate to get you messy at every moment. at night, she stares at your innocent sleeping face and has to shake away all the nasty ideas that arise. her tongue yearns to taste your body. to wash over your hardened nipples, to suck your clit, to try the salty sheen of sweat that forms when you exert yourself too much. she's overstimulated you too many times before, never intentionally, all because she felt that she needed to get deeper and deeper into you. she loves how your pussy feels around her fingers—how it clamps down the deeper she goes, when she rubs her fingertips on your spongey spot. it makes her truly sad, devastated almost to the point of crying real tears, that she can't feel it when she's strapping you. knowing she'll never know how it feels to bust inside you—or on you—that's miserable existence.
there are little things that you do that drive her absolutely wild. you strip down to your panties and pull a nightie over your head, but she's sat on the bed trying not to stare too obviously, her mouth watering at all that plush skin on show. if she didn't know any better, she'd take as many pictures of you as she could for her safe keeping—shots of you in the shower with soapy tits, or your face screwed up in pleasure when she's touching you. the only picture she's got is a polaroid in her wallet of you in your favourite bra, and she gazes at it more than she'd like to admit. it's real pathetic when she's pullin' out her card to pay for your dinner n she gets distracted by the flimsy little paper . . ♡
i think we should be ridiculing them more for this. you don't get to try and go all "queer website" when your staff likes to go on nuking sprees targeting the trans fem users
The other side of the bed–unoccupied. The wooden table bare, lacking any note. A hook missing a jacket.
Ellie Williams slipped through your fingers in the same way that you feared she would, but still desperately hoped would never happen. Gone to chase after what plagued her mind, she left without a word. No argument, no farewell, no see you soon. No promise of return.
Cruelly so, the Earth still slowly spun.
You swore that you had finally gone mad when the floorboards creaked.
warnings : epilogue!ellie williams x afab!reader. canon universe, so all general warnings may apply. established relationship–uncertain standing. swearing. implications of grief, loss, and ptsd. mention of nightmares, lack of sleep, and a loss of appetite due to grief and trauma. implied themes of hurt/comfort. finally edited and posted after nearly a year... i listened to hozier's version of do i wanna know? on loop while writing this. please see notes at the very end.
w.c : 7.3k
. . . . .. . . . .
Timing was a strange thing. Weird concept.
You had a complicated relationship with it.
Complicated in the sense that you could never really tell if the timing of the universe was on your side, or working against you. Logically, you knew that neither were true. Timing was simply timing, and to try to distinguish a relationship between it and you would be foolish–adding an additional weight to your shoulders that you were not strong enough to carry.
Still, it had been easy to feel as though things had cosmically worked out for you when you had ended up residing in the safe town of Jackson at the same time as Ellie Williams–who had become a friend, a best friend, and then a lover. In that very specific case, it felt as though the universe had thrown you a bone. Ellie had been your lifeboat. Unfortunately, you were unable to be hers, too.
You grappled with the concept of timing a lot–a tortuous cycle of what-if’s that often took the shape of self-blame, even when it had no right or reason to do so.
The what-if’s actually might’ve been the cruelest consideration when it came to timing.
What if you had been scheduled for patrol that day, so there could’ve been another person searching for Tommy and Joel, potentially finding them sooner? What if you had been able to get to Ellie sooner, before Joel’s beaten, lifeless, bloody corpse had been burned into her eyes? What if the snowstorm that day hadn’t been as bad?
What if Tommy had shown up to the farmhouse two weeks earlier than he actually had?
The farmhouse, in all honesty, had somewhat originally been Dina’s idea. If you had more truths pulled from your unspoken thoughts, you–admittedly–resented the idea of it at first. A younger version of Ellie–one that had bright eyes and an easy laugh–hated farming tasks. She found them boring. Thought the isolation of a farmhouse, away from town, sounded lonely.
Steadily, Dina sold her on the idea. Lonely transformed into peaceful. Boring turned into kinda nice. You couldn’t fault your mutual friend, but you grew worried. Worried that the idea of a farmhouse would be less of a solace, and more of an escape. Worried that the concept started to resonate more with Ellie because she couldn’t bear to meet the eyes of those around her in Jackson–couldn’t bear to continue to face Jesse’s parents on a daily basis. Worried that Ellie couldn’t bear–just as you couldn’t bear–the way in which Tommy had started to look at Ellie less like a family member that needed to be protected, and instead more like a faulty weapon–a gun that failed to fire in a crucial moment of war.
Shortly after Seattle, you moved into a farmhouse outside of the Jackson gates with Ellie.
Timing.
If Tommy had come two weeks earlier than he had, when Ellie had that short burst when she was actually sleeping through the night, maybe she would've stayed. You had seen her smiling at a photograph of Joel that week, and her eyes hadn’t looked so dazed. Maybe if Tommy had come then, the outcome would've been different.
You knew though, really, that wasn't the case.
Ellie was unwell. Lost in a grief that she hadn’t even begun to comprehend. Traumatized. It's not like Tommy's words suddenly rewired her brain. No, she had only needed to be pointed in a direction. Needed a push.
She would've slipped away regardless, in any sense. She wouldn't have lasted long. It was a horrific truth that you had worried yourself sick over. You knew it. You knew it, and yet, you couldn't help but mull over the different possibilities. The way in which things could have unfolded, but didn't. Always back to those terrible, horrible, enticingly cruel what-ifs.
You always did carry the habit of overthinking.
Ellie would frequently smooth her thumb over the crease between your eyebrows, with a tsk and a shake of her head… a faint smile tugging on her lips. "I can literally see you thinking. Now you're starting to stress me out," she would say.
I'm sorry, you thought silently to her now. It's hard when you're not here.
Love can't fix everything. It's an unfortunate lesson that you've had to learn time and time again. You could love Ellie like your life depended on it–maybe it did–but it wouldn't take away her nightmares. You could squeeze her, hold her tightly like it was the last shred of anything that mattered, but it couldn't put back together everything that she had lost.
It wouldn't make her eat. It wouldn't make her sleep.
But it didn't stop you, either. You loved her–hard. More than anything. Easier than breathing. You loved Ellie with every inhale, every exhale, every single blink of your eyes.
And she loved you, too. God, did Ellie love you too.
Even when she couldn't find the words. Ellie loved you in the way in which she would allow you to take her hand and lead her to bed, even though she knew that she wouldn't be sleeping. She loved you in the way in which she would remind you to take breaks, despite the darkening circles underneath her own eyes. She loved you in the way in which her book of puns remained on her bedside table, meaning she would recite off the most stupid ones in the dark of your shared bedroom–anything to hear you laugh before you were lulled into your slumber.
Ellie might stay awake–red matter and gore on her mind, the sound of impact and pain ringing in her ears… but you giggled before you fell asleep, and she was glad for it.
Yeah, she loved you. There was never any doubt about that.
But it couldn't change anything. And it didn't.
Because one morning, you woke up without your lover’s arms wrapped around your form. You woke up, and the bed was cold. Missing her. Bedding slightly askew, like Ellie had just slipped out from under the covers to make a quick trip to the bathroom, or to retrieve a glass of water.
You knew, though. The realization caused by the absence of her body next to your own rapidly washed over you with a vile wave of sickness. Regret. Guilt. You should’ve known, should’ve figured, should’ve done something.
Realistically, however, you knew there was nothing that you truly could’ve done, anyway. Ellie had left without a word. No note. Nothing. It wasn’t your fault, but you felt as though it was your fault, even though you knew that it was not your fault. Still–you had been asleep. You had gotten no final words. No last, lingering glance. No goodbye. No kiss. No squeeze of the hand. No quiet promise.
You knew–in your heart that you loved Ellie very dearly and deeply with–that was how she had intended for it to go. The semblance of an easy goodbye–one lacking tears, desperate pleas, and hands that refused to let go. Ellie chose that. You knew that she did, that her departure was intentional, but the weight of it all still hung over your head.
Surely, Ellie had planned it. At least somewhat.
Any other night, you were prone to stirring whenever Ellie would stir. Every shift from Ellie was something that you were extremely aware of. When nightmares plagued her mind, you stayed up with her–talking, holding her, kissing her forehead. When she got up to pace in the kitchen, you followed. Lingered until she wanted your hands, your words, your reassurances. You were in tune with every single breath, every single beat of Ellie’s heart, every fiber of her very being. Any other night, you would’ve known. Any other night, you would’ve felt her shift–felt her sliding out of bed and you would’ve gone with her. You could’ve had a conversation, or at least kissed her one more time before you were left to desperately chase any lingering indication of her presence throughout the farmhouse. Any other night, you would’ve stirred due to Ellie’s movement, and you would’ve gone with her. Santa Barbara, or wherever else she may have ended up, you would’ve followed that girl to the end of the goddamn world.
But you knew, exactly due to that reason, why Ellie had chosen that night in particular.
The day had been good. Not just good in a wishful way–it had genuinely gone by without a fault. The two of you had wasted time that day, just sitting together in the grass and watching the sheep. Ellie had a moment where she had laughed so hard, her cheeks tinted pink. That evening, she had twirled you in the kitchen. (You had wondered–torturously, every single day since her absence–if her leaving was premeditated, or if she had just woken up and realized that she had to go. With how Ellie had been staring at you while she had twirled you around the kitchen, and with how her hands had settled on your hips, maybe she knew. At least, maybe there was an inkling of her knowing at the time. Like she was taking it in. Silently saying goodbye to the moment, while you were blissfully unaware.) You didn’t like to drink–not much, not anymore, especially after Ellie’s habit of it had picked up–but you had a few glasses that night. Just for fun. The two of you had showered together–soft kisses, healing touches, and dim lighting. You had been so gentle with each other, as you always were, as you lathered each other up and then washed everything away. You were cuddling before slumber hit you, you knew that much. But you never felt a shift.
Maybe it had been the long hours spent outside, or the alcohol, or the shower that had relaxed you down to your bones… that had caused you to sleep so heavily that night, you didn’t wake up as Ellie left. And you hated yourself for it.
And yes–you knew, deep down–that had most likely been the plan. Ellie didn’t want to say goodbye. She didn’t want to see you cry, or hear you plead with her. You knew that she did not want those things–not out of cruelty, but the exact opposite. Even more than that, though, you knew that Ellie didn’t want you going with her. And you would’ve. In a heartbeat, without a second thought, you would’ve joined her journey.
You knew that Ellie didn’t want that. Couldn’t bear it, most likely. So, she left you to sleep. Left you at the farmhouse, without any final words. Left you safe and sound. Left you alone.
The grief was all-consuming.
You cried for her. Endlessly. You were sick over it. Like the rug had been pulled out from under you, the floor falling away from your feet, you felt like you were quite literally flailing. You loved her. For years, you had loved Ellie. Every single night, she had been there.
