Val-cansalute - D35tr☠︎yer De Pv55y

𝙱𝙴𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝟶𝟸

summary: two years later, ellie’s back in jackson. from what you’ve heard, she’s not exactly been doing great either.

warnings: angst with no comfort yet (ITS COMING I PROMISE), you’re in another relationship (ellie gets kind of jealous…), vague ref. to drug abuse and addiction

an: sorry this took like five years, as always, love you guys, stay safe, never stop talking about palestine. do your clicks. :-)

chapter 1

TWO YEARS LATER

There should probably, definitely be a lot of things on Ellie’s mind right now but, truthfully, the exhaustion flooded them all out.

She’s been sitting next to Tommy in his shitty, busted, old truck in the densest silence she’s ever been in, hurtling her way back to the place she was damn sure she was never going to see again just a few months back, and all she can think about is how badly she wants to close her eyes and finally fucking sleep, but he keeps throwing out questions randomly, and Ellie feels obligated to answer them all given the fact that he just picked her scrawny ass up from rehab following almost a year of no contact.

She takes in a sharp breath of air. It doesn’t rattle her lungs as much as it used to. Then, she swallows, forcing a gulp down the dry enclosure of her throat, and turns to look at Tommy.

“Hm?”

“Am I taking you to ours or yours?”

“What?”

“Jesus- Am I driving you down to Maria and I’s, or are you gonna go back to your old house?”

Ellie’s brain stutters.

The impending situation is suddenly becoming too real.

You were starring in the film in her mind ever since the one-way flight to LA, and every time you came up on screen, she felt her stomach wrench with longing, with guilt.

She was far from home, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people who’s faces were unfamiliar and, quite frankly, scary. She had no idea how the fuck she ended up where she did, but she knew that the thoughts she needed a distraction from required remedies more concentrated than whiskey.

The last few months were especially shit: stuck in that building with junkies who would be back in just as long as they stayed, with nothing to do but sit with every last one of those thoughts.

Joel’s death had beaten her to a pulp; she was only just beginning to be able to talk about him, to draw him, to remember him, without all the anger and all the all-consuming guilt. Only just beginning to do that after the absolute shit-show her life became for a long moment. Yes, Joel’s death beat the hell out of her, but she herself delivered the finishing blow.

There is a lot of guilt in Ellie’s life, towards Joel, towards Tommy, towards her friends, towards you – more than she can bear for this lifetime and maybe the next few too. So, like she promised herself, there’s no use in any of it. All she can do is just focus on each day and try to make things right where she can.

The question plagues her mind, the one she has absolutely no right to ask, of whether or not you’ll be there, whether or not you waited for her. She doesn’t know which would be worse.

“Mine.”

Tommy nods, glancing at her before shifting his line of view back to the road and Ellie lets out a small puff of air. She hopes things can go back to how they used to be between the two of them one day. Joel’s death also beat the hell out of Tommy. In fact, Ellie was slightly surprised to hear that Tommy’s place was “Maria and I’s” again, since they weren’t exactly on good terms when she left, divorced and all.

“Do… Do you know if… she’s still staying there?”

He goes quiet, dropping the coy exchange of practised words and turns to look at Ellie for longer than what’s considered road safe.

“… Honestly, I’m not sure. Haven’t seen her in a while. But, come to think of it, I must’ve heard someone mentionin’ some’ about her stayin’ with someone for a while... You, uh, you sure you’re gonna be okay goin’ back to yours?”

“Yeah… I mean… It’s gotta happen eventually.”

Tommy nods, breathing out,

“That it does,"

And Ellie reclines into the hardened cushion of the seat, pressing her cheek to it to rest, gazing out at the familiar sequence of buildings blurring by. She thinks she should probably drop by Dina’s tomorrow.

Ellie’s become mythical. 

“I just got a text from Jesse…”

You look up from your screen at Dina, who is sprawled out across from you on the couch. She sits up, all serious, and the look in her eyes tells you she knows you’re not going to like what you’re about to hear.

“He said Ellie’s coming back to Jackson.”

Sometimes you have these… dreams, if you can even call them that; nothing about them is hazy or dream-like, just… like your mind opens up a part of itself that you keep closed when you’re in control and forces you to look at it.

You’re lucid every time, of course, even your subconscious knows that it’s impossible for Ellie to be near you, to be smiling at you the way she used to.

No. She walked out and didn’t look back. And, in all honesty, you can't even blame her for that. Not when she was falling apart back here just the same. Not when she wasn't even herself anymore, when the thoughts got a hold of her.

When you open your eyes, you can’t bring yourself to look at your girlfriend laying next to you. She feels like a stranger who sleeps in your apartment sometimes.

Your mind strays, and you wonder if that’s how Ellie felt about you. Then, you close your eyes again and try to soothe the nausea that inevitably builds in your stomach - flex your fingers to remind yourself that you're a living, breathing person, who can’t just rot in sheets, clinging to morsels of sleep.

When Ellie left, there was a massive gaping hole in, not just your heart, but your entire life. You tried to stay put in the house but, God, it was painful. The dusty trinkets she left behind lining the desk alone were like totems of your one-man cult devoted to her.

You packed all your shit soon after, leaving Ellie’s exactly as it was.

At first, crashing at Dina’s place was a temporary fix, but it turned out you desperately needed the company and Dina loved having someone around to bother too. Things got better slowly, or at least they stopped hurting as much.

So, every day, you stumble out of bed and get ready for the shitty little job you got to make yourself feel human again, kissing the girl you’ve been fucking around with for way too long, and then waving goodbye to Dina as you go.

You’re rebuilt, no longer in pieces like you were when she left. In fact, your mind doesn’t look back on her much anymore, but there are traces of what she did to you in everything you do.

The way you put yourself back together, it’s a bit twisted up, not quite the same. 

Dina’s eyes never leave yours, gaze firm in its preemptive empathy, though there’s not much use. Your mind must have malfunctioned; there’s not a single emotion playing out in it right now but there absolutely, definitely should be. You’re just not sure which.

After a tense moment passes, you hum in feigned pensiveness.

She was playing bigger venues is what you heard – sold out shows, collaborating with artists she used to dream of meeting, getting into scandals and posting snapshots of her new, flashier life, or at least her manager was.

You knew Ellie, and you were well aware that she felt like a phony doing shit like that.

But, then again, you thought you knew she wouldn’t leave you for LA too.

A while back, it was radio silence. Her posts stopped, the new releases ceased abruptly, and it was as if she had vanished, dropped off the face of the planet.

Rehab is what the shitty gossip threads were saying. The things you began being told every now and then were hard to hear: she was foaming at the mouth, being seen in a random state thousands of miles away with little recollection of how she got there, drunk off her ass again at an awards show. Shards of glass, cutting through the fragile peace you'd built.

At the time, it still impacted you, of course. She was once your girl. But you were forced to look it in the eye: the fact that she was in the worst shape you’d seen her in when you came across images of her online, with sunken cheeks; yellowed, bloodshot eyes looking emptier than ever, and dry, chapped lips. Fuck, it made your stomach writhe with pain. She was still suffering, only scraps left of who she used to be.

Not that you expected anything other than deterioration.

Dina inhales sharply, nodding as she struggles through the wording of the question she’s about to pose,

“…How are you feeling?”

It doesn’t matter though. None of that matters, because you’ve moved forward. You live in a different neighborhood, with different hopes, a different job, and a different girlfriend.

“…I’m not exactly gonna welcome her with open arms, if that’s what you’re expecting. But, you know what? I’m okay.”

Different.

She nods again.

“I mean, it’s been a long time, D. I’ve moved on.”

Dina smiles at you reassuringly, and it pisses you off because why is she reassuring you? You said you’re fine, didn’t you?  What reason is there to be all empathetic?