She had comforted you through every single one of your nightmares, even when hers were surely worse. She had made sure that you were always eating, even when she couldn’t stomach anything at all. She knew more about space than anyone you had ever met, and spoke so confidently about dinosaurs… even when she stuttered on the name pronunciations. She painted with steady hands, her loved ones nearly always the subjects. She laughed at the same puns that she had laughed at when she was fourteen. She helped you name every single one of your sheep, and always referred to them as such. She made the boring things fun. She kissed you like she meant it every single time, because she did. She called you babe–her voice soft, and her gaze even softer. She tended more carefully to your wounds than she did to her own. She was your best friend. Your girlfriend. Your girl. And just like that, she was gone.
You missed her. You were worried sick. You wanted her. You loved her.
Your girl, your girl, your girl.
Your girl was no longer. It felt impossible to survive.
The world was cruel, and Ellie had never been given a break. You wanted that for her though, so terribly. You wanted the sun to break through the clouds. You wanted the rainbow after the rain. You had a fucking bone to pick the universe, forget the one that it had thrown you. Ellie Williams deserved better, and you would say it with your dying breath. You hated seeing what the world had done to her. You despised it. Spoke out loud to Joel about it, hoping that he could somehow hear you, as if he could offer you acknowledgement from beyond the grave.
Everything ached. Sometimes, you were sure that you were genuinely going crazy purely due to the not knowing. You didn’t know where Ellie was, not really. You didn’t know if she was okay, or injured, or dead.
But, truth be told, you were convinced that she was alive.
Even on your very worst days, you had a twisted sort of optimism that Ellie was alive. You were so convinced, in fact, that you were nearly certain of it. You were sure about your girlfriend’s longstanding survival, because you were convinced that if she were to die, you would feel it. Like everything in the world would somehow stop, no matter how far away she was from you. Like your body would feel it–perhaps with a hitch in your breath, or a prickle at the back of your neck. You and Ellie were so intertwined, sometimes you were convinced that if her heart were to stop beating, yours would simultaneously cease, too.
Regardless of your potential delusions, you grieved her.
Nearly everything of Ellie’s had been left behind at the farmhouse. Of course, she didn’t take many of her belongings with her–why would she?
You found solace in a gray hoodie. It was battered, truly. Ellie’s had it for years, as most people hold onto things for as long as they possibly can (just like you do with her) because items in this world are precious. Even so, Ellie’s dedication to the hoodie was practically admirable. The fabric was entirely worn–lint and little fuzzbulls littering the expanse of it. Tiny holes were worn within the fabric. Still, she had worn that thing dutifully–and now, you held onto it like a child that clings to a blanket for security.
Your relationship with the hoodie was a tricky one, though. You wanted to hug it close to you each night, to give yourself some sort of comfort from your girlfriend… but you didn’t want the material to start smelling like you instead of her. You could very much use her soap, but then it wouldn’t be the real thing. Fraudulent.
For the first few days of Ellie’s absence, you had been in a daze. You slept with the hoodie tucked carefully within Ellie’s side of the bed, exactly where she would be. The hoodie was now your lifeboat, taking up the space that Ellie should’ve been filling. You didn’t eat, you didn’t sleep. You had begun to mirror your missing girlfriend.
That had been weeks ago. A few months?
Staying on the farm wasn’t feasible, you knew that much, even if you weren’t in the most sensible state of mind. It was a lot of land–you couldn’t manage that and the animals on your own. It wasn’t necessarily safe to be on your own like that anyway–at least, in your opinion it wasn’t. You didn’t prefer it.
For the first few days after Ellie’s departure, you had been lost within your emotions. Eventually, you knew that you had to do something. You didn’t go after her. You didn’t seek out Tommy for more information. No. Despite your own personal feelings, you would keep yourself safe, because you knew that it was what Ellie had wanted for you. You would do it for her.
Jackson was safe. You went back to Jackson.
Others had helped you, various trips of lugging belongings and leading animals back to the secured safety within the walls of the town. You moved back into your old place. You saw Jesse’s parents, and spent large amounts of time with Dina and her baby, JJ. He looked so much like Jesse, that sometimes it made you feel sick.
Despite your departure from the farmhouse, you were adamant about leaving it in very fine condition. Supplies were left behind, just in case. The most valuable things of Ellie’s, you had taken to Jackson so that they could be kept safe and not be abandoned. Some things though, you had left behind. Some changes of clothes, items for getting clean… and a note.
Nothing that would jeopardize Jackson, or the safety of the people. Just a simple nod in the right direction, just in case.
You know where to find me.
Just in case. Just in case Ellie really was alive, like you swore that you could feel in your bones. Just in case she decided to return. Would she? You didn’t know. You didn’t like the possibility of yourself being abandoned, and quite honestly, you didn’t view it as such. The unfortunate truth was that the situation was much bigger than yourself. Bigger than Ellie, and bigger than your relationship. You were hurt. Angry. Devastated. And yet, you couldn’t help but be understanding. Because, once again… you knew.
The days passed by slowly and painfully, but they also managed to blur together in a haze of grief and loss. You felt weighted by it all, consistently aware that you very well may never see Ellie again. You could tell that they were trying not to do so, but people were treating you like a widow. You felt like one. Every sound in the world was bland compared to Ellie’s voice, or the way in which she would laugh when she was truly comfortable. It felt as though your heart and mind could not agree on any sort of feeling. You couldn’t get used to it, the loss of her. Your girlfriend was essentially a ghost. A ghost that you couldn’t let go of.
And the farmhouse.
You couldn’t get rid of that, either.
Maria was fed up with you, you could tell. All of your coming and going. You made trips to the farmhouse–obsessively at first, and then had to be talked down to once every couple of weeks–just in case. Just in case Ellie had been there, or whatever your mind had managed to convince you of. Yes, you had left a note, but you frequently feared that it wouldn’t be enough. Again, it was your overthinking. You could also tell that Maria was tired, and her threats to put you on lockdown were in vain. Half-hearted. As long as you were safe (god forbid she lost someone else) and not potentially leading anyone back to Jackson, well… there wasn’t much that Maria could do about it, was there? You were too stubborn, apparently. Stubborn like Ellie. You had heard her mutter it once as she begrudgingly relented.
As for the current state of your being, your mental state was… shaky. Even after time had gone by, you didn’t feel normal, didn’t feel steady on your own feet. But how could you, when half of you was missing?
And there was that thing about timing, again. How things manage to work out, or how they don’t.
You were at the farmhouse–lingering.
Curled into your old space on the bed that you had formerly shared with Ellie. In Ellie’s spot was her pillow and that hoodie. Your eyes were shut, because you could imagine her presence better that way. You would not forget her face. Could not. And–you were not crazy, you would testify until you were blue in the face–you were speaking to her.
Of course, Ellie wasn’t actually there. Of course, she could not actually hear you. Maybe, most likely, you would never be able to actually speak to her ever again. You spoke to her anyway. Stomach twisting, a weight on your shoulders, and tears forming quickly behind your eyelids–you spoke to her. Until, entirely by accident and due to the exhaustion of managing your own emotions, you had fallen asleep.
For how long, you didn’t know.
You jolted awake, however, due to the familiar yet startling sound of one of the wooden floorboards creaking. Before your eyes even managed to snap open, your arm had practically lunged for Ellie’s side of the bed. You had instinctively reached for your girlfriend (or rather, where she should’ve been) over your own weapon. Stupid.
Your eyes snapped open, your blood going cold as your mind rapidly worked to process the sound. It was quiet now, but you had heard it. The house was old, settling often, but you couldn’t excuse the sound away. You reached for your gun that you had discarded onto the bedside table, and then you froze.
Another creak.
Like a slow, cautious step.
You weren’t alone. You shouldn’t have come alone. You should’ve stayed in Jackson. Should’ve played with JJ over lunch, should’ve maybe finally attempted to have a proper conversation with Tommy for the first time in months–
Footsteps, definitely. Downstairs. Not confident ones–or at least, careful ones.
You were good at being quiet, good at cautious, usually. You slowly pulled yourself away from the bed, heart pounding as you gripped your weapon. You knew where to step, and where not to step. Without a sound, your back hugged the wall as you slowly approached the bedroom doorway.
Your mind, however, was not being cooperative. You had no idea about the state of whoever was making those noises. This could be bad. This could be it.
The thought caused you to falter. Maybe this should be it. Maybe it was your time (timing) and you should just relent and seek the end and see the end and let it be. Maybe, for once, something would be easy if you went down without a fight.
You could see the indication of a human just below the stairs. You couldn’t decide whether or not you should die. You slowly crept down the stairs. You didn’t know if you had the energy to plead for your life. You raised your gun anyway, pointing it directly at the approaching figure.
And then, every bit of air left your body. You went rigid, head dizzy. Eyes wide, the corners of your vision went hazy. Blurry. You were frozen, shoes rooted to the wooden floor as your eyes met a pair of green ones.
Had you been killed that quickly, that Ellie was now coming to greet you in the afterlife? Had you actually gone insane, as you had admittedly pondered the possibility of a few times before? Were you stuck in a hallucination? In a dream?
Almost immediately, your hands began to tremble. You gripped your gun tighter, not faltering with the angle in which you were holding it–pointed directly at her, a lethal shot if you were to make it.
You were still. Ellie (?) was still. Real? Not real? You didn’t know. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t even blink, afraid that it was false imagery and maybe the sight of her would vanish if you even briefly closed your eyes. If this was a hallucination, and your last chance to ever see your girlfriend (?) you would prolong it at any means necessary. You did not move, in case she would disappear, because you could not lose her again.
Wide, green eyes. Hard to read. A slow hand raised.
“You’re–”
The word choked out of you before you could comprehend it, though it sounded more like a gasp for air. Were you suffocating? Or had seeing her actual (?) face for the first time in months finally given you back your ability to breathe?
Your voice–even the slightest, strained sound of it–made Ellie’s heart pound almost painfully in her chest. She missed hearing it. Her ears felt like they were ringing. She was more focused on you, rather than the fact that you were aiming a gun right at her. No matter that part. You were directly in front of her, and Ellie couldn’t even speak. She’s dedicated multiple journal pages to you alone. She’s thought about what she wished that she could say to you, over and over again. Went over it in her head. Wrote it down. Whispered it to herself whenever she was trapped, waiting for a horde of an infected to pass. But now? Speechless. Terrified. Guilty. Unprepared.
Ellie had expected an empty farmhouse–which, for the most part, it was. She had expected, maybe, a door slammed in her face. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. Not you, right here, right now. Though… it’s what she had come back for, wasn’t it? And yet, she hadn’t let herself fully believe it until now. She didn’t exactly believe it still, but it was happening. Her eyes were glued to you like you were an entity of her own salvation.