“Yeah, of course, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I mean, it’s completely normal to feel… upset, I guess, even if you’ve moved on. She was still super important to you for some time in your life, even if things didn’t exactly end well.”

“Yeah… Well, I don’t really wanna see her, but I hope she’s doing better.”

She doesn’t know what she expected, but she couldn’t stay in that house.

The first step in was cautious, casting hesitant glances into the darkness in the hope that she’d catch a glimpse of something that would tell her you’re home, before she took notice of the hollowness.

Everything was spotless and your things were gone.

The display case with your tea set was empty, the little trinkets on your bedside table were nowhere to be found, your side of the closet was barren, and every trace of the life you shared had disappeared. The house seemed to be cocooned in a layer of dust, preserving only the imprint of Ellie.

You’d left the duvet and a pillow tapped up for her on the bed you shared if she ever did come home, but that bed is too big for her alone now.

Ellie turned around and walked out, leaving it all behind again. She wasn’t sure where to go, though she was positive she needed to be alone, away from all the people she’d hurt. Away from all the damage she’d done.

So, she walks till her muscles ache out to a motel on the other side of town, praying the dark keeps her face hidden enough from anyone who might recognize her and makes a nest in the stained sheets and matted carpet floor, because she much prefers this discomfort to the one in that house. Alone with her thoughts and the mechanical whir of the AC, she doesn’t want to cry; she doesn’t have the right to, but when a tear escapes, the dam breaks. At least it helps her sleep better.

The night passes like a flash and daylight filters through the grimy motel windows, past Ellie’s tired eyelids. She stirs awake, rubbing a hand down her face groggily, and lays in the haze for a while.

She’s supposed to see Dina today. The only friend she really ever kept in contact with while on her long ass bender and throughout her stay at the facility was Jesse, because she couldn’t bring herself to face Dina, not when she was in that state.

She has absolutely no idea what will happen, and it’s terrifying. But she can’t deny that she feels a deep-seated anxiety that can only be satiated by asking Dina about you, though the questions themselves haven’t exactly been decided on yet. She thinks she’ll quickly tire of having no idea what will happen but she doesn’t have much of a choice, so she slinks out of bed and trudges over to the sink to freshen up before setting off.

After confusing the fuck out of a half-deaf old man at Dina’s old apartment and a text exchange with one of their mutual acquaintances, Ellie finally shows up at what she really hopes is the right door and delivers a series of three shy knocks.

When the door is opened, she is immediately overtaken by a wave of warmth and the scent of freshly made pancakes. She still has a hard time getting food down but, honestly, she’d start drifting through the air towards it if she were in a cartoon.

Then, she looks up and, for a moment, her face falls at the sight of another unfamiliar face, but her eyes catch a glimpse of someone else across the apartment and Ellie’s heart stills.

You stare down at the text Nathan just sent you with guilt-ridden relief. A family emergency means the café isn’t going to open today, so you don’t have to go to work.

Feeling happy that Nathan has a family emergency makes you feel a little ashamed too, because Nathan’s a standup guy, but you didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night, and getting up to go to work with the tiresome deadweight of your eyebags is the last thing you need right now.

In truth, all that has been on your mind since that godforsaken exchange with Dina on the couch yesterday is Ellie, and the night following was a restless one. You laid in bed, staring at the ceiling with a permanent furrow in your brow that was making your face ache, unable to quiet the torrent of memories and emotions in your mind, feeling like you were back in that house again, trying to sleep the night after she walked out.

You tossed and turned, grasping pathetically for comfort, but every position felt like suffocation. In your dark and still room, you felt like you were going to rupture with the pressure of the whirlwind inside you against the confines of your skull.

Each second dragged out longer than the last. Each second, you remembered what it felt like to be with her and then to watch her fade, and it was all so vivid, so inescapable. You’re not even sure if you can call it longing, because what settles in your stomach feels a lot more like anguish, distress, a desperate hope for her to be in a better place. You so badly want to believe you’ve moved on from her, but the truth is so glaringly obvious that you can’t even turn away from it, so you just close your eyes.

You don’t want to think about her today. You’ll do anything to not think about her today.

You guess it’s a good thing Dina set off early because even the sight of her would’ve reminded you of Ellie.

Instead, when you glance to your left at the rustle of bed sheets beside you and see Alexis rubbing the sleep from her puffy eyes, you smile softly and try to feel some semblance of warmth at the fact that you can just laze around with her for now.

Alexis smiles back, groggily stretching the arm tossed over your waist and running it gently along your side.

There is a sinking in the pit of your stomach, though, at the realization that things are getting very domestic for something that was supposed to be ‘casual.’ You know now more than ever that you cannot handle that.

When she leans in and works her lips on the crook of your neck, mumbling,

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” you take it as your queue to sit up, shifting away from her.

“Good morning, babe. I got the day off, so I think I’m gonna start on breakfast. You want anything?”

Normally, she’s the one who makes breakfast, but you try not to acknowledge that the guilt of your impending split pushes you to take the reins this time.

Alexis crosses her arms behind her head, watching intently as you tug on some pants and states,

“You know, I’m kinda in the mood for pancakes.”

While she clears up the scattering of wrappers discarded along the couch from the evening before, you set up at the stove, and for the first time in a long moment, the feeling is golden, laced with the gentle timbre of Sade’s voice spilling from your phone as you put on your playlist and keep an ear out for the hiss of the coffee machine.

Your love is king, crown you in my heart.

The wall buzzes from the beat of a knock at the front door, but Alexis is already up on her feet, clarifying that she’ll ‘get it.'

Your love is king, never need to part,

You lift your head to offer a greeting from behind the kitchen island to the visitor and the air is choked out of your windpipes instantly. Around you, the noise and color fades to grey so all you can hear is the echo of your own heartbeat and a shrill ringing pounding in your ears, the blood rush making it feel like your whole body is palpitating.

Your kisses ring round and round and round my head,

Across the room, the air between you becomes charged and strained with the weight of the years that part you, the memories that became dust, crumbling beneath the pressure of careful fingertips.

Touching the very part of me, it’s making my soul sing,

You’re suspended in the memorial waves like cicadas in amber, before Alexis breaks the spell, glancing between the two of you perplexedly,

“Uh... Hey?”

Tearing the very heart of me, I’m crying out for more.

You reach out and pause the song, your eyes meeting the text Dina sent just a few minutes prior.

𝚒 𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢

𝚓𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝

𝚒 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗

You take in a sharp breath of air, inflating your figure before you look back up at the wide-eyed girl standing in the doorway, whispering a weary,

“Ellie…”

Ellie doesn’t quite catch it, pushing out a softer than intended explanation in the face of people looking at her like she is an alien.

"I... I came to see Dina."

You nod, slowly, unsurely, fingers curling around the edge of the countertop. When you’ve finally mustered up the strength to speak, you respond,

"She’s gonna be out for a while. You can wait inside."

You’re surprised by the harshness in your tone.

Ellie presumably is too, lingering in the doorway for a moment, and the tension in the room is palpable, so Alexis, makes up an out.

"I gotta go… grab… something,”

The auburn-haired girl’s gaze follows her as she leaves, before she quietly moves into the room, clicking the door shut behind her with a tightened jaw. She thinks that maybe if she stands still enough, it’ll be like she’s not even there, like she doesn’t even exist, but when you bring Alexis’ mug of coffee to the table by the couch for her to drink, you pull the chair out wordlessly, eyes held fast to anything but Ellie’s, before going back the stove to turn it off.

"Who's she?" Ellie wants to ask. She’s not an idiot, so she doesn’t.

Instead, she sits down quietly, watching you with weary eyes.

Ellie doesn’t look so gaunt anymore. At a certain point, she couldn’t even recognise herself when she looked in the mirror. She’s still too skinny, hair dishevelled, eyes red, and her face is littered with small scars and the remnants of a black eye, but you can look at her without wanting to break down now, or at least not for the same reasons.