Both of you–unmoving. It appeared like a silent stand off, when in reality it was merely two people that were unable to process what was right in front of them.
“I–”
Ellie’s voice cracked as she attempted to speak, hoarse from a mixture of emotion and strain. She swallowed hard, and tried again. “I…”
Your eyes were watering. Had you blinked yet?
The house was a confusing sight for Ellie. Some things there, some things gone. The air was thick with tension, despite the lack of ill-feelings.
It was instinct, the way in which Ellie’s eyes quickly darted over you, as if taking inventory. Quick breathing, chest rising and falling rapidly. Frozen, rigid limbs. Shaky hands, clutching the goddamn weapon that you were still pointing at her. Not out of malice, Ellie knew. Your eyes were still wide. The sight of your dark circles made her stomach lurch. Ellie’s mind was a mess, as she had no idea what to say to you. Not to mention the fact that she hadn’t had a genuine conversation with someone in… quite a while.
“I didn’t think you would still be here,” Ellie managed, a crease forming between her brows as she continued to study you. A truth. She did not, necessarily, expect to find you here. Did she hope for it? Yeah, more than she’d fucking like to admit. But as for the reality of it?
The sound of Ellie’s voice hitting your ears prompted a visceral reaction from you. A sound that you had thought that you would never have the privilege of hearing again, yet you hoped for it and yearned for it every single day since she had left.
Your physical falter did not last long, as breathless words spilled from your lips. “I thought you were dead.” A truth? You couldn’t be sure anymore.
Ellie’s throat tightened as you spoke a full sentence. Dead? Ellie had died maybe a thousand times over throughout the last couple of years or so, but she would still find her way back to you. Anyway, she wasn’t dead. Very much alive, judging by how deeply her bones ached.
Fingers curling into fists, Ellie’s shoulders tensed. She managed a small nod, maybe. She wasn’t sure if it translated. “I’m not.”
“Guess not,” you croaked quietly.
It was too much–the situation–for both of you. You looked terrified, which made Ellie feel like she had to throw up. You were standing relatively close, but you felt so far. Ellie wanted to feel your skin beneath your own, to feel some sort of warmth, but she was hesitant.
It was the longing, really. The longing mixed with guilt that was making Ellie feel so sick.
She tried again. “I…”
Finally, you slowly lowered the gun. You stared at her, waiting for your brain to tell you if it was real or not, because you’ve had the same dream of seeing Ellie again countless times–only to cruelly wake up alone. You were in a daze, maybe you had been since the first time that you had woken up alone. Ellie’s attempt at speaking, though, seemed to snap something within you.
You blinked, like your brain finally registered her presence. “Ellie?”
Ellie sucked in a breath, her fists getting tighter. She hadn’t heard her name spoken in… how long? Hearing it from you–spoken softly, with so much fucking care, even now… it was going to undo her. Immediately, it was going to undo her. How many times had she wished to hear you say her name like that again? How many times had she desperately tried to imagine the real thing, or heard it in her dreams? Ellie swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. She didn’t know how to interpret your expression, and that made her uneasy.
“Yeah?” Ellie replied, voice straining against the growing lump in her throat.
For some reason, that did it for you.
“You’re– Oh my god.” Your feet carried you with more urgency than you had moved with for months.
Ellie’s form was rigid with uncertainty–her body instinctively stiffening at the first touch. She was overwhelmed–so fucking overwhelmed. Ellie had previously been prepared for the worst, while desperately hoping for… something good, or at least anything other than the worst possible outcome that she had been somewhat anticipating. The worst possible outcome–which was… what? You telling her to leave? You being gone? Dead?
Your body collided into Ellie’s, a force that neither of you were prepared for, yet didn’t pull back from. You hastily wrapped your arms around her, burying your face against her shoulder just as the first sob escaped from your lips.
Ellie’s form softened, just a little. Just barely. Like it was always meant to be, her arms wrapped around you in return–at first loosely, and then tight around your waist. She squeezed you once, briefly, as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did.
You clung to her. You were crying. Ellie hated herself for it.
Your body convulsed with each sob, causing Ellie to close her eyes tightly. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip–hard–as she silently and desperately willed herself to keep it together.
Ellie swayed on her feet, and it took her a moment to realize that you were faintly rocking her. Just as Joel used to do in moments of comfort, or how Tommy did after Joel’s death. You were sobbing against her shoulder, your form trembling, and yet you were instinctively swaying with her–your automatic attempt at comfort. Ellie bit down on her lip even harder, squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
Every one of her senses was screaming you. The feeling of your hair. The warmth of your skin, even through the clothes. Your scent, so fucking familiar and comforting and fuck, Ellie wouldn’t cry, she would not–
“Fuck,” Ellie rasped, tightening her arms around you. Months of anguish and solitude were rapidly threatening to take over, the kind of breakdown that she hadn’t had since the beach, now approaching her much quicker than she would like to admit.
The sounds of your breathing mixed together in the otherwise silent farmhouse–shaky, ragged, uneven.
It took a long moment of you clinging to Ellie to realize that, technically, you didn’t even know where you stood with her. Truthfully, you never took her leaving as a breakup. You knew that the situation, and Ellie’s struggles, were much bigger than that. Silently, in your head, you still always referred to her as your girlfriend. It was only then, at that very moment, did you suddenly feel unsure about your standing. It felt trivial, compared to everything else, but the weight of it was there.
Just as quickly as you had initiated the physical contact, you pulled away. It was sudden, like a silent, regretful apology for rushing forward and touching her like that. Ellie’s arms fell back to her sides, her body feeling numb.
“Sorry,” you mumbled. You raised fists, quickly wiping at your wet eyes with the backs of your hands.
Ellie watched the movement, her fingers twitching restlessly at her sides. She wanted to reach for you, but she was in the exact same boat as you. She couldn’t just come back after months, and assume that she had a place with you. Couldn’t assume that you had waited for her, or that you would still want her.
The trepidation from the both of you was fueled by circumstance. Individually, you both knew that your hearts still beat so strongly for the other person–for them and them alone, completely and wholly. Ellie knew that you were it for her. If you would not have her, she would not bother you, but her heart would remain to be yours, even if it went unused. You knew that there wasn’t a single universe where you could manage to be pulled away from Ellie. She was your person, through and through. Not once, despite every single emotion you had felt after everything, had your love for her faltered.
You both knew that, but the situation was unprecedented.
After dropping your hands away from your eyes, you stared at Ellie. Ellie stared back, biting the inside of her cheek. Your eyebrows were furrowed, your expression extremely troubled. You were shaking maybe even more than Ellie was.
Ellie knew that you must have questions. A lot of them. Maybe you were going to yell at her–she would probably deserve that, too. She wouldn’t fight it. Even so, she wanted to comfort you, somehow. Wanted to soothe the dark circles that looked worse now, compared to several months ago. Wanted to grab your trembling hands in her own.
She owed you answers. A lot of fucking answers. And yet, still, Ellie didn’t know what to say, what she could say, what she was even capable of explaining at this time.
In a strange way, Ellie was better off now–after the beach–than she was before the beach. Her real, true, grieving process had begun as she lingered in the sand and the salty water, the physical pain so horrible that she thought she might just die there with the waves sweeping her away.
She did not die.
Joel was dead. Abby was alive. That ended something, while simultaneously started something. Acceptance, she supposed, while she was still in Santa Barbara. And fuck Santa Barbara, by the way–which is something that Ellie would probably eventually tell you if you allowed her to stick around long enough to do so.
“How–?” you attempted, causing Ellie’s eyes to snap back to your own.
“I just…”
Ellie closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling as she forced a breath.
In the brief, quiet moment, you continued to study her.
Ellie was pretty cleaned up, all things considered. It made you wonder where she had been before this, if she had cleaned up specifically before there was a chance of seeing you. Her face still looked slim, in the way that it had become after Joel’s death. You could spot new scars across her skin. Faint scratches on her cheek that still had a lingering of red–somewhat new? Her hair was starting to grow out, just a bit. Her collarbones were prominent, too prominent, you almost wanted to shove some food into her mouth at once. A scratch near her collarbone. Ellie’s skin held a red hue… damaged–sunburn, it looked like. Her hands looked rough from use, and her–
The sound of a sharp inhale caused Ellie’s eyes to fly open. Before she could determine why you had gotten so startled, you were closing the gap between your bodies and gingerly grasping her left hand. Your free hand hovered above the spot of Ellie’s missing ring and pinky fingers.
“Ellie, what–” you breathed out, cradling her hand in your own like it was something that you needed to be careful with.
Sometimes, Ellie had nearly forgotten about the injury, only to be brutally reminded in the most sudden, painful moments. She had adjusted rather quickly, because she had no choice. Still, she had to fight the instinct to jerk her hand away from your own, the urge to physically retreat in order to hide the raw, ugly truth of her injury from you. But she didn’t.
Ellie clamped down on her expression, and watched your face carefully. She held still, allowing you to gingerly turn her hand over in your grasp, inspecting the healed wounds without prodding at them. Ellie’s cheeks felt hot, but she didn’t look away from you.
You tilted your head to look at her, eyes wide with concern that you just couldn’t hide. You shook your head slightly in a silent question, your eyebrows knitted together.
Ellie gave the slightest nod in return. Later.
You swallowed hard, accepting her silent answer while trying to suppress the feeling of sickness that was rapidly taking over your body. Not due to the sight of her hand, but because you absolutely detested thinking about Ellie in pain. You couldn’t fathom what she could’ve possibly been through, and it made you want to cry all over again.
You released your hold on her hand, allowing Ellie to retreat it. Your focus switched to her other hand, and you repeated the touch by carefully grasping for it. Partly just holding, and partly examining. You gingerly traced over the lines of her hand–breathing softly, eyebrows furrowed. Your gaze was fixated upon Ellie’s right hand, and Ellie’s gaze was fixated upon your face.
The bite mark that Ellie had gotten on her right hand had certainly not been as brutal as the bite that she had originally gotten on her forearm. It had been smaller, not as deep, and therefore healed differently. Not as jagged or rippled. Honestly, it went undetected.
But with the way in which you were so intently tracing her skin, turning her hand over and studying it, Ellie felt as though you were able to see through the surface. Like somehow, you just knew.
“The bite,” Ellie started, her voice quiet and rough.
Immediately, your head snapped up. “The what?”
Ellie blinked, breath hitching at the eye contact. At once, she felt stupid for even mentioning it. “It– My hand.”
“You’re… You got bit again?”
You sounded a touch bewildered–maybe you could’ve been pissed if you had more energy and were in less shock. You focused your attention on her hand once more, as if you could seek out the mark.