You say a silent thank you to whoever’s out there looking out for her and then turn around to face her.

“I… I’m sorry, I should’ve… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t kno-”

“It’s fine, Ellie.”

A beat passes before she looks up at you, eyes wide,

“How… How have you been?”

You try to take in air without it catching as you respond, keeping your eyes on the counter.

“I’m okay.”

“Good… That’s good.” Ellie picks at a loose thread on the hem of her sleeve, chewing at her bottom lip, “I’m sorry.”

It comes out a whisper, breathless, and you close your eyes before saying,

“You know what, Ellie? It was hard at first. Really hard. I got really lonely, and I missed you a lot. I tried to make it work in that place and it just didn’t. But its been 2 whole years. I’m… I’m not the same...”

“I really am sorry. I fucked up- I should never have gone to LA. I never should’ve-”

She takes a moment to breathe, squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to work through the explosion of thoughts, wishing she’d just kept her mouth shut, wishing she’d had more time to think of what to say, wishing she’d just stayed in that fucking motel room.

“I should’ve tried harder to get better…  I-I know that… it might not be possible, but I checked myself into rehab, and… and I want to try to make things right… I just- I don’t want to live like that anymore, I don’t wanna be alone anymore-”

You let her speak, the lump in your throat growing painfully as you watch her fumble sadly through her words.

“I know we can’t go back to how things used to be- I just… want to make things right and I don’t know how or what that means but-”

Alexis walks back into the room, making her way over to Ellie with a tight-lipped smile before she can finish what she wants to say.

“Sorry, had to go do that thing. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Alexis, she must’ve told you already but I’m her girlfriend.”

Ellie looks up at her with wide eyes,

“Oh.”

She holds her hand out to shake and Ellie takes it before reclining into her seat silently, staring at the wooden table in front of her.

Suddenly, it has become very apparent to Ellie that she lost her place in your life a long time ago, as a friend and as a partner, and she feels like an alien again.

She clenches her jaw.

“It’s… Uhhh, it’s nice to meet you too but I should get going. Dina won’t be back for a while so there’s… no point in sticking around.”

You think of stopping her, of telling her to sit back down, but you know this is for the best as you watch her scramble to her feet, looking like a kicked puppy, and walking back out the door.

Things will never be the same. You can’t go back to how things were, and your head knows you shouldn’t trust Ellie’s words.

But, when she sat in front of you at that table, telling you she didn’t want to be alone anymore, you thought you saw something you haven’t seen in a long time, a sliver of your Ellie. Of her old self, of her resilience, of her will, of her love and hopes.

And you so badly want to believe you’re over her, but the truth is looking you right in the eye, and some supermassive weight has lifted off your shoulders.

“Dude, was that literally Ellie fucking Williams?!”

hi reminder that there's a strike from 11 aug until the 18th! please use this time to spread information on palestine

edit: the strike has been called off by many palestinians on twitter. do continue to spread information, sources, and donate if you can. why the strike has been called off.

ct; nsfw. ellie x reader tribbing brainrot blurb. nsfw pic used. no plot. horny streak, you get the drill. mdni. ⋆˚✿˖°

no thoughts, no solace, just ellie being desperate to cum on your pussy. being enamored by the sheer glimpse of her: rubbing herself so rushed and clumsy on you, nails dug into your flesh to keep you spread on her. “keep it steady, babe. m'almost finished.. mhhnn..” dusk hadn't even befallen the sky; she just couldn't wait. ellie never waits along the passing of the sky—she waits along you.

her hand occasionally dips between the hot, connecting gap of you both to spread her pussy lips, hips flexing into you. when her swollen clit slips through your folds and kisses yours in grinds, your head nearly falls into a plane other-worldly. her fingers quicken you along, and white takes your vision by storm, tiny spots of darkness saturating through. she won't cum without you.

breathless praises to your pussy trickle out of her moans, and each one nearly finishes you early. “my god m'gonna cum,” it's a sensually deadly combination; her heavy groans with the fast pacing of her bush, humping on you. faster, and harder, the bones of the bed creak, and a final comment sends you into spiral. “'ur pussy's gonna make me cum.”