To be entirely honest, that bite was something that didn’t even cross Ellie’s mind. At this point, it was ancient history. A non-issue at the time, and a non-issue now. With everything that had happened, it was the very last thing on her mind. But now, seeing your concern, and your intense focus… it made her skin crawl a little.
Silently, you were spiraling.
“Yeah,” Ellie rasped, slightly flexing her fingers as you turned her hand over, her palm facing up. “I’m still immune, I swear,” Ellie attempted.
You paused, your eyebrows twitching upward. “I know,” you muttered, slowly raising your gaze to meet Ellie’s eyes. “But can you stop testing your luck? You fucking… stress me out.” Despite your words, your tone was soft–voice slightly breathless.
A faint huff escaped Ellie, like she almost felt a hint of something that resembled amusement. The comment was so utterly you, she almost couldn’t handle it. She fucking missed you. So much.
“Trust me,” Ellie muttered, her gaze flickering across your facial features. “It wasn’t exactly on my bucket list.”
You went briefly still, the corners of your lips just barely twitching at her dry, weak comment. Gingerly running your fingers over Ellie’s, your expression twisted. You dropped your hand, and took the smallest step back from her, despite how much you just wanted to be closer. The lack of touch was painful.
Ellie’s hand flexed, wanting to grab your wrist or your hand and just touch you, to let herself feel safe.
It was stupid, really. She had abandoned you, yes. But Ellie hadn’t intended for that to be what she had done. She didn’t want you to feel abandoned. She wanted you to be safe.
“Ellie…”
“I know.”
Minimal words were being spoken, but you understood. Of course you did. And it was enough to cause you to frown as you wrung your trembling hands. Ellie practically mirrored you, shifting her weight.
You inhaled, trying to find any of the words that you had mulled over during her absence. Something eloquent, or understanding, or the right questions to ask. But instead, all you came up with was–
“You scared the fucking shit out of me,” you managed, your voice breaking as you spoke. You wrapped your arms around your own torso, and Ellie ached to replace them with her own. “I thought– I really fucking thought–”
“I know. I know, I know. Fuck, I know,” Ellie replied, her right hand raising and hovering near your arm.
“And like, just now,” you clarified, swallowing thickly. “I heard fucking footsteps and I thought– Like, the gun–”
“I know,” Ellie repeated, though she really, genuinely, had not expected you to be at the farmhouse. “I wasn’t– I wasn’t thinking.”
“No shit?” you croaked. There was a hitch in your voice, something that could’ve been a very wry, dry huff of amusement, but it was entirely too faint.
Ellie caught it anyway.
“Yeah. Yeah, no shit. I wasn’t– I just wanted…” Ellie bit down on her bottom lip, scared to say the words, in case this was it.
Thankfully, you knew her. You always were the more sensible one, anyway.
“Ellie,” you said, repeating her name once more. Almost like you couldn’t hold yourself back from saying it now, due to the fact that she was actually in front of you and could respond, rather than you crying it into your pillow or pleading her name to the night sky. Ellie relished in it, wanting to hear nothing else for the rest of her life.
You swallowed thickly, fingers digging into your own arms as you continued to hold yourself. “Is this– Are you really here? Is this–?”
Before your sentence was finished, Ellie was nodding. She clenched her hands into fists, pulled her lip between her teeth, forehead creased–but it did absolutely nothing to relieve the lump of emotion building within her throat to the point of being overwhelming.
“Yeah,” Ellie muttered, managing a slight, jerky nod. “Yeah, it’s–”
You took a small step closer, your arms loosening around your form.
“Like, are you– This is for real? You’re here?”
“Yeah–”
“You’re home? Ellie, are you home?” The words left you with a sob, as you took another step toward her, your face twisting due to the sudden onslaught of tears.
“Yeah,” Ellie replied hoarsely. She shifted on her feet, right hand rubbing over her left wrist. “Yeah, I’m–”
The sob that you choked out was one of relief. Your arms found Ellie quickly, though she found you just as fast. Ellie buried her face in your neck, inhaling the scent of you. The scent of comfort, the scent of familiarity. The scent of home.
You squeezed Ellie tight, and then mumbled an apology, to which she shook her head. Of course, there was so much left to be said, and so much left to be explained… but that could be later. For now, you clung together, gently rocking each other and relishing in the fact that–despite everything–there could still be this.
It was a start, at the very least. Something sacred and real and pure to hold onto.
Ellie was home, and she could breathe again. You both could.
. . . . .. . . . .
notes : as i was editing this, i thought it might be nice to write a little something about this ellie and reader a bit into the future, after ellie had more time to heal? idkkk if anyone would possibly be interested in that, please let me know!
the title was inspired by the hozier song (surprise surprise) because i just think it's a super beautiful sentiment. farewell, obviously, is a term of goodbye... as ellie had left reader. fare well, however, is how one does. the song essentially displays situations of darkness in life, but a resilience despite them. so, a farewell to a dark period, as a person will now fare well in life.
i like it a lot and it's what i picture for ellie as she continues to heal, which is why i used it as the title lol :)
Synopsis: Ever since you were a kid, you always knew you were lucky—raised in a loving family, surrounded by a tight friend group that stayed with you from middle school to the last years of high school, your life felt complete, safe, and carefully controlled. You didn’t need anything extra—until Ellie Williams.
Content Warnings: enemies-to-lovers, childhood & high school setting (mostly flashbacks), first crushes, internalized homophobia, messy friend group dynamics, ellie and reader can’t stand each other! sexual tension, denial, reader confusion about feelings and sexuality, jealousy, unrequited crushes, angst, fluff.
▸ next chapter
You hadn’t really thought much about Ellie growing up.
Not in any way that mattered, anyway. To you, she was just this loud, funny girl—reading comic books between classes, quoting lines from movies nobody else had seen, laughing at things that didn’t even seem funny. She moved through the same spaces you did simply because you knew the same people and had grown up together through the long, awkward years of middle and high school.
You were friends. Sure. But not the way you were friends with Dina, who knew every version of you because she was your best friend. And not the way you were friends with Jesse, who had always been Ellie’s person.
Ellie was just… another person in the mix.
At least, that’s what you told yourself.
There was never a moment where you thought about her too deeply. You didn’t wonder what she felt, or care why she laughed the way she did, or why she took up space so easily. She wasn’t someone you studied or really tried to understand.
Well... partly because when you’ve been stuck in the same large friend group since middle school, you learn a few things.
You learn that people blur when there are too many of them. Someone will always end up closer to someone else than the rest. And no one decides it. It just happens. You stop keeping track of who’s close to who, who talks to who more, who drifts. It doesn't matter, and honestly? It’s easier not to think about it.
But the thing is… even not choosing someone, in its own way, is still a choice.
That’s the part you hadn’t realized until years later, when Ellie—out of nowhere—decided to bother you. Of all people.
She went from being someone who was “just another person” to someone who could never leave you alone. And maybe you should have appreciated it, right?—because the person you barely noticed ends up meaning more than you expected. The kind of thing that changes what friendship even is.
But no. You didn’t. You couldn’t appreciate a single thing she did—not when she made it her mission to get under your skin every chance she got.
You remember the day she started… whatever this thing was.
It was seventh grade.
You were in the gym locker room when she “just happened” to knock over her water bottle, and the dark splash immediately spread across your neatly folded uniform.
You gasped lightly and froze, unsure whether to be furious or embarrassed.
All you heard was her low snort before she walked out without a word, leaving you there, eyes shifting from her to the mess, unable to say anything.
When you saw her again at Jesse’s house for a hangout with everyone else the following weekend, you never expected her to apologize.
You assumed she’d already forgotten the locker room incident—or didn’t care—so you let it slide. You didn’t hold a grudge exactly, but you had nothing to say to her either, and you certainly didn’t want to, especially after what happened.
You thought that was the first and the last, but oh, you were entirely wrong.
The next week, you were running late for class when she suddenly appeared out of nowhere and “bumped into you” in the hallway, sending your books flying. She crouched down—not to help—but to pick one up, flip through it, and hand it back with the pages bent, the cover half-closed, as if she’d lost interest halfway through.
And again, you were left standing there, dumbfounded. Why the hell did she do that? Your irritation pricked at the nerve of this girl.
By the end of seventh grade, she had managed to rile you with every stunt she pulled—whether it was dipping her brush into your palette instead of her own in art class, swirling your colors together until they looked like swamp water (and having the nerve to tell you it “looked better that way”), or getting you detention for a stink bomb she’d planned during one of your science experiments.
Eighth grade came fast after that.
By then, you’d started expecting the little chaos she brought into your life—but that didn’t make it any less annoying. Over time, you’d just learned to ignore her, roll your eyes, or pretend she wasn’t there, even as she somehow always appeared in the right place at the wrong time for you.
Even with everyone around, Ellie found ways to make it about you. The more things changed, the more you realized… she wasn’t just careless.
That year, though, was the first time she did something so cruel it actually hurt.
It was PE. You’d been stuck as goalie during practice, half-distracted because your eyes kept drifting to the guy Dina had mentioned who had a crush on you.
You didn’t even see it coming—Ellie’s kick sent the ball rocketing straight into your face. The pain hit first, followed by the warm trickle from your nose.
Before you could even register what happened, Ellie was already sprinting off, vanishing behind the equipment shed before your wrath could reach her. You knew she’d done it on purpose, and the flash of guilt on her face as she ran was the only thing that stopped you from chasing her down.
“Oh my god!” Dina and the others exclaimed as you held your bleeding nose, your head spinning from both the pain and the shock.
It was always like that with Ellie—petty accidents she could pass off as coincidences, stacking up until they simmered under your skin like a slow burn she seemed determined to keep alive.
Looking back, it was easier to brush off. You were kids, and half the time you thought she just didn’t know how to leave you alone.
By ninth grade, everything about you was changing.
You started experimenting with makeup, texting boys you barely knew but secretly liked, and swapping your usual jeans and tees for skirts and tops older girls seemed to pull off effortlessly. You’d even joined the cheer team, trading afternoons of free time for tumbling practice and memorizing routines.
And Ellie? She wasn’t that little rascal who pulled stunts on you anymore. She’d joined the basketball team, spending her afternoons shooting hoops with Alex and the others. That was good, you thought—she’d have other things to do than bother you.
Though, on the other hand, it was also bad news. Your ten-year-old baby brother, Luke—an angel, really—seemed to idolize her, and you had no fucking idea why.
“Can you please tell Ellie to come over? She said she’ll teach me how to play,” Luke asked one afternoon, eyes bright with excitement.
“Are you texting Ellie?” you called back, suspicious.
“Yes…” he grinned. “She said she’d show me a trick she learned.”
“And you just believed her?”
“Of course! She’s awesome!”
You shook your head. Ellie still managed to worm her way into your life, even through your little brother.
“Shouldn’t you be on a diet? Like you said yesterday?” she asked once, watching you take a bite of your food. You froze mid-chew, glaring at her. That conversation had been private, just between you and Chloe.
“Were you eavesdropping?” you asked, deliberately mean.
She just smirked, clearly waiting for the perfect moment—and picked a fry off your plate before leaving.
You watched her ruffle Luke’s hair, grab his small basketball, and lead him outside while the rest of the group lingered inside, a usual hangout.
You still couldn’t understand what her deal with you was. It wasn’t like you ever went looking for her attention—you didn’t. If anything, you kept your distance, made a point not to orbit anywhere near her. But Ellie always had a way of making sure you were never too far from hers.
She might not be knocking over your water bottles or tripping you in the halls anymore, but she still found ways to get under your skin. She’d turned to words—each one a little poke, a little push, never missing a chance.
You’d lost count of how many arguments you’d had by now. At some point, the rest of the group just… stopped trying. It was normal. If your voices started to rise, someone would sigh, mutter “here we go again,” and wander off, leaving you two to tear into each other until one of you stormed away.
“Ellie’s the older one, she should just apologize,” Dina said once during the ninth grade, when a sleepover devolved into a ridiculous fight about what movie to watch.
“What? Just because I’m older, I’m the one who has to apologize?” Ellie shot back.
You rolled your eyes, grabbed your bag, and went home that night.
You used to think time would fix it. That one day Ellie would grow out of you.
But two more years passed—and she didn’t.
It was early summer before senior year, and the whole group had rented out a beach house for the weekend. The air smelled like salt and sunscreen, and everyone was scattered between the pool and the porch when Chloe brought up the guy you liked.
“He didn’t text you back? Wow. The nerve.” Chloe pointed when you told her he never replied after asking for your number.
You were stretched out on a lounge chair, sipping a fruity drink, watching Dina and Jesse splash water at each other in the pool.
“Who didn’t text who back?” Ellie’s voice came from behind you. She walked over, wearing a tank top and board shorts, and grabbed a slice of watermelon from the table.
“Her crush,” Chloe answered.
“Really?” Ellie’s tone was mildly surprised, but when you glanced at her, she looked… amused.
“Something funny?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, your voice flat.
Ellie shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just—girls shouldn’t make the first move. You gotta wait.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes lazily.
“And if he didn’t reply, he’s not worth your time. He’s probably an asshole who only goes for hot girls anyway,” Ellie added, chewing.
Chloe tilted her head, pointing at you. “So you’re saying she’s not hot?”
Ellie choked on her food, coughing. You lifted your brows at her.
“He’s not a player like you, Ellie. Don’t compare him to you,” you said.
Ellie scoffed. “Me? A player? Since fucking when?”
You rolled your eyes again, not even wanting to answer that.
“And yeah, I’m definitely not like him—because if I were him, I would’ve texted you back.”
From the pool, Jesse let out an obnoxious, “Ooooh!”
“Stop it, Jesse. They’ll fight again,” Dina called over.
“Well, that’s because you’ll settle for anyone. You reply to every girl,” you said, taking another sip.
Ellie leaned forward, irritation flickering in her voice. “What—You’re not just anyone. I’d reply to you, obviously.”
“Of course, Ellie. But the person we’re talking about is someone I actually like. Not someone… like you,” you replied, your tone deliberate.
“What the hell does that mean?” Ellie muttered, gesturing with her hand.
Alex, lounging on the chair beside you, laughed. “You two don’t even have each other’s numbers, so no replying’s gonna happen.”
You shook your head as everyone laughed, the sound grating in your ears. Ellie muttered something under her breath before pushing herself off the railing and heading back inside the house, irritation written in the tight set of her shoulders.
After that summer, everything started to move too fast.
Senior year felt like a countdown clock. You were suddenly busy all the time—staying late for practice, trying to hold the squad together as captain, studying until your eyes burned for college entrance exams. Your world shrank into routines, pressure, and expectations.
There wasn’t space for anything else.
It was around November when you and Dina decided to head over to Jesse’s house so the squad could practice there.
As the car pulled into the driveway, you spotted Ellie and Jesse out front, hosing down one of the cars, laughing about something you couldn’t hear.
You weren’t in a good mood that day. Practice had been rough, the team wasn’t improving, and it felt like everything you worked for was slipping through your fingers.
“Oh my god, is that Ellie? She’s fucking hot,” Jessica said as she leaned forward in her seat.
You turned to her, eyebrows lifting, but she didn’t notice—already hopping out of the car with the others.
“Hi, girls!” Jesse called, flashing a grin.
Some of them giggled.
You climbed out last, juggling your duffel bag, shoes, and pink Stanley tumbler. You were wearing your short skirt, the sleeve of your top hanging off one shoulder.
Ellie watched you for a second too long before her gaze drifted away, unfocused, as she aimed the hose at the ground.
“Ellie,” Jesse called, noticing she was still holding it while you walked past.
You shook your head and jogged forward—until freezing water suddenly poured over you.
“Oh shit, Dina!” Jesse shouted toward the house.
You gasped, stumbling back, drenched. Your eyes flew to Ellie, who stared at you with a blank, unreadable expression.
“What the fuck…” you muttered, dropping your bag. You were about to lunge at her when Dina and Chloe grabbed your arms.
“What the hell is your problem?!” you shouted, livid, shaking as cold water dripped down your skin.
“Ellie, why did you do that?” Jesse asked, grabbing a towel from Alex.
“Aren’t you even gonna say sorry to me?!” you yelled, chest heaving.
“Dude, say sorry,” Jesse said, shaking his head. “She’s gonna hate you.”
Ellie finally met your eyes.
She shook her head slowly, her mouth twitching like she found something funny about all of this.
“I mean, what’s new?” she said, shrugging. “I don’t expect her to love me anyway.”
You swear that in that moment, you could’ve slapped her.
All your life, no one had ever made you feel like this—this tight, ugly pressure in your chest that only she could bring.
It was past three in the morning on a cold December when you woke from a dream of falling into a black abyss.
Lately, those dreams have been coming more often, and you don't know why.
Your room was quiet, save for the hum of the AC and Dina’s soft breathing, passed out drunk on your bed, Chloe beside her. Both were breathing softly after the night of celebrating your eighteenth birthday.
Everyone had gone an hour ago, and you’d only managed an hour of sleep.
Your throat burned from the alcohol you’d downed earlier before. You slipped quietly out of your room and padded into the kitchen, gulping water straight from the glass, when muffled voices drifted down from the rooftop that had to be from Jesse and Ellie.
Before going back to bed, you decided to check on them. With every step, their drunken laughter and voices grew louder, until you stopped just behind the door leading to the rooftop.
Ellie’s laugh cut through first, followed by words you couldn’t make out.
After what had happened that day, you hadn’t seen her much—not until your birthday yesterday. Dina had mentioned that Ellie was getting serious about getting drafted next year, so she’d been seriously busy.
Finally, that’s what you wanted in the first place, right? To finally be left alone?
“I don’t know, Jesse. She’s blind. She doesn’t realize I would do anything for her,” Ellie said, her voice soft, drunken, but surprisingly steady.
Your eyes slowly widened, heart suddenly hammering in your chest.
“Man… what? I'm so fuckin' wasted,” Jesse slurred.
You immediately went back to your room, head spinning with thoughts you couldn’t untangle. By the time you reached your door, the rooftop voices had faded, replaced by the soft hum of the AC.
You sank into your vanity chair and stared at the little pink package. You hadn’t even touched it before—didn’t expect to. Ellie? She hadn’t given a damn the past couple years, not since your sweet sixteen. And you didn’t care either.
But now… holding it, looking at it, you weren’t so sure anymore.
You untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside rested a bracelet, delicate but unmistakably expensive. The metal caught the warm glow of your bedside lamp, and the tiny rock embedded in the center glistened like a shard of sunlight caught in amber.
Your fingers lingered on the bracelet, feeling strange. Because for the first time in years, the hate, the annoyance, the resentment, and everything she made you feel—they tangled with something else, something sharp and unfamiliar, something you didn’t want to name.
You put it back immediately, staring at the ceiling for a moment before forcing yourself under the covers. Sleep wouldn’t come easily, but you needed it—you couldn’t let yourself sit with these emotions, not tonight, not ever.
The next morning, you were the only one left in your room. After a quick round of morning routines, you padded downstairs, hearing Dina’s voice and your little brother’s giggles in the dining room.
“Morning,” Dina greeted, balancing a forkful of pancakes with a pile of leftovers from last night.
“Morning,” you replied, ruffling your brother’s messy hair. He was glued to his iPad at the table.
“Morning, baby,” you said, and he gave you a bright smile in return.
Alex was half-asleep, spooning cereal into his mouth, and you glanced around for Chloe.
“She’ll be back later,” Dina said, reading your mind.
You frowned. “Jesse and Ellie?”
Dina just gestured toward the living room. That’s where you found Ellie, sprawled on the couch in deep sleep, and Jesse sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes glued to the TV while casually snacking.
“Did you two sleep here? I… left the guest rooms open last night,” you asked Jesse, your gaze drifting back to Ellie.
“Oh yeah, we were too drunk last night,” Jesse said, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Not long after, the house slowly came back to life. One by one, everyone started grabbing their things, making plans for later, reminding each other about the New Year’s party you were all coming back for that night.
“Happy birthday again, babe. I’ll see you later,” Dina said, pulling you into a tight hug. You smiled and held on a second longer before letting her go.
“I should wake this asshole,” Jesse muttered, glancing at the couch.
He walked over and gave Ellie’s shoulder a rough shake. She groaned, barely moving.
“Get up,” he laughed. “We’re leaving.”
She didn’t respond—so Jesse grabbed her hand and tugged.
It wasn’t long before Ellie kicked out blindly, muttering a curse under her breath as Jesse yelped and bolted away, laughing.
“Let’s go!” he called from the doorway.
Ellie rubbed at her eyes, hair a complete mess, blinking like she was still half-dreaming. Then her gaze lifted—and found you.
You were standing there, frozen for a second, just looking at her while she stared back. Her eyes were tired, dark circles faint beneath them, something quiet and unreadable sitting in her expression.
For a moment, you thought about saying something. Anything.
But you didn’t.
You turned away instead, heading back toward the dining room, your chest feeling strangely tight as you reached for a glass of water.
Fuck—since when did you ever feel awkward around her?
You told yourself it was nothing. Just exhaustion. A hangover. The weird weight of staying up too late and hearing things you probably misunderstood. That was all.