This is how many bullets they shot on a fucking kid.

this is so cute im having an aneurysm

girl dad arthur pt. 2

what's mine — ellie williams.

summary: the day you left for this assignment, ellie remembers thinking it would be okay— or maybe it was you who said it, your hands over her tense shoulders, her fingers tugging at your shirt, “you’ll be okay.” she goes home and knows it to be true, like words from a god. she’ll be okay and you’ll be back. what’s left to do but count the hours?

warnings: descriptions of violence (not very detailed), suggestive content near the end!

notes: uhhh i love being dramatic and i think it shows here. all i think about is the action of coming home to someone who loves you and how it is as meaningful now as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be in a hundred years but whatever haha sorry about that guys. if you read this i love you btw

don't support zionist neil druckmann.

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୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

Being without Ellie is disorienting. The first week feels like walking alone in a dark room, feeling the walls for a light switch, running into sharp corners that stab your sides. You miss her like it's a sickness, less a longing and more a threat to whatever you’re made of.

There's a small community way outside of Jackson offering a trade. Maria makes it sound simple, like everything else. “They know us, it’ll be quick. You pick up the supplies, drop off our part of the deal, and come back.”

It takes 26 days. The exchange is simple but the journey less so, you and three others have to carry home the much needed medical supplies through herds of infected and a heavy storm that slows you down and cuts off your communication for three terrifying nights.

Ellie wanders the house and feels like a stranger, sickly, a sleepless corpse searching for living blood. The light coming through the windows feels too bright and her skin abnormally cold. She knows, or thinks, that if she’s not careful she could get lost in it— merge every wall together until there’s nothing left to see but a stark flatness, an unfamiliar box. The space is not huge. It's not a tall castle or a manor in the countryside or anything fitting to the theatricality of loneliness, but it’s your home. So much of you is in it. Ellie finds herself focusing on a different thing each passing day, clinging to them with a nauseating desperation, a hundred random pieces of you scattered like breadcrumbs to keep her sane. A book with a folded corner somewhere along the first half of the story, your favorite mug next to the sink, an old pair of jeans ripped at the knee on your side of the drawer. Too many things for you not to come back.

“Do you think I'm losing my mind?” she asks, a soft wrinkle between her furrowed brows, her eyes focused on a random spot ahead. “I mean, it’s been two weeks,” she’s trying to sound like it's not as bad as it looks, like she finds any of it funny or interesting instead of plainly horrifying. The sole of her shoes hits the floor in an anxious rhythm, mocking her— tap, tap, tap, tap. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

Dina curses at the lighter until it flickers back to life with a weak orange flame, holding it near the end of the half finished blunt. She inhales and passes it over, breathing out, “You’re not crazy.”

A pause. Ellie lets the comment comfort her for a single second before it flies right through her head, sounding more quiet than usual when she admits, “...I have this feeling like someone took something from me.”

Dina raises her eyebrows, her chuckle cut off by a short cough, smoke itching her throat. “You mean, like… what’s her name?” she squints her eyes and tries to remember. 

The name worms around Ellie’s head like it has been for days, bold letters, clear as day. She makes no attempt to let it pass through her lips, self aware and unrelenting at the same time, maybe finding some indefensible satisfaction in the fact that it can be forgotten. Cruel, you'd tease, and Ellie would smirk a lot like she tries not to now.

Dina gives up a second later, “Whatever— the girl that volunteered to go with them before you could. You're blaming her?”

“I guess.”

“Hm. That’s a little…”

“Don’t say crazy—”

“Crazy.”

“Fuck you,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not jealous?”