You took a long sip, staring at the counter like it could ground you. You’d dealt with Ellie for years without flinching—without ever caring—so why should this morning be any different?
It wasn’t.
That’s what you kept telling yourself all morning, and all the way into the evening—right up until you were standing in the middle of a house party filled with music, bodies, and the sharp smell of cheap alcohol for New Year’s.
You nearly gagged right there on the sticky floor when you saw it.
Ellie. Kissing someone else.
Dina didn’t even realize you’d stopped in your tracks, frozen on the dance floor with your heart hammering against the bass. Your eyes were locked on Ellie, pressed close to some girl in the shadowed corner, her hands resting at the girl’s waist, drunk to the taste of her.
And you stood there, wondering when exactly nothing had started to feel like this.
“Babe, let’s go, they’re over there,” Dina said, tugging on your hand and pulling you toward the sofa where everyone else had gathered.
You swallowed, forcing your eyes away, letting that heavy pit in your stomach settle deeper.
“Birthday girl!” Jesse shouted as he jumped up and wrapped you in a quick, too-tight hug. You returned it automatically, forcing a smile even though you felt the color drain from your face.
“Are you drunk? We just got here!,” Dina said, sliding beside Chloe, who was already deep in conversation with some guy you didn’t recognize.
You sank down next to her, letting the noise blur together—laughter, music, someone shouting from the kitchen—anything but your own thoughts.
“I’m not drunk,” Jesse protested, though the red creeping up his ears told a different story. “—Have you seen Ellie? Where the hell is she? My phone was with her.”
Dina crossed her arms, smirking. “She’s over there… making out with some chick.”
The words hit harder than you expected, even though you’d already seen it with your own two eyes.
Alex, Maxine, and Rafael showed up soon after, Jesse still rambling while Dina kept shutting him down. You stayed quiet, not really wanting to talk.
Someone suggested a card game, and before you knew it, you were all crammed around the table, the lights dimmed, music turned down just enough to hear the arguments.
“I don't want to be paired with Alex, she’s a rat,” Jesse complained.
“Fuck you, dude. You look like a rat,” Alex shot back, flipping him off.
Laughter broke out.
Then a voice cut through it.
“What are we playing?”
Ellie.
She stepped into the circle like she’d always been there, dropping into the seat across from you.
Black graphic tee, worn jeans, her tattoo peeking as her elbows rested on her knees, legs spread casually like she owned the space.
Her eyes flicked to you.
You looked away.
“You’ve got a smudge,” Dina said, tapping her own lips.
Ellie wiped at her mouth, then glanced back at you, like she was trying to catch your eyes again.
You looked away, focusing on the cards in the middle of the table, on anything that wasn’t the faint echo of Dina’s words still ringing in your head.
Time blurred after that. Music thumped through the walls, laughter and shouts bouncing around the room, and the air felt thicker with every passing minute. Someone nudged another, and another, and before you knew it, a ridiculous suggestion floated across the group: Seven Minutes in Heaven.
And of course—of course—it was you and Ellie.
You tried to protest, rolling your eyes, but the group’s chaos swallowed every objection. Chairs scraped across the floor, hands grabbed at your arms, and you were shoved forward, cursing under your breath.
Ellie flipped Jesse off as he gestured, You’re dead, Williams, and somehow she looked way too thrilled about it. You could only glare at her.
What a fucking joke. Ending the year like this, pressed together with the one person you’d been trying not to look at all night. It was absurd. Humiliating. And exactly the kind of situation she always managed to drag you into.
Your mouth fell open when the door was yanked wide.
It was tiny.
Barely enough room for two people to stand face-to-face—no space to turn, no space to breathe.
“Fuck,” you muttered as someone shoved you inside. Your face collided with hanging coats, fabric brushing your cheeks. A second later Ellie was pushed in behind you, and the door slammed shut.
The sound echoed like a verdict.
You turned.
Her face was right there.
Too close.
Your breath hitched, lungs working harder than they should. You stared at each other for half a second too long—her eyes flicking to your lips before you snapped out of it and shoved her aside.
She stumbled back with a grunt, then laughed under her breath as you hugged the corner, sitting on the floor, knees pulled tight to your chest, trying to shrink into yourself. Your legs pressed against the rough texture of her jeans beside you.
Ellie dropped down across from you, back against the wall, legs stretched out.
“I’m gonna die here, I swear,” you muttered.
Ellie tilted her head, smirking. “Relax, princess. You’ve survived worse than me.”
You shot her a glare. “This is your fault.”
She scoffed. “Really? Last time I checked, you chose to join the game.”
You narrowed your eyes. “If I die from suffocating, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Ellie’s grin widened. “That’s hot.”
You rolled your eyes painfully, shaking your head. “Do you know how suffocating this is? I can’t breathe, I can’t—”
“You could breathe if you stopped whining,” she interrupted. “Or you could sit on my lap, whatever you prefer.”
“What?!” You exclaimed, scandalized.
Ellie raised her brows, clearly enjoying this. “You want more space? You know that’s the only way.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, in your dreams.”
“Already there,” she said easily.
You shifted as much as the cramped closet allowed, trying to press yourself into the corner, your legs brushing against hers. Every breath felt too loud, every small movement too close.
“Move,” you said, trying to push her legs aside. “You’re in my space.”
She laughed softly. “There is no space.”
For a second, neither of you spoke. The music thudded through the door, someone laughing on the other side, the world still going while you were trapped in here with her.
Ellie’s voice dropped. “You always push me away like that.”
You turned to her, expression mean. “Because you never leave me alone.”
“You never tell me to stop.”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “We both know that’s not true. Get over yourself, Williams.”
Ellie’s jaw moved as she stared at you, expression unreadable, before she shrugged lazily. “You’re still here. That definitely says something.”
You laughed bitterly, low and sharp. “Says what? That I’m stuck with you?” You asked, voice thick with sarcasm.
“Maybe. Or maybe it says you want to be.”
“You’re aware how I feel about you, Ellie. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
Ellie leaned back slightly, arms crossed. “You could leave if you wanted. If you hate me that much… why don’t you just go?” Her tone was casual, sarcastic, daring, like she knew exactly how much this got under your skin.
You stayed silent, glaring at her, heart hammering, trying to shove down the confusing heat, the tension, and that familiar anger that had been building in your chest for years—at her, at yourself, at everything.
“I don’t understand you at all,” you finally said, voice low, trembling slightly despite your effort to stay composed.
You turned to her, expecting some kind of answer, but she stayed silent, her gaze steady, unreadable.
“Aren’t you even going to answer me?” you demanded, voice rising a fraction.
“Why…” Your hands clenched in your lap. “Why are you like this? It’s been what—since we were fourteen? Fifteen? I don’t do anything to you, I don’t bother you, I barely even talk to you… so why? Why do you keep doing this?”
She let out a long, slow sigh, a sigh that seemed to carry years of weight, and finally said, quietly, almost reluctantly:
aphelion ⦂ the point in orbit where a celestial object drifts farthest from its sun ✶
⠀⠀ ellie williams x female reader
As your grief starts to bleed through even the simplest tasks, a comet is slowly carving it’s brief, burning, signature across the dark sky. The only thing left in your life? A journey across America to see the comet and honor your brother’s wishes, his car shop inevitably passed down to you due to his eternal rest, and a gap of love in your heart where he used to be. Oh, and his used-to-be best friend—college dropout, disappoint to her family, and strangely determined to fulfill her astronomer aspirations—Ellie Williams.
‧₊ 𝐜𝒉𝒂𝐩𝒕𝐞𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝐞𝒙 ⋅ ˚. ʀᴇʟᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜰʀɪᴅᴀʏ
01 ⦂ blessed are the travelers, for they forget | ᴄᴏᴜɴᴄɪʟ ɢʀᴏᴠᴇ, ᴋᴀɴꜱᴀꜱ (06/05)
content :: mdni 18+ content ;; sexual themes, fluff, angst, comedy, forbidden romance, good old lesbian yearning (lots of it), rejection, cheating, infidelity, homophobia (both internalised and openly expressed), misogyny, closeted reader, single mom reader, loads and loads of judgment, religious themes, smoking + drinking + substance usage, afab reader ⸺ men dni, bullying, typical highschool drama, reader being an ass, modern au, songfic, multiple part fic,, will be updated if needed as i continue!
word count :: loading . . .
synopsis :: you were never kind to ellie williams. it was easier that way.
easier than admitting why your pulse did what it did when she looked at you. easier than questioning what it meant. so when she finally said the words out loud, you said something cruel and walked away — back to the life that made sense, the boyfriend, the plan, the person you were supposed to be.
that was five years ago. the plan didn't survive contact with reality.
now it's just you, a baby who doesn't sleep, and a tuesday night that turns into something you weren't remotely prepared for — because there she is, on your television screen, under a blaze of stage lights, and fifty thousand people are screaming her name.
ellie williams, of all people. a star.
and somehow, you're going to have to face her... and her new girlfriend. lovely.
| timeline ! college.
| warnings ! intoxication. swearing. death/violence mention but as a joke. tiny lis reference. no major warnings <3
───⋆☆──────
➶-͙˚ ༘⋆
───⋆☆──────
notes ! i was supposed to be taking a break from tlnl. this is what happens when i start thinking about them again. tlnl ellie and reader are the parasites in my brain that don't let me rest. ellie is just not a phone person fr but trust she matches reader’s energy irl! plus remember ellie is so shitty at answering texts, but she always replies to reader hehe
warnings : character study? references to Ellie's journal, the American Dreams comics, her encounter with David, Joel's death, and Ellie's struggle with having an appetite. death. blood. guilt. loss. hunting. panic attacks. Ellie's fear of being alone. internal struggles and questioning. one brief mention of throw up, not described. themes of hurt/comfort (elliexreader). despite these, i promise it's sweet. notes at the end.
w.c : 2.3k
Ellie’s thought a lot about death. Thinks about it a lot. Dying. Loss.
The concept of faith. Company–or the lack thereof–as one takes their last breath.
It’s a thought that floats throughout Ellie’s brain, lingering like the last remnants of blood even after it had been scrubbed away. The sting of bleach is rarely enough to disguise it if you are familiar enough. Iron, iron, iron. It’s thick. Heavy. Suffocating. Even the knowledge of sticky crimson blooming anywhere could be enough to taint… anything.
It’s there, it’s there, it’s there. Bleach doesn’t matter. If it was there, it remained.
If Ellie were able to find herself in a position of better humor–on a good day, perhaps–she might manage a chuckle about it. The irony of it all, or whatever the fuck. The fact that her greatest fear had been ending up alone. Had been? Still was? And yet–most days, when she considers it–Ellie would prefer to die alone.