Ellie scoffs, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. Dina argues unlike anyone else. She’s confident, her goal clear and her strategy already lined up before you get a word in, loaded like a gun. But her strongest contender, perhaps the only one, might be Ellie’s simple stubbornness. “I’m concerned. She got picked over me even though I've studied that route a hundred fucking times. I could've done a better job,” she says, steady and tireless like bulletproof glass.

“At getting the supplies or at taking care of your girlfriend?”

“You’re starting to sound like Maria.”

Dina pauses for a short moment before she shrugs. “Maria makes good points.”

Ellie takes one last hit of the blunt and flicks it across the room to die out somewhere on the permanently damp floor. She tries to believe it. No one took you, she thinks, you left dutifully like anyone else in Jackson would've, like Ellie would've. It’s a dangerous trip but a job like any other, the same risk of deadly infection that comes with any of them. She should be used to it by now. Does it not also exist every other day of the year?

Still, she can't remember the last time she didn't see your face for this long. You’ve been dating for a little over three years, living together for half of that— it's a terrifyingly meaningful chunk of your young lives, months and months of seeing you everyday, of falling asleep with her face on the crook of your neck and waking up with your fingers pressing into her waist. You've built a world where things like this don’t happen, where all Ellie can think about as she leaves home is the way you hum in the mornings, soft and sleepy and so fucking cute, when you wake up to her back against your chest and her hair on your face. She thinks about her own laugh, how shy it sounds, how your lips press to her head before she turns around to claim a proper kiss.

But now you’re not here, and she’s too terrified to even utter the words out loud, and there's a hole in her chest where you should be that makes her feel insane everywhere she goes. It's an open wound leaving a hazardous trail of shame and memories, humming in her ears like a boiling kettle, who took what's mine?

Ellie has never considered herself to be the jealous type, but she never was the type to sleep with her back turned to someone this comfortably, either. It’s different with you. It's theatricality, it’s the coldness of that bed at night, it’s your legs tangled with hers like growing roots now disjointed. It’s a thing, breathing and alive, screaming at nothing— I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

Is that girl you went with hanging from your every word in that way she always does? Is that a shameful thought to have? Ellie wipes it clean in a second and finds it immediately there again, at the front of her mind like a message on a cloudy mirror. She can't think about anything else. Is the storm keeping the two of you awake? Does a part of you find the girl brave for volunteering? Is she turning to look at you and asking, just loud enough, are you asleep? That fall earlier was rough, how are you feeling? Is she looking at your wounds like they matter more than doing a good job? Is your blood, warm and red and yours, on her hands now?

—

The last of the smoke spills past her lips in a sigh. Ellie pulls her knees closer to her chest and tugs at the loose thread on your ripped jeans.

There’s a comfortable weight that keeps you under, the loving press of her arm resting over your chest, her thumb brushing your chin. The sun feels warm where it’s draped across Ellie’s back, white tank top wrinkled slightly up her waist.

She watches you until you let out a little sigh, squint one eye open and then slowly the next, a smile stretching your lips as soon as your sight focuses on her. She looks beautiful. She looks just like she did before you left, your girl.

It’s weird— you’ve showered, scrubbed your hands clean and raw, changed clothes. And still you feel like you’ve brought in something dirty, like it’ll be stuck on you for a while, the grime, the guns, the storm. Your muddy shoes must still be sitting by the front door. Something in your head screams that you should get rid of them, burn them like an evidence of guilt. Do you look anything like you did before you left? You feel like a worn version of yourself, sticky and darkened. It’s a ridiculous worry to have, but the thought comes hand in hand with embarrassment and you can feel it crawling up your neck. You cover your face with your hands and groan tiredly, shy.

Ellie laughs, warm like musk, salve on a wound.

"Are you watching me sleep?" you mutter, voice ridden with exhaustion and joy all at once. The thing, love, obsession, both— breathes along with you. "Freak."

"Yeah, I was,” she shifts to sit on your lap, one knee on either side of you, spilling her confession easily. Ellie leans over to push your hands away from your face and press her lips to yours, passionate but short lived, still softly brushing against each other when she says, "I missed this face."