Even with an insurmountable fear of ending up alone, she would decidedly meet her end alone. It is an unshakable agenda that is rooted throughout Ellie’s being–she would not obligate one to bear witness to the final form of her suffering. It is resolute. No one will ever see Ellie in the way in which she had seen others–lifeless, deformed. A grotesque shell. Rattled breathing until it ceased.
If Ellie was destined to be alone, then alone she shall be.
Perhaps, even, the smell of iron could cease if the scraps of her were offered. Maybe she carried the traces with her–within her?–and the overwhelming tackiness of it all was what her existence was rooted in. Root her body to the ground, then–fine, have me–and return her gristle and bone to the Earth. Would even then, in death, she be rejected? Were her insides too much, too little?
If she were to be cut open, would she appear as a conventional girl? Or, even at her very core, would there be something awry?
There is an unfortunate calm that is intertwined with the idea of presenting oneself to the bugs. A final offering as though all others had been rejected. A mutual affair, as they would provide Ellie with a much needed service, as well. Not beautification, just finally bleached. Stripped of anything deformed and everything that had gone wrong–inside and out.
Though–maybe not even the bugs would want her. Ellie Williams is hard to keep, after all.
At thirteen, she had met a soldier due to his decision to act on his own concern for Ellie… but it had been fleeting. Ellie came with risks. Something was sure to be fundamentally wrong with her. Like there were warning signs etched into her skin along with her freckles. Maybe that’s why her skin always hurts. Not worth the risk. A cautionary tale within the green of her eyes. Warning: Abandon before she infects you, too. Death follows!
I’ll be fine on my own, Ellie had said.
Whether or not that statement was a lie, she didn’t know. Was she fine on her own? Physically, mostly. Mentally? No. Ellie craves. Ellie misses, and Ellie gets attached. Ellie feels.
She doesn’t like to be lectured about her inability to speak–not after. After her body had been held down by strangers, her voice raw from pleading for a life (his life, never her own. Never her own), how could her vocal cords possibly work? And how frustrating it was to be dismissed. As if her silence were easy? Most could not even begin to grasp the concept of how exhausting it is to deliberately prevent her feelings from being verbalized. Silence is not easy. Silence is never easy.
But sometimes, silence is taught. And another thing about Ellie? She clings.
And yes, the bugs could not be faulted for the potential rejection, either. Who is Ellie to depend on their aid in her own personal purification process? Maybe she would poison the bugs, too. Maybe her insides were wrong. With the bugs and the woods as her only witnesses, she could fade. No family to watch in horror, no lover to cry. Just the Earth–hopefully–claiming her and correcting what it must.
The cycle of things, really. Please let the bugs have her. Let her body be useful, just this once.
Ellie Williams hunts with a wince.
These days, at least.
It’s not like she struggles with the concept–never really did. She held no impending need to shift into the mindset of a predator. It was just one of those things. You need food–you hunt. All that blood on her hands might’ve felt different if the world were another… but Ellie knew how these things worked from quite a young age.
She is not powerful for killing a rabbit, she is simply in need of food. The rabbit’s existence is not weak for being small, but it is food. The act of hunting is not empowering, it is just a necessity. Others may beg to differ, but Ellie does not. Ellie was once a Little Rabbit, hunted and preyed upon. She does not get a thrill from preying. There is no thrill to be had. Only the promise of a full belly, which she often cannot stomach anyway.
Strip everything else away, bare bones – Ellie has never much minded hunting. But sometimes, these days, she does wince.
Sometimes, the dull, fading light of life is able to transport Ellie before she can even grasp what is happening. Her body in one place, her mind in another. Maybe the bugs could do away with whatever part of her kept prompting that to happen.
It’s just that death is never a pleasant thing to look at… and Ellie was supposed to die more times than she had felt physically or mentally renewed within her life. At this rate, she was subjected to living–to breathing each day, eyes fully functioning, aware of each loss that weighed her every step. Ellie thought that her purpose was to provide others with pieces of herself to ensure survival. Instead, she had become Death’s witness.
As long as no one had to witness her own.
Company in life, solitude in death. Was that even what she actually wanted? Ellie didn’t like to be lonely.
She had been, before. The concept scared her, made her feel afraid enough to cause her erring insides to twist uncomfortably. It translated. Yeah, skin hurting. Short bursts of air, limbs that trembled–and then hands that only ever seemed to move with the utmost amount of care.
It must be nasty work to root Ellie’s feet into the ground and pull her attention to right now, where it’s real–but you do it. You do it with ease, and you do not shout at her, and your touch does not cause her to flinch. She reaches for it, even, just as you reach for her.
Ellie no longer wants faith through pain. Her own faith is found each day, each night, with a bed that is never cold. A bath that never feels lonely. A meal that is plated and then saved–like her soul?–because it is okay if sometimes she is not hungry, there’s always tomorrow and she will be okay and she can try again later. Her faith is found within the voice that never falters–the tone in which you speak to her is able to pierce through any scream, no matter the frequency, and no matter the memory.
You are the steady, warm reason behind the adjustment of Ellie’s posture. Straightened shoulders, because she does not always have to slump under the burden of her own existence. You are quite fond of her existence, so you say.
The smell of iron fades. Slowly, but it does. She can remember it, but Ellie doesn’t inhale it every time that she breathes. The smell of your hair outweighs the impact of bleach.
Bleach strips, but you renew. You restore.
Ellie might just bloom from the inside out, because the crinkle of your eyes does away with the rot of her soul. Probably better than any bugs could, no offense to the bugs. But you do not erode her, like the bugs would do. You do not chip away at her, or gnaw, or push. You hold. You adjust. You cradle her heart in your hands like it’s a baby bird—something that needs nourishing. Your unwavering adoration is able to filter through her cracks like sunlight through blinds.
You have witnessed Ellie in every possible state that a human being could be in, and you still press your lips to the tip of her nose. Your fingers still reach for her own. The words I love you spill out easier than your thoughts on the weather. Ellie doesn’t much like to think about whether or not she deserves things, as it’s a slippery slope that she does not have the stability to navigate… but you are so steadfast in your ways that Ellie can’t help but question it.
They are less frequent now, but they still happen–the moments in which trembling overtakes Ellie’s body, and images appear in her mind like the rapid flickering of a flashlight. When her heart beats too fast for her chest, and when she chokes and gags on each breath–maybe it’s the iron again, or the guilt of breathing when so many can no longer do that very thing. During those moments, your hands soothe over her arms like it’s easy. Your voice is soft–you love her–yet firm–please hear me–and you do not startle her. In fact, Ellie reaches back. Skin against skin, you ground her. Voice in her ears, she exists and that is okay.
If the world were different, Ellie always thought that she would want to be an astronaut. She read countless books, her mind taking inventory and storing away every fascinating piece of information that it possibly could. The idea of going to space was enthralling to her. The idea of being in space did not correlate with her fear of being alone. Space would be calm, peaceful. On her own terms–and she would return. Ellie is the type of person to return. But when you are the one being left behind, you cannot make the other person come back for you. Ellie has been left–therefore, she returns.
Ellie cannot go to space, but her devotion toward the topic is able to be translated to you–how much she appreciates your constant presence, and your ability to be unwavering, even in the dark. When Ellie is unable to get a grip, you manage to cause her universe to narrow down. You treat her as though she were astriferous. You trace the constellations on her skin with a gentle touch. Ellie searches your eyes like she’s studying a newfound planet. Ellie cannot go to space, but even so, you stellify her.
Sometimes, Ellie cannot speak. You repeat your words–I love you, I love you, I love you–because you know that she needs them. Always, she wishes to be as present as you in her moments of panic. Sometimes, all she can offer back is a shaky hand gripping at your arm–I love you, too.
When harsh crescents appear in the palms of Ellie’s hands, you are there to unfurl her fists. Her hands are stained with blood that are only visible to her own eyes, and you kiss them. Again, Ellie prefers not to get into the internal debate about whether or not she deserves something. You seem to think that she does deserve it, and that is enough.
You never take her silence as an indication of straying. If hunting makes her wince, and she nearly vomits up memories, you do not question if Ellie hugs with one arm rather than two. She will spend the rest of her life hoping that you know how much it means to her, even if she is unable to properly verbalize it.
It is almost uncomfortable, the lack of something within Ellie as her days grow steadier–along with her mind–and the guilt starts to ease. For a time, Ellie confused her growing lightness with feelings of emptiness. She had thought that she had finally grown numb, because she didn’t feel as though her body was bearing such a heavy weight. The realization was quiet. Lightness does not mean emptiness. Ellie can breathe. She would refuse to make you witness her death, but there will be no death to witness, anyway. Ellie has no plans for it.
Even so, it has been drilled into her very being that everything is fleeting. People do not stick around, it does not matter how much you love them. Or want them. Or need them. The very start of Ellie’s life was tainted by the death of another. Loss is nearly all that she had ever known, yet she cannot grow comfortable with the idea of it in any sense.
Ellie figures she will probably lose you at some point. It is not self-deprecating, it is fact. (To her, at least.) If she is going to lose you, she will spend every possible day making sure that you are safe and comfortable while you sleep. She will return each squeeze of your hand. A touch will never be unwanted, or underappreciated. You have shown Ellie resilience through love, making her a fern in the way that she has been able to continue, continue, continue.
The iron filled her up, flooded her, but is not with her presently. She is present. You are present. Ellie exists presently as often as she can manage it, which increases with each rise of the sun. There is no taste for blood, no faith within it any longer.
(Ellie will not end up losing you. You know that fact, even when her fears cause a falter within her. You are staying, and Ellie stays, and your world is lighter but not empty. Ellie does not lose you, and you do not lose her.)
notes : i love ellie williams.
obviously i have been quite inspired by noah kahan's album lately, this is no exception. i found the overall theme/message of orbiter to be really achingly beautiful and it got me thinking about ellie and her relationship with loss.
i know i've done space themed fics before with lunar flyby and reporting live but i didn't want to repeat that here despite the title of this piece and the song, i felt it would've been a bit too on the nose. still, i thought ellie's love for space could suit this and be intertwined with the other themes. as always, thank you for reading.
warnings : character study? references to Ellie's journal, the American Dreams comics, her encounter with David, Joel's death, and Ellie's struggle with having an appetite. death. blood. guilt. loss. hunting. panic attacks. Ellie's fear of being alone. internal struggles and questioning. one brief mention of throw up, not described. themes of hurt/comfort (elliexreader). despite these, i promise it's sweet. notes at the end.
w.c : 2.3k
Ellie’s thought a lot about death. Thinks about it a lot. Dying. Loss.
The concept of faith. Company–or the lack thereof–as one takes their last breath.
It’s a thought that floats throughout Ellie’s brain, lingering like the last remnants of blood even after it had been scrubbed away. The sting of bleach is rarely enough to disguise it if you are familiar enough. Iron, iron, iron. It’s thick. Heavy. Suffocating. Even the knowledge of sticky crimson blooming anywhere could be enough to taint… anything.
It’s there, it’s there, it’s there. Bleach doesn’t matter. If it was there, it remained.
If Ellie were able to find herself in a position of better humor–on a good day, perhaps–she might manage a chuckle about it. The irony of it all, or whatever the fuck. The fact that her greatest fear had been ending up alone. Had been? Still was? And yet–most days, when she considers it–Ellie would prefer to die alone.
Even with an insurmountable fear of ending up alone, she would decidedly meet her end alone. It is an unshakable agenda that is rooted throughout Ellie’s being–she would not obligate one to bear witness to the final form of her suffering. It is resolute. No one will ever see Ellie in the way in which she had seen others–lifeless, deformed. A grotesque shell. Rattled breathing until it ceased.
If Ellie was destined to be alone, then alone she shall be.
Perhaps, even, the smell of iron could cease if the scraps of her were offered. Maybe she carried the traces with her–within her?–and the overwhelming tackiness of it all was what her existence was rooted in. Root her body to the ground, then–fine, have me–and return her gristle and bone to the Earth. Would even then, in death, she be rejected? Were her insides too much, too little?
If she were to be cut open, would she appear as a conventional girl? Or, even at her very core, would there be something awry?
There is an unfortunate calm that is intertwined with the idea of presenting oneself to the bugs. A final offering as though all others had been rejected. A mutual affair, as they would provide Ellie with a much needed service, as well. Not beautification, just finally bleached. Stripped of anything deformed and everything that had gone wrong–inside and out.
Though–maybe not even the bugs would want her. Ellie Williams is hard to keep, after all.
At thirteen, she had met a soldier due to his decision to act on his own concern for Ellie… but it had been fleeting. Ellie came with risks. Something was sure to be fundamentally wrong with her. Like there were warning signs etched into her skin along with her freckles. Maybe that’s why her skin always hurts. Not worth the risk. A cautionary tale within the green of her eyes. Warning: Abandon before she infects you, too. Death follows!
I’ll be fine on my own, Ellie had said.
Whether or not that statement was a lie, she didn’t know. Was she fine on her own? Physically, mostly. Mentally? No. Ellie craves. Ellie misses, and Ellie gets attached. Ellie feels.
She doesn’t like to be lectured about her inability to speak–not after. After her body had been held down by strangers, her voice raw from pleading for a life (his life, never her own. Never her own), how could her vocal cords possibly work? And how frustrating it was to be dismissed. As if her silence were easy? Most could not even begin to grasp the concept of how exhausting it is to deliberately prevent her feelings from being verbalized. Silence is not easy. Silence is never easy.
But sometimes, silence is taught. And another thing about Ellie? She clings.
And yes, the bugs could not be faulted for the potential rejection, either. Who is Ellie to depend on their aid in her own personal purification process? Maybe she would poison the bugs, too. Maybe her insides were wrong. With the bugs and the woods as her only witnesses, she could fade. No family to watch in horror, no lover to cry. Just the Earth–hopefully–claiming her and correcting what it must.
The cycle of things, really. Please let the bugs have her. Let her body be useful, just this once.
Ellie Williams hunts with a wince.
These days, at least.
It’s not like she struggles with the concept–never really did. She held no impending need to shift into the mindset of a predator. It was just one of those things. You need food–you hunt. All that blood on her hands might’ve felt different if the world were another… but Ellie knew how these things worked from quite a young age.
She is not powerful for killing a rabbit, she is simply in need of food. The rabbit’s existence is not weak for being small, but it is food. The act of hunting is not empowering, it is just a necessity. Others may beg to differ, but Ellie does not. Ellie was once a Little Rabbit, hunted and preyed upon. She does not get a thrill from preying. There is no thrill to be had. Only the promise of a full belly, which she often cannot stomach anyway.
Strip everything else away, bare bones – Ellie has never much minded hunting. But sometimes, these days, she does wince.
Sometimes, the dull, fading light of life is able to transport Ellie before she can even grasp what is happening. Her body in one place, her mind in another. Maybe the bugs could do away with whatever part of her kept prompting that to happen.
It’s just that death is never a pleasant thing to look at… and Ellie was supposed to die more times than she had felt physically or mentally renewed within her life. At this rate, she was subjected to living–to breathing each day, eyes fully functioning, aware of each loss that weighed her every step. Ellie thought that her purpose was to provide others with pieces of herself to ensure survival. Instead, she had become Death’s witness.
As long as no one had to witness her own.
Company in life, solitude in death. Was that even what she actually wanted? Ellie didn’t like to be lonely.
She had been, before. The concept scared her, made her feel afraid enough to cause her erring insides to twist uncomfortably. It translated. Yeah, skin hurting. Short bursts of air, limbs that trembled–and then hands that only ever seemed to move with the utmost amount of care.
It must be nasty work to root Ellie’s feet into the ground and pull her attention to right now, where it’s real–but you do it. You do it with ease, and you do not shout at her, and your touch does not cause her to flinch. She reaches for it, even, just as you reach for her.
Ellie no longer wants faith through pain. Her own faith is found each day, each night, with a bed that is never cold. A bath that never feels lonely. A meal that is plated and then saved–like her soul?–because it is okay if sometimes she is not hungry, there’s always tomorrow and she will be okay and she can try again later. Her faith is found within the voice that never falters–the tone in which you speak to her is able to pierce through any scream, no matter the frequency, and no matter the memory.
You are the steady, warm reason behind the adjustment of Ellie’s posture. Straightened shoulders, because she does not always have to slump under the burden of her own existence. You are quite fond of her existence, so you say.
The smell of iron fades. Slowly, but it does. She can remember it, but Ellie doesn’t inhale it every time that she breathes. The smell of your hair outweighs the impact of bleach.
Bleach strips, but you renew. You restore.
Ellie might just bloom from the inside out, because the crinkle of your eyes does away with the rot of her soul. Probably better than any bugs could, no offense to the bugs. But you do not erode her, like the bugs would do. You do not chip away at her, or gnaw, or push. You hold. You adjust. You cradle her heart in your hands like it’s a baby bird—something that needs nourishing. Your unwavering adoration is able to filter through her cracks like sunlight through blinds.
You have witnessed Ellie in every possible state that a human being could be in, and you still press your lips to the tip of her nose. Your fingers still reach for her own. The words I love you spill out easier than your thoughts on the weather. Ellie doesn’t much like to think about whether or not she deserves things, as it’s a slippery slope that she does not have the stability to navigate… but you are so steadfast in your ways that Ellie can’t help but question it.
They are less frequent now, but they still happen–the moments in which trembling overtakes Ellie’s body, and images appear in her mind like the rapid flickering of a flashlight. When her heart beats too fast for her chest, and when she chokes and gags on each breath–maybe it’s the iron again, or the guilt of breathing when so many can no longer do that very thing. During those moments, your hands soothe over her arms like it’s easy. Your voice is soft–you love her–yet firm–please hear me–and you do not startle her. In fact, Ellie reaches back. Skin against skin, you ground her. Voice in her ears, she exists and that is okay.
If the world were different, Ellie always thought that she would want to be an astronaut. She read countless books, her mind taking inventory and storing away every fascinating piece of information that it possibly could. The idea of going to space was enthralling to her. The idea of being in space did not correlate with her fear of being alone. Space would be calm, peaceful. On her own terms–and she would return. Ellie is the type of person to return. But when you are the one being left behind, you cannot make the other person come back for you. Ellie has been left–therefore, she returns.
Ellie cannot go to space, but her devotion toward the topic is able to be translated to you–how much she appreciates your constant presence, and your ability to be unwavering, even in the dark. When Ellie is unable to get a grip, you manage to cause her universe to narrow down. You treat her as though she were astriferous. You trace the constellations on her skin with a gentle touch. Ellie searches your eyes like she’s studying a newfound planet. Ellie cannot go to space, but even so, you stellify her.
Sometimes, Ellie cannot speak. You repeat your words–I love you, I love you, I love you–because you know that she needs them. Always, she wishes to be as present as you in her moments of panic. Sometimes, all she can offer back is a shaky hand gripping at your arm–I love you, too.
When harsh crescents appear in the palms of Ellie’s hands, you are there to unfurl her fists. Her hands are stained with blood that are only visible to her own eyes, and you kiss them. Again, Ellie prefers not to get into the internal debate about whether or not she deserves something. You seem to think that she does deserve it, and that is enough.
You never take her silence as an indication of straying. If hunting makes her wince, and she nearly vomits up memories, you do not question if Ellie hugs with one arm rather than two. She will spend the rest of her life hoping that you know how much it means to her, even if she is unable to properly verbalize it.
It is almost uncomfortable, the lack of something within Ellie as her days grow steadier–along with her mind–and the guilt starts to ease. For a time, Ellie confused her growing lightness with feelings of emptiness. She had thought that she had finally grown numb, because she didn’t feel as though her body was bearing such a heavy weight. The realization was quiet. Lightness does not mean emptiness. Ellie can breathe. She would refuse to make you witness her death, but there will be no death to witness, anyway. Ellie has no plans for it.
Even so, it has been drilled into her very being that everything is fleeting. People do not stick around, it does not matter how much you love them. Or want them. Or need them. The very start of Ellie’s life was tainted by the death of another. Loss is nearly all that she had ever known, yet she cannot grow comfortable with the idea of it in any sense.
Ellie figures she will probably lose you at some point. It is not self-deprecating, it is fact. (To her, at least.) If she is going to lose you, she will spend every possible day making sure that you are safe and comfortable while you sleep. She will return each squeeze of your hand. A touch will never be unwanted, or underappreciated. You have shown Ellie resilience through love, making her a fern in the way that she has been able to continue, continue, continue.
The iron filled her up, flooded her, but is not with her presently. She is present. You are present. Ellie exists presently as often as she can manage it, which increases with each rise of the sun. There is no taste for blood, no faith within it any longer.
(Ellie will not end up losing you. You know that fact, even when her fears cause a falter within her. You are staying, and Ellie stays, and your world is lighter but not empty. Ellie does not lose you, and you do not lose her.)
notes : i love ellie williams.
obviously i have been quite inspired by noah kahan's album lately, this is no exception. i found the overall theme/message of orbiter to be really achingly beautiful and it got me thinking about ellie and her relationship with loss.
i know i've done space themed fics before with lunar flyby and reporting live but i didn't want to repeat that here despite the title of this piece and the song, i felt it would've been a bit too on the nose. still, i thought ellie's love for space could suit this and be intertwined with the other themes. as always, thank you for reading.
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