You chuckle, eyes tracing over her freckled cheeks, hands squeezing her thighs, feeling strangely like you’re being washed clean. “I missed you.”

Ellie closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours, her fingers caressing your cheeks, looking at you again when her thumb brushes against the ridge of a scar. It’s a warped line that almost follows the shape of your cheekbone, from your hairline to somewhere near the corner of your lips. She'd seen it last night, nauseous with worry and relief to have you back, her vision clouded. The morning reveals it in a different, heartbreaking light. It’s okay, you’d said during the night, your hands on either side of her face much like hers are on you now, didn't even need stitches. Ellie tries to let that sink in, make the guilt feel any better. But it can't. Maybe you’d been saved the prick of a needle, but she knows it still hurt, she knows it bled and stung. It feels like a betrayal. If I can't save you the pain, she thinks, I owe you the witnessing, the chance to clean its wry edges, pat it dry. "How'd you get this one?" she asks, as softly as she can.

You’d been prepared for the question but not the devastation in her eyes. It falls over you like a ton of bricks, her love making your chest ache and sinking you back into the memory.

There was an empty house, or what looked like one. Pieces of broken glass scattered over the rotting wood of an old, wobbly table. A man's hand placed forcefully on your head. The side of your face rammed into the table with a thud when he pushed you down, the faint pain of something slicing into your cheek made worse by your struggle to get free. A kick and he stumbled back. A slice of your knife and he fell dead. You don't think the fact will do much to comfort Ellie. So, in hopes of sparing her, you hum and shake your head. "Come here," you say, or beg, a hand on the back of her neck like fond guidance. "Let me kiss your pretty face."

She feels soft like satin on your lips, tastes like honey and black tea. Ellie kisses like she argues, experienced and unruly all at once, with a point to make— I need you and I want you to know it. Her tongue slips past your parted lips and brings a muffled sound from your throat that almost makes her pull slightly away, if it weren't for the feeling of your fingers tightening on her neck to have her closer. A faint thought crosses Ellie’s mind, a feeling like pity for the person she was before you, whoever that was, an old self who couldn't know what it's like to be devoured so caringly.

She brushes her nose against yours and you let out a sigh that sounds painfully like a prayer, her short hair a dark veil over your eyes when she turns her head to press kisses on your cheek. "You can't leave me like that again," she breathes out.

You swallow her words, a confused wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Ellie—”

A kiss cuts you off. You slide your hands up her thighs to her waist, a surprised hum vibrating against her lips when she wraps her fingers around your wrists and squeezes, as if to keep them there. She leans back and stares into you, and for the first time since you’ve known Ellie, you can't tell if she's commanding you or begging. “I won’t let you.”

It’s a gesture. It goes beyond the reality of your lives, the fact that any day either one of you could be made to leave again, that any day either one of you could die. It means I missed you. It means I need it to be me who looks after you. It means I love you.

Your stomach flutters, hungry with an urgent craving. And like you have every day since you’ve known Ellie, you find yourself unable to deny her love or the indulging promise of a different world— but maybe those mean the same thing. "I'm not leaving you," you say, breathless, and it might as well be true.

Ellie makes a sound in response that feels painfully close to a moan, a soft mmhm that clouds your head of anything that may or may not exist outside of this room. The tip of her nose brushes against your neck and then continues its way down, her fingers sneaking inside your shirt, pulling up the fabric and pressing kisses over the skin that’s revealed. "I love you," she says, almost near the band of your underwear, her blushed lips parted. You feel her breath against the burning fire in your lower stomach, reaching out to cradle her cheek against your hand. She feels hot, flushed pink under her freckles, and you’re not sure if she hears you say I love you, Ellie as much as she watches you mouth the words. She presses her face further into your hand, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, begging as if she’d ever have to, “Baby, I need— please.”

You don't hear yourself say yes, but the look in her eyes says you must have